"Time is everything, Junior." Giulano could hear his father's voice echoing through the steam rising from his body. The water was cold. "Even a great man like me is bound by time. Time lost is never regained, Junior."
The irony wasn't lost on him. His father had been wrong about that last part. Time could be regained, apparently, but only at the cost of everything else. Giulano González had recovered time, and he was seventeen years old again.
But he possessed something kids his age never had: the knowledge of how to build power from nothing, combined with the time to do it right this time.
He'd woken late—past six—and the lost minutes gnawed at him. In his previous life, he'd been up at four-thirty every morning, reviewing intelligence reports and planning moves across multiple continents. Now he had to rebuild those habits in a body that craved teenage sleep and a mind that carried the weight of decades.
The flip phone Danny had left him buzzed against the windowsill. One unread message: "Everything ready. When you want to meet?"
Giulano dried himself with the single towel the orphanage had provided—threadbare but clean—and studied his reflection in the cracked mirror. Marcus Chen's face stared back, but behind those eyes lurked something far more dangerous. West Antiok had no idea what was coming.
"Seems like I need a new home now," he muttered, pulling on fresh clothes. The money from yesterday's job would buy him better accommodations, but location mattered more than luxury. He needed somewhere central, somewhere that sent a message.
His strategy was crystallizing. He didn't want to build from ashes—that took too long, and time was the one resource he refused to waste. The Red Serpents and the Murphies had numbers, territory, and established supply lines. They also had something more valuable: undervalued talent. In every organization, there were soldiers who deserved to be lieutenants, lieutenants who should be captains, captains who could run their own operations.
The key was identifying which Red Serpents and Murphies felt overlooked, underrated, or underutilized. Then he'd offer them something their current leadership never would: real responsibility, real money, and the chance to be part of something bigger than street-corner drug dealing. Luckily, he already had Bishop and Knives, who weren't valued much in the Red Serpents and the Murphies. Danny had found him another asset—a girl named Martha from the Muphies. They only needed to be convinced to join his new empire.
Loyalty bought with fear lasted only as long as the fear. But loyalty earned through opportunity? That built dynasties.
By the time he reached the warehouse, the morning sun had burned away the last traces of mist from the industrial district. The abandoned building Danny had chosen stood like a monument to West Antiok's decay—rusted metal and shattered glass, surrounded by the ghosts of better times. Perfect for a meeting that couldn't afford witnesses.
He arrived early, the way his father had taught him, and found Danny already waiting. But he wasn't alone. Bishop stood near the far wall, still carrying that nervous energy from their first job together. Knives leaned against a concrete pillar, examining his fingernails with studied indifference. And there was Martha—a girl with dark hair and calculating eyes who watched Giulano approach like she was measuring him for a coffin.
"Marcus," Bishop called out, and there was something different in his voice. Not the nervous energy from yesterday, but the confidence of someone who'd survived their first real violence and discovered they had a taste for it.
"This is all we have for now," Danny said, gesturing to the small group. He nodded toward the girl. "This is Martha. She's been working Murphies corners, but she's tired of making pennies while the bosses get rich."
"Danny says you've got something better than corner dealing," Martha said, cutting straight to business. "We're listening."
Giulano studied them carefully. Bishop and Knives he already knew—Bishop with his quick hands, Knives with his silent competence. Danny had proven himself yesterday. And Martha was Danny's pick, which meant she had something valuable to offer.
More importantly, three of them had witnessed what he could do at Tony's Pizza. That gave him leverage money couldn't buy.
"What do you know about the Murphies' protection racket?" he asked Martha directly.
She crossed her arms, studying him with those calculating eyes. "Same shit everywhere. Businesses pay, Murphies collect, most of the money goes up the chain. Street runners like me see maybe one percent of what we bring in."
"And you're fine with that?"
"Hell no," she said, real anger flashing in her voice. "But what choice do I have? Go independent and get crushed, or stay and take scraps while the bosses buy new cars with my work."
Bishop nodded in agreement. "Same with us. Red Serpents, Murphies—they treat us like we're disposable. All the risk, none of the reward."
Giulano pulled out a roll of bills—not all fifty thousand, but enough to get their attention. "What if I told you there was another way?"