Chapter 118

***Levi.***

***December 23rd, 16 years earlier***

"I can't believe what's happening! Fifteen Kingpins of New York, dead. And worse dying from unknown causes." Rowan hysterically cried. He was agitated, pacing back and forth.

Both of us were in the middle of his office in his Buena Vista mansion, Virginia. The place he went to hide, whenever things got heated. I watched him, silently. My face, expressionless. He turned to me and I saw fear in his eyes. Raw fear. One laced with frustration at his pathetic situation.

The Kingpins and most of their men were dropping dead like flies. The autopsy reports blamed the cause of deaths on a strong and undetectable, poisonous substance. I didn't need a soothsayer to know that their organization had collapsed. Rowan was the last man standing. And he was fucking frightened.

Montague died five days ago, prompting Rowan to lay low. He, his friends, his men and whores were found dead at his L.A home, where there had been an exclusive orgy party. The death was mysterious as well as humiliating to his family. The entire media abuzz with the exposed truth of Montague. An immoral man, who turned out to be a stark contrast to whom he paraded himself as in the society.

No one had attended his funeral, because of the shame. Only his close family relations had.

There was a warm fire burning in the grate tonight. Killing the winter chill outside. Rowan's hand trembled as he grabbed the glass of whiskey on his desk. He took a sip and finally finished it. He had been drinking from that decanter of whiskey for the past half an hour. Trying to ward of the nervousness that swamped him. He gave me furtive glances, here and there. Hoping I said something. But I didn't. I was only impassive.

He sank into his seat, exhaling heavily. He had been coughing for days and he was worried. The doctor was called in yesterday and he announced that Rowan was fine.

Rowan had never spoken to me about any family members. No kids. No wife. Just him and his empire. I didn't envy his life at all. I didn't envy any of their lives.

I only saw a man that had cloaked himself in such depravity. Accumulated immense power and had forgotten one thing that we were all dust. And that even the ground we treaded upon, was borrowed. Our life wasn't ours.

My eyes were on him as he shut his eyes briefly. Easing into the warmth of the room. The cozy room, reminiscent of a renaissance wonder. The vastness of the place, rivaled any home I had ever seen.

Suddenly, Rowan stiffened on the seat and began coughing uncontrollably. He reached for water and I rose to offer him a glass. He gulped it and the cough didn't lessen. Rather, it grew worse. He began panting. His breath coming out in wheezes. Short, difficult gasps. I calmly watched him, returning to the seat.

Rowan tried to talk, but he couldn't. His eyes were bloodshot and he struggled to breathe. Grabbing his throat.

"Le-Levi" The last syllable came out as a gurgling sound. I locked gazes with him. Seeing his panicked expression. Pain searing him. But I didn't flinch.

"Strychnine. Undetectable." I rose up, coming to crouch beside Rowan, who fell to the floor. He looked wide eyed at me. There was still confusion in his gaze.

"Each one of you. Lethal doses." My tone clipped, I leaned in. His glare came out as a pathetic look now.

"After I heard you and Montague confess to how you raped and murdered Tina; not to talk of the warning shot you had proposed. I couldn't have let you live. You see in this game, there can only emerge the survivors. There can only emerge one true king," I said.

A look crossed his face. His eyes growing tensed. He raised his head a bit, before his eyes rolled back. His head falling backward. Slowly he grew limp. His breathing slowing, before my eyes.

Finally, he grew still.

I gasped. Staring hard at him. Too frozen to make a step. I had seen countless men die before my feet, since I entered this gang. But Rowan, Rowan's death stunned me. Because I knew who he was. The most menacing of them all.

He was the last Kingpin of New York and he was finally dead. His lifeless form before me.

I panted heavily, falling back on my arse. Staring at his motionless body. His eyes were opened wide in his sockets.

After that night I had overheard their discussion, I had returned to my motel, struggling to come to terms with their confession. I had cried, bitterly. My heart calling for vengeance. But I needed a clear head to operate. These guys were all crime bosses with their extremely deadly organization. They couldn't be taken down without proper research and planning.

So I had taken my time. Built my own underground network that comprised of my own loyalists. I had researched on the bosses. Finding their weaknesses and strengths. I had gone for stealth.

Accidentally coming across an article about the venomous Black widow and its deadly venom, I grew interested.

Curiously, I had researched into poisons. Sending coded enquiries to my pal, Mendoza about poisonous substances for pests that could kill them without detection. Run days without noticeable symptoms. Immediately, he directed me to a Hawaii woman, who specialized in dangerous poisons for pests.

She had introduced me to the art of poison.

A knock on the door and I jerked my head in its direction. Mendoza strolled in. flicking an expressionless glance in Rowan's direction and back to me.

"They're all dead. What Next?" He asked, calmly. Blake and three of my other loyalists strolled in. I spared them a gaze. They only stared back at me with awe.

I had killed the last boss. We all knew what that meant.

"Torch the place."