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The Hustler’s Gamble 38: Hassan’s fury
Hassan stared at the shattered laptop screen in front of him, his hand still clenched around the glass he had thrown in rage. Club Vortex was gone. Not just the building, but the money, the records, the accounts. Years of careful laundering wiped out overnight. “This is impossible,” one of his men stammered. “No one could’ve—” Hassan’s glare silenced him. “Shut up.” His mind raced. The only people who knew the club’s financial setup were his most trusted men. Could one of them have betrayed him? Or... was it possible? Was Jamal still alive? No. He had seen the attack. The car explosion. The blood. And yet—this was Jamal’s style. Hassan took a deep breath, forcing himself to think. If Jamal was alive, then he had declared war. And war was something Hassan never lost. He turned to his second-in-command, a cold, calculating enforcer named Bashir. “Find out who did this,” Hassan ordered. “And if Jamal is alive...” He smiled darkly. “...bring me his head.” The Setup Meanwhile,
The Hustler’s Gamble 39: into the fire
Jamal knew there was no turning back. Hassan had crossed a line, and now, it was war. The safe house was filled with tension. Maps, weapons, burner phones—everything laid out on the table. Everyone was armed and ready. “We have to move before he does,” Malik said, his jaw clenched. Jamal nodded. “No more sending messages. We end this.” Khalil leaned over the map. “We know where his last stronghold is. That club in Ikoyi—it’s where he operates from now.” Nadine crossed her arms. “He won’t be there alone. He’ll have guards, firepower, and an escape plan.” Jamal smirked. “Then we make sure he doesn’t escape.” Setting the Stage The plan was simple—but deadly. 1. Take out security outside. Silently, efficiently. No alarms. 2. Infiltrate the club. Blend in, move fast 3. Corner Hassan. No way out 4. Finish it. But plans never go exactly as expected. The Last Stand Midnight. The streets outside the club were quiet, but Jamal could feel the weight of unseen eyes. Hassan’s men w
The Hustler’s Gamble 40: The messenger’s game
Jamal froze as the cold metal of the gun barrel pressed against his back. The clack of the safety lever and the slow, deliberate cock of the trigger punctuated the silence in the now-empty club. His heart pounded in his ears, and every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation. For a moment, time seemed to stretch out, the flickering neon lights outside painting erratic shadows on the bloodstained floor. “You really thought it’d be that easy?” the stranger drawled, his voice low and mocking. The tone was venomous, carrying the unmistakable weight of someone who operated on the highest stakes of the criminal underworld. Jamal’s eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but the man’s grip on the gun was unyielding. Slowly, Jamal raised his hands in surrender, his mind churning through possibilities even as he maintained a facade of calm. “Who are you?” Jamal managed to say, his voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. A thin smile spread across the messenger
The Hustler’s Gamble 41: breaking the chain
The safe house was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the computers and the distant murmur of Lagos’ restless streets. Jamal stood in front of the map pinned to the wall, his fingers tracing invisible lines between locations—ports, clubs, hidden warehouses, and offshore accounts. The Broker’s web of influence was vast, but every web had a center. Every empire had a weak point. Malik, Khalil, and Nadine sat around the table, tension thick in the air. The Broker had made their move, forcing Jamal to choose between submission or destruction. But what they didn’t realize was that he never played by the rules of others—he made his own. “We need a plan,” Khalil finally said, breaking the silence. “We don’t just need a plan,” Jamal corrected. “We need a war strategy.” He turned to Malik. “What do we have so far?” Malik leaned forward, flipping open his laptop. “I’ve been pulling every bit of data we have on The Broker’s financials, but most of it is buried under layers of shell compan
The Hustler’s Gamble 42: The web Unraveled
The safe house was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the hum of Malik’s laptop as it processed the decrypted files. Jamal sat motionless, eyes locked on the screen. The list of names stared back at him, a silent revelation that shook him to the core. This wasn’t just about The Broker. This was an entire system, a network spanning Lagos and beyond. Corrupt politicians. Business moguls. High-ranking security officials. People who weren’t just part of the problem—they were the architects of it. Nadine read over his shoulder, her expression darkening. “These aren’t just criminals. These are the people who run Lagos.” Jamal clenched his jaw. “And they’ve been funding the Syndicate, keeping The Broker in power.” Khalil exhaled, running a hand over his face. “So what do we do? We can’t take down a whole damn government.” Jamal leaned back, his mind racing. He had expected this war to be brutal, but he hadn’t realized how deep the roots of corruption went. They weren’t just figh
The Hustler’s Gamble 43: the final play
Jamal sat in the dimly lit warehouse, his fingers drumming against the wooden crate. Tomorrow. That was when everything would come to a head. The Broker’s men, possibly even The Broker himself, would be at the docks for a shipment. It was their last chance to take him down. Malik paced nearby, his frustration barely contained. “This feels like a trap.” Khalil leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Of course it’s a trap. But it’s the only shot we’ve got.” Nadine, sitting on a crate opposite Jamal, exhaled sharply. “So what’s the move?” Jamal’s eyes flickered toward Chidi, still tied to a chair in the corner. The man had been silent for the past hour, his face twisted with defiance. “We use him,” Jamal said. Malik arched an eyebrow. “You’re thinking bait?” Jamal nodded. “The Broker’s people won’t let one of their top guys go missing without looking for him. We give them a reason to show up in force.” Nadine frowned. “That makes things even more dangerous for us.” Jamal’s jaw
The Hustler’s Gamble 44: the trap is set
Jamal leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the laptop screen as Khalil worked his magic, encrypting the message they were about to send. The safe house was silent except for the occasional click of keys and the distant hum of the city outside. “This will get his attention,” Khalil muttered. “A direct threat, wrapped in an invitation.” Jamal exhaled. “It has to. Otherwise, we’re just shouting into the void.” Malik cracked his knuckles. “And if he doesn’t take the bait?” “Then we make him,” Nadine said coldly, loading a fresh clip into her handgun. Jamal glanced at her, then at the message on the screen. A single line of text, sent through an anonymous channel: We have what you’re hiding. Come meet us, or we’ll tear your empire apart. Attached was a fragment of the financial records they had uncovered—just enough to shake The Broker but not enough to make him desperate. Jamal nodded. “Send it.” Khalil hit enter. “It’s done.” Now, all they had to do was wait. Shadows Move H
The Hustler’s Gamble 45: striking back
Jamal sat at the wooden table, staring at the city map Khalil had spread out before them. Red circles marked key locations—warehouses, safe houses, and financial hubs controlled by The Broker’s network. They had spent weeks gathering intel, but now it was time to act. “We lost our element of surprise,” Malik muttered, nursing his wounded arm. “He knows we’re coming.” “Good,” Jamal said, his voice steel. “That means he’ll be watching. And while he’s looking in one direction, we’ll hit him from the other.” Nadine leaned forward. “So what’s the plan?” Jamal tapped one of the circles. “This warehouse in Apapa. It’s where they move their cash. If we burn it, we cripple his money flow.” Khalil smirked. “You planning to rob it?” Jamal shook his head. “No. We’re going to make a statement.” The Infiltration Dressed in dark clothes, the team approached the warehouse just after midnight. The air was thick with the scent of oil and salt from the nearby docks. A few guards patrolled the per
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77: Ghosts in the dark
Jamal sat on the edge of the battered couch in the safe house, his head bowed, hands clasped together. His chest still burned from the heat of the explosion. His ears rang from the sound of the blast, the ghost of it still echoing in his mind. His fingers brushed over a fresh cut on his brow, the sting pulling him back into the present.Khalil paced the room, the tension rolling off him in waves. Nadine sat at the table, nursing a cut on her arm. A bottle of whiskey sat in front of her, untouched.“We had him,” Khalil muttered. His fists were clenched. “We had him in our sights.” Jamal’s jaw tightened. “And he slipped away.”“He won’t stay hidden forever,” Nadine said, her voice sharp. “A man like that can’t resist control for long.”Jamal’s eyes darkened. “That’s what I’m counting on.”The room fell into silence. Rain tapped against the thin windows, a steady rhythm against the sound of their heavy breaths. Jamal’s mind ran through every step of the night. They had gotten close — too
76: the final play and final move
Jamal stood in the darkened hallway of the elite private club in Ikoyi. The black card Amara had given him earlier sat between his fingers, its glossy surface catching the dim light from the crystal chandeliers above. He could feel the weight of the room before he even walked in—the hum of whispered conversations, the tension behind guarded eyes, and the underlying current of danger that ran through the walls like electricity.Malik and Nadine stood behind him, both dressed sharply. Malik wore a dark suit with no tie, his posture relaxed but his eyes cold. Nadine, dressed in a sleek black dress, had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her hand hovered close to the concealed blade strapped to her thigh.“You sure about this?” Malik asked.Jamal’s jaw tightened. “If they want to play, let’s play.”Nadine’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a game, Jamal.”Jamal’s smile was cold. “It’s always a game.”The heavy oak doors at the end of the hallway creaked open. A tall man in a tailored black su
75: a new throne
Jamal stood on the balcony of his penthouse in Ikoyi, overlooking the restless lights of Lagos. The air was thick with humidity, the distant hum of the city’s nightlife vibrating beneath his feet. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the table next to him. He didn’t need the burn of alcohol to feel the weight of what he had done.It was over.The Syndicate was dead.The Broker was gone, taken out in a coordinated strike that left the underworld without a leader for the first time in years. Jamal’s rise to power was no longer a secret whispered in dark corners —it was a fact written in blood.Malik stepped onto the balcony, his expression as sharp as ever. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing in the dark. “The last of the Broker’s men are scattering,” he said. “Some tried to regroup. Khalil handled it.”Jamal’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “And the money?”“Cleaned and secured,” Malik replied. He took a long drag. “The businesses under the Broker’s control—c
74: the gathering storm
Jamal stood at the edge of the waterfront in Victoria Island, the moonlight reflecting off the black waters of the Atlantic. The salty breeze tugged at his jacket, but his mind was far from the restless waves. His focus was on the phone in his hand and the message that had come through barely an hour ago.“Tomorrow night. The Syndicate meets. Be ready.”From The Broker.He had rattled the foundation of Lagos’ underworld. Now The Broker was forcing his hand. A meeting like this wasn’t just a threat—it was a declaration of war.Malik approached, hands in his pockets. “We sure about this?” Jamal’s gaze remained fixed on the water. “He wants to negotiate.” Malik scoffed. “That’s not what this is. It’s a setup.”“I know,” Jamal replied.Malik stepped closer. “Then why are we walking into it?”“Because he wants me to believe I don’t have a choice.”Malik’s eyes darkened. “And do you?”Jamal slipped his phone into his jacket. “We’ll see.”Behind them, Khalil and Nadine stood at the edge of t
73: The broker’s den
Jamal sat in the back seat of the black SUV, his eyes focused on the dark Lagos skyline as they approached the edge of the city. The Broker had finally responded. After months of chasing shadows, breaking down Syndicate operations, and dismantling the power structure beneath him, Jamal had forced The Broker’s hand.Malik drove, his hands tight on the wheel, eyes sharp as they passed through the dimly lit streets. Khalil sat in the passenger seat, his pistol resting on his lap, eyes scanning the road for any signs of a tail. Nadine was seated next to Jamal, her body tense, a compact submachine gun strapped across her chest. Julius sat beside her, hands cuffed, his mouth curled into an amused smile.“You nervous?” Julius asked, his tone mocking. Jamal didn’t look at him. “No.”Julius chuckled. “You should be.”The meeting location was in a private estate deep in Ikoyi—a secluded, high-security compound surrounded by electric fences and private security. Julius had arranged the meeting u
