Innocence and power

His world

The city's skyline glittered with a million lights, each one a testament to the restless energy of New York. But beneath the glamour and the endless hustle, there was another world-a darker, more dangerous world that very few knew existed. This was the world Rowan Riven Kyrell ruled with an iron fist.

Rowan's penthouse office, perched atop one of the tallest skyscrapers, offered a breathtaking view of the city. But Rowan wasn't interested in the view. His sharp, calculating eyes were fixed on the array of monitors that lined one wall, each displaying a different aspect of his empire. To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like a legitimate business operation. But Rowan's dealings were anything but legitimate.

"Sir, we have a situation at the docks," his right-hand man, Victor, announced as he entered the room.

Rowan turned, his expression unreadable. "Explain."

Victor hesitated, a rare occurrence. "One of our shipments was intercepted by the Feds. They took two of our men."

Rowan's eyes narrowed, the only sign of the fury boiling beneath his calm exterior. "Which shipment?"

"The one from Colombia," Victor replied.

Rowan nodded slowly, his mind already calculating the next steps. "Inform our contact in the FBI. I want those men released by the end of the day. And find out who tipped them off. I don't tolerate betrayal."

Victor nodded and left the room to carry out the orders. Rowan leaned back in his chair, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. His empire was vast and complex, a delicate balance of legitimate businesses and underworld operations. It took a ruthless mind to maintain control, and Rowan was nothing if not ruthless.

Later that evening, Rowan found himself at one of his exclusive clubs, a place where the elite of the city came to unwind. The atmosphere was electric, with music thumping and people laughing, unaware of the dark undercurrents that flowed through the room. Rowan observed the scene with detached interest. This was his kingdom, and he was its undisputed king.

He made his way to a private room in the back, where a group of his associates waited. They were all powerful men, each controlling a different part of the city's criminal underworld. But in Rowan's presence, they were deferential, knowing better than to cross him.

"Gentlemen," Rowan greeted them, his voice smooth and controlled. "I trust everything is in order?"

One of the men, a burly figure named Marco, spoke up. "We have a problem with the East Side. The Russians are pushing into our territory."

Rowan's gaze settled on Marco, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Then push back. Make it clear to them that this city belongs to us. Use whatever means necessary."

Marco nodded, his bravado melting under Rowan's intense scrutiny. "Consider it done."

As the meeting continued, Rowan laid out his plans with meticulous precision. Every word was measured, every command delivered with an authority that brooked no argument. This was how he operated-calculated, dominant, and utterly ruthless.

"Remember," Rowan said, his voice low and dangerous, "we are not just a business. We are a force. And anyone who stands against us will be crushed."

Later, in the dead of night, Rowan stood on the rooftop of his skyscraper, the city sprawled out beneath him. This was his domain, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets. He thrived in this world, his every move a calculated step towards maintaining his supremacy.

Victor approached, a phone in hand. "Sir, it's done. The men are being released, and we have a lead on the informant."

Rowan took the phone, his expression hardening. "Good. And Victor, make sure the informant understands the price of betrayal."