From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 702

Chapter 702: Getting Rid Of Trouble

The room fell completely quiet, the easy tension of the poker game vanishing in an instant as everyone turned to look at Vera. After weeks of playing nice, eating their food, and living under the same roof, the leader of the Fallen Rose was finally stepping up to the plate.

The truth was, the Billion Bloodline group was absolutely drowning in cash, and it wasn’t because Max was some kind of business prodigy who spent his nights studying market trends. He’d thrown out a few decent, creative ideas at the start that made some good money, but the real wealth came from the sheer volume of turf he’d conquered. Even though he’d handed the family businesses back to Karen and Bobo to keep the peace and keep them off his back, he’d kept a massive, non-negotiable cut of the daily profits for himself.

Now that the Gilt Rats weren’t around to smash up their storefronts, hijack their supply lines, and threaten their workers, the money was rolling in faster than the accountants could count it. Max had structured the entire city’s underbelly so that every transaction paid a tax to the Bloodline.

But their absolute biggest cash cow, the engine keeping their entire operation afloat, was the Black Hounds.

The underground fighting tournaments were officially back on, and the hype was spreading like wildfire. Fighters from neighboring cities were flooding into Notting Hill, looking for quick cash, a reputation, and a chance to prove themselves against the best. Jett and Darius were keeping the events small and controlled for now, testing the waters before expanding. They’d set up the first bracket on a luxury cruise ship anchored in neutral waters, acting as the ultimate security detail just in case things went south.

After all, Jett and Darius used to be the undisputed champions of the ring before Max beat them in a real fight, and they weren’t about to let some out-of-towners ruin their grand restart. They had a legacy to protect, and they were running the ship with an iron fist.

Down on the central stage, beneath the heavy glare of the spotlights, a brutal match was slipping away from a local fighter. He was shirtless, pinned to the canvas, and spitting dark blood onto the mat. Desperate, humiliated, and bleeding out, he realized he couldn’t win under the rules. He reached under the waistband of his trousers, pulled out a hidden tactical knife, and lunged at his opponent’s exposed throat.

He didn’t even get close. Jett intercepted him mid-stride, moving with a terrifying speed that left the crowd gasping. He clamped a hand over the fighter’s wrist like a steel vice, halting the blade inches from its target.

"We don’t care if you use weapons," Jett said, his voice completely level, completely unbothered by the edge of the blade. "But you have to show them before the bell rings. That way, your opponent can decide if they actually want to risk the fight and continue. Underground doesn’t mean lawless, and it doesn’t mean sloppy."

Jett squeezed, applying a brutal amount of pressure. A sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed through the front rows of the stands. The cheating fighter screamed, dropping the knife, and his crew immediately lost their minds. They jumped the metal barricade, storming the stage with pipes, brass knuckles, and blades, ready to tear Jett apart.

"You have no idea who you’re messing with!" a bald guy at the front shouted, his face red with rage as he squared up. "We’re the Venomous Snakes! You touch one of us, and our whole gang will hunt you down across every province until you’re buried!"

"Venomous Snakes?" Jett sighed, not even shifting his stance as the mob closed in. He looked over his shoulder toward the heavy velvet curtains. "Did they really need to add ’Venomous’ to the front of that? It’s bad enough they’re a joke, but the naming style is generic. It’s our first day back, Darius. Has our reputation seriously gotten this bad while we were away?"

Before the bald guy could even swing his pipe, two of his enforcers went flying backward through the air, their bodies crashing violently into the rows of spectator seats. The crowd erupted into wild cheers and frantic applause as Darius stepped into the light, shaking out his knuckles with a massive grin.

"We’ve been way too passive lately, letting people forget who we are," Darius said, ducking a wild swing from a pipe and driving his fist straight into another guy’s ribs with enough force to lift him off his feet. "It’s time we remind people who runs these docks and who collects the tax. Besides, I have a feeling about these idiots."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify