The city was buzzing—streets colder, tension thicker. News of Marlo's death didn't stay hidden long. Word spread like wildfire across Miami's underground. The docks, the strip clubs, the biker bars—even the crooked cops—everyone heard it. The king of the local circuit was gone, and the throne sat wide open.
But the streets didn't mourn.
Marlo had enemies in every alley. The only thing keeping them in check was the fear he instilled. Now, with his blood soaking into the floorboards of his office, that fear had a new name.
"Ivan the Fiend did it himself," someone whispered in a backroom poker den. "Felix the Fortress walked through hell with him," another replied.
The rumors weren't wrong.
Ivan and Felix were out of sight, hidden away, recovering from wounds that should've killed them. Felix had taken a bullet to the side. Ivan had been grazed, but it wasn't the pain that kept him up—it was the rage. It simmered beneath his skin like acid. Every breath he took reminded him of the bloodbath that should've been a clean move.
But on the streets, a shift had started.
The gangs that once bowed to Marlo were now whispering a new name. Or rather, two.
"Those two? They're the new kings of the block. Fuckin' hell, they killed Marlo and walked out of it alive."
"Ivan don't play. That bastard came in soaked in blood, on a goddamn bike, and took Marlo out like it was a bar fight."
"And Felix? That man stood beside him like a goddamn wall. Ain't no loyalty like that."
In the shadows of this growing legend, the real storm was still forming.
Up in the skyscrapers of downtown, behind smoked glass and private elevators, three silent bosses met. The ones who truly ruled Miami—the ones who never got their hands dirty—were finally talking.
One swirled whiskey in a crystal glass.
"Marlo's dead. Those two? They're not just muscle. They're rising."
"They're reckless," another said. "But they've got teeth."
The third, a woman in a blood-red dress, smiled faintly. "Let them build. It'll make burning them down more satisfying."
Back in the city's veins, the people had already decided.
Marlo was dead. Long live Ivan and Felix.
The streets had crowned their new kings—even if the kings were still bleeding in the dark.