80. DESTROY

The night was thick with silence, save for the faint hum of the city in the distance. Shadows stretched long across the room, flickering under the dim light of a single lamp. The air was cold, stale, and heavy with anticipation. The man sat in the center of the room, his chair facing the large windows overlooking the sprawling city below.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his chair as he watched the lights of the city blink like dying stars. His mind was sharp, calculating every possible outcome, every move that would send Murad’s empire crumbling into dust. He wasn’t impulsive like the others, those hot-blooded fools who let their emotions cloud their judgment. No. He was patient. Patient and meticulous.

Murad had been a thorn in his side for too long. A name whispered with reverence, a man who ruled the underworld with an iron fist. The mere mention of Murad was enough to make grown men cower. His empire was vast, sprawling like a web across the city, untouchable to most. But to him? It was nothing more than a challenge, a game he intended to win.

"Murad," he muttered to himself, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The mighty king of the underworld. What a pity it will be to watch you fall."

He stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow against the wall. The room felt colder now, as if his very presence drained the warmth from the air. Slowly, deliberately, he walked over to the table where a collection of photographs and documents lay scattered. At the center of it all was a picture of Murad, a candid shot taken from afar. It captured him in his element—powerful, commanding, feared.

The man’s lips curled into a smile. "Everyone has a weakness," he whispered. "Even you, Murad."

His eyes drifted to another photo, one that featured a young girl—Taliya. She was the key to everything. It had been surprisingly easy to take her, to plant the seed of panic in Murad’s carefully constructed world. A single move, and Murad was already off balance, scrambling to react. And that was the beauty of it all. The more Murad thrashed, the deeper he sank into the trap.

"You didn’t even see it coming, did you?" he mused, his voice a soft chuckle. "So focused on your empire, your power… you forgot to protect what matters most."

He picked up Taliya’s photo and held it between his fingers, studying her face. She was innocent, unaware of the storm brewing around her. But that didn’t matter. She was a tool, a pawn in a much larger game. And pawns, after all, were meant to be sacrificed.

The man’s fingers tightened around the edges of the photo before he tossed it back onto the table. His plan was already in motion, every piece falling into place. And when the time came, Murad would be forced to choose between his empire and the girl. It was the kind of decision that broke men, that twisted them into something unrecognizable.

"You think you can save her," he said softly, as if speaking directly to Murad. "But you can’t. Not without losing everything you’ve built. And when that moment comes, when you’re standing on the edge of ruin, I’ll be there to watch you fall."

He turned away from the table, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out the window once more. The city stretched before him, vast and indifferent. It was his playground, and soon, it would be his kingdom. But for now, he had to be patient.

"Murad is already unraveling," he thought, a cold satisfaction settling in his chest. "The harder he fights, the more he loses. It’s only a matter of time before the cracks in his empire become too deep to repair."

He could imagine it now—the look of desperation in Murad’s eyes as he realized the full extent of the trap. The anger, the helplessness, the fear. It would be beautiful, poetic even. A man who had built his life on control, losing it all in the blink of an eye.

The man’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence. He walked over, glancing at the screen. It was a message from one of his men. We have eyes on Murad. He’s meeting with Uncle Hashim. Should we move in?

He smiled, shaking his head. Not yet, he typed back. Let him believe he still has a chance.

He set the phone down and leaned against the table, his mind already racing with possibilities. Murad was predictable, driven by his need to protect those close to him. And that was his greatest weakness. The man would exploit it, twist the knife until Murad had no choice but to break.

But it wasn’t just about Murad. No, this was about power. Real power. The kind that came from controlling everything and everyone around you. The kind that made men like Murad irrelevant, nothing more than footnotes in history.

He thought back to the day he had first laid eyes on Murad, back when he was still just another player in the game. Murad had been untouchable then, his name synonymous with fear and respect. But even then, the man had seen the cracks, the weaknesses. And he had known, even then, that Murad’s time would come.

Now, that time was here. And the man was ready.

His fingers traced the edge of a notebook on the table, filled with information—plans, names, locations. Every detail meticulously documented. It was all part of the larger picture, the puzzle he had been piecing together for years. And now, with Taliya in his grasp, the final piece had fallen into place.

Murad thought he could fight back, that he could outmaneuver him. But that was the beauty of the plan—Murad was already too deep, too blinded by his own desperation to see the truth. He had already lost, and he didn’t even know it yet.

The man’s smile widened, a cold, chilling grin. "Enjoy your last moments of power, Murad," he whispered. "Because soon, you’ll be nothing but a memory."

And with that, he turned back to the window, watching the city below with a sense of ownership. It was all his now, even if they didn’t know it yet.