72: the broker’s move
Jamal sat in the safe house, the dim light from a single bulb casting shadows across the room. His hands were pressed together, fingers steepled under his chin. The cold steel of his gun rested on the table beside him. Khalil stood by the window, peering through the blinds, while Malik paced the room, his restless energy palpable. Nadine sat on the edge of the couch, her face tense, arms crossed.They had taken out Bako. That was supposed to weaken the Syndicate. Instead, it felt like they had stirred a hornet’s nest.“They’ll hit back,” Khalil said, his voice low. “Hard.”“They already have.” Nadine’s voice was cold. She gestured to the television mounted on the wall.Jamal’s eyes flicked toward the screen. The news anchor’s expression was grim as footage of burning buildings and police barricades filled the screen.“A wave of coordinated attacks swept through Lagos overnight. Multiple businesses and political offices have been targeted, including a car bomb outside the governor’s ma
71: Crashing the meeting
Jamal stood in the shadows outside the estate, his eyes fixed on the tall, wrought-iron gates. Beyond them, the Syndicate’s council was gathering. The estate was massive—a colonial-style mansion set back from the road, hidden behind manicured hedges and an army of security guards. Floodlights lit up the driveway, where black SUVs were lined in perfect rows.Khalil crouched beside him, adjusting the scope on his rifle. “Six guards at the entrance,” he said. “More on the perimeter.”“Cameras on the west and east walls,” Malik added, positioned on Jamal’s other side. He had a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.Nadine knelt behind them, her eyes narrowed. “We could hit them from the east side. Blind spot between the cameras.”Jamal shook his head. “They’ll expect that.” His gaze darkened. “We go in through the front.” Khalil frowned. “That’s suicide.”Jamal’s smile was cold. “No. It’s a message.”Nadine’s mouth tightened. “You sure about this?”Jamal’s eyes sharpened. “It’s the onl
70: A message in blood
Jamal stood at the edge of the rooftop, the lights of Lagos stretching out beneath him in a sea of glittering gold and white. The night air was thick and humid, clinging to his skin like a second layer. His hands rested on the cold steel of the railing as he stared out over the city.Behind him, Malik, Khalil, and Nadine were gathered around a table covered in blueprints, weapons, and burner phones. The safe house was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the low buzz of tension in the air.Malik tapped a finger on the blueprint. “The estate’s layout is tight. No obvious security, but that’s a trap in itself.”Khalil leaned over the table. “We’d need to breach the perimeter fast and quiet. If we trip an alarm, we’ll have every hired gun in Lagos coming down on us.”Jamal’s gaze was hard. “We’re not breaching anything.”Malik’s head snapped toward him. “What?”Jamal turned from the window. “We’re not sneaking in. We’re walking through the front door.”Khalil frowned. “That’s
69: loose ends
Jamal sat in the back seat of the black SUV, his eyes fixed on the dark cityscape rushing past the window. The night was quiet now, but the adrenaline still hummed in his veins. His hands were steady, but his mind was spinning.The Broker was dead.But his last words haunted Jamal.“You think this ends with me? I’m just the beginning.”Jamal rubbed his hands over his face. He should feel relief. This was the moment he’d been working toward for years—taking down the Syndicate’s shadowy puppet master. But instead of satisfaction, there was only a growing sense of unease.“We need to regroup,” Malik said from the seat beside him. His face was hard, his tone sharp. Jamal lowered his hands. “We’re not finished.”Malik’s gaze sharpened. “You don’t believe him, do you?”Jamal’s jaw tightened. “He had no reason to lie.”Khalil turned from the front seat, his expression grim. “What are you thinking?”Jamal leaned back, his fingers drumming on his knee. “If The Broker was part of something bigg
