Hell's Kitchen, located in Manhattan (New York's most prosperous district) was like a shadow beneath the sunlight, a chaotic breeding ground for cri where the rules of civilized society didn't hold as much sway as one might imagine.
The thugs and gangsters roaming the streets preferred to settle disputes with fists and violence.
As night fell, this gang-infested area took on a unique vitality... Streetwalkers in revealing clothing, low-level gang mbers peddling drugs, and nacing tattooed brutes erged like nocturnal creatures in the dilapidated slums.
Of course, this was only the life of those at the bottom... inconspicuous and insignificant like worker ants toiling for the gang bosses who controlled the streets, earning ager wages to scrape by in this lawless land...
...
~Hellfire Club~
Wesley sat in a private booth on the second floor, his refined face wearing a faint smile...
Since Kingpin's death, he had inherited the cri lord's entire empire. Under Sean's direction, he had relinquished most of the illegal businesses and territories to the Hand and the Irish mob, using the proceeds to launder and transition his assets.
Jas Wesley (once the behind-the-scenes assistant who diligently managed Kingpin's corporate affairs) had now beco a prominent real estate tycoon in New York.
No longer needing to grovel or plaster on fake smiles, Wesley, with his vast wealth and empire, only had to remain loyal to one person... his young boss.
"Mr. Jas, the xican cartel isn't happy with the distribution shares you proposed. Since Kingpin's death, the Cohn brothers have grown increasingly arrogant. They've even boasted that Hell's Kitchen will soon be theirs." A nervous informant delivered the news.
Rumors about this unassuming man swirled throughout Hell's Kitchen, with bars buzzing about how he had supposedly taken down Kingpin and Bullseye in a thrilling power struggle.
The stories were so dramatic and convoluted that they almost seed believable. Whenever Wesley overheard these tall tales, he could only laugh wryly...
The truth was, he had done nothing... his current position had been handed to him by his young employer.
"The Cohn brothers are unhappy with my terms? Fine. Tell Vladimir and Anatoly that if they take care of the Cohns, I'll hand them the port's smuggling operations..."
Wesley poured a glass of red wine for the informant, adjusting his glasses with a gentle smile, "...There's plenty of business in Hell's Kitchen. The Hand, the Irish, the xicans... they've taken the best territories, but they're never satisfied. They fight like rabid dogs, leaving no scraps for anyone else..."
"...That's no way to do business. The pie should be shared so it grows bigger. Don't you agree?"
The informant nodded reflexively.
He was just a small-ti player selling information to survive. In New York's underworld, countless like him scurried around doing errands for the big shots...
"I gave up Kingpin's illegal operations, smuggling and heroin factories... I sold them all. So now, many think that without my enforcers, I'm no longer fearso. That without those territories, my dignity can be trampled. But they don't realize... I own 80% of Hell's Kitchen's land. Their smuggling ships, their warehouse facilities... they're all mine!"
Wesley sipped the crimson liquid and exhaled softly, "...My boss once said, 'Being a gangster has no future. Be the one who divides the pie, who sets the rules...' I don't touch illegal trades because I don't want to dirty my hands. As a law-abiding citizen of New York, how could I possibly deal drugs or smuggle contraband?"
Leaning back, the seemingly mild-mannered man radiated a sharp, intimidating aura.
He then stared at the trembling informant and flatly said, "Spread the word: from today onward, anyone doing business in Hell's Kitchen follows my rules. Otherwise, I guarantee not a single crate of their smuggled goods leaves the port, and their drug stockpiles will rot before they're sold!"
"...You'll make enemies of everyone, Mr. Jas." The informant's voice shook. This man was insane, "Every gang in Hell's Kitchen will turn against you!"
"No. After tonight, Hell's Kitchen will answer to one voice." Wesley smiled.
His young boss had already cleared all obstacles.
The informant left with mixed emotions, already imagining the chaos his ssage would unleash.
This unassuming man who had usurped Kingpin's empire was essentially robbing every gang in Hell's Kitchen. Those vicious thugs would never tolerate soone reaching into their pockets... not even Kingpin had dared to go this far.
Wesley finished his wine, recalling his boss's promise: the new ruler of Hell's Kitchen, the next emperor of New York's underworld...
Even for soone as composed as him, the thought was exhilarating.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed his boss, "Everything's ready. Daredevil's team has mobilized, they plan to rescue Danny Rand and blow up the entire building."
The voice on the other end was slightly breathless, accompanied by faint feminine moans.
Wesley couldn't help feeling awkward... his boss certainly had... stamina.
"Uh..."
A grunt...
"I won't disturb your... workout further." Swallowing his gratitude, Wesley hung up...
.....
~The other side of Hell's Kitchen~
Inside Midland Circle's lounge, Sean stood shirtless before the floor-to-ceiling windows...
After tonight, this building would be gone, and with it, the power structures of the remaining Hand leaders.
"Five fingers can't compare to one fist," he murmured.
Turning, he eyed Elektra who sat on the bed with sheets draped over her exquisite form.
"The Hand will have only one leader from now on," he declared, "You, Elektra Natchios, as the Black Sky."
Her dark hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, Elektra let out a rare laugh, her usually cold voice now laced with warmth, "Everything is yours anyway."
Glancing at the clock, Sean said calmly, "Sever your past, Elektra. It's ti I t Danny Rand... to open that door and see these legendary Dragon Bones that grant immortality and resurrection..."
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