The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 77

Nico is dead, and his empire is shattered. The city has fallen into chaos, and the smaller crews have risen to claim the pieces of the underworld he once ruled. Luis, broken and grieving, watches as everything they built together crumbles into ashes and dust. The fire Nico started has consumed everything, and now the city is left to burn.

The reign of kings is over. All that remains are the ruins of an empire built on blood.

The dawn broke over the city, casting a pale, grey light over streets littered with debris and bodies. The Westside, once a symbol of Nico’s control and dominance, was now a wasteland, echoing the aftermath of violence. The battle was over. The war lost. And Nico, the man who had ruled this city with an iron fist, lay dead among the ruins of his empire.

Luis stood in the middle of the battlefield, his body exhausted, his mind numb from the chaos that had just unfolded. Blood stained his hands and clothes; the gun he had clutched so tightly is now hanging limply by his side. He had watched it all—the rise and fall of Nico, the man he had followed through thick and thin. Now, all that remained were the pieces of an empire shattered beyond repair.

Luis kneeled by Nico’s body, his heart heavy with grief and anger. Nico lay still, his chest riddled with gunshots, the blood pooling beneath him a stark contrast to the pale light of morning. For years, they had fought side by side and weathered every storm the city had thrown at them, but in the end, it had all been for nothing. The city, the power, the empire—it had all crumbled like dust in the wind.

Luis looked up, his eyes scanning the broken landscape. Angelo’s men had pulled back, claiming victory over Nico’s forces, but the silence that followed was deafening. The city had been torn apart by violence, and now, without Nico to rule it, chaos reigned.

“It’s over,” Luis whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

The Westside was lost. The underworld was fractured beyond recognition, with no one strong enough to hold it together. In the vacuum left by Nico’s death, the smaller crews would fight for control, tearing the city apart in their hunger for power. But none of them would be able to fill the void Nico had left behind. The city was broken, and so was Luis.

Days passed, though it felt like time had slowed to a crawl.

Luis had retreated to the far edges of the city, far from the carnage of the Westside. He had seen enough blood, enough death. The city had become a tomb, filled with the ghosts of men who had once ruled it, men like Mackin, Santoro, and now Nico. They had all tried to claim the crown, and all had been consumed by the very thing they sought to control.

He sat in a dimly lit bar, nursing a drink and trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The news of Nico’s death had spread quickly, and the city had responded exactly as Luis had feared. The smaller crews had begun fighting among themselves, trying to seize what little power remained. The Eastside, the Dockyard, the Southside—it was all falling apart. The peace, fragile as it had been, was gone.

Luis stared down at his glass, his reflection staring back at him, hollow and distant. He had followed Nico through every step of this bloody journey, believing that somehow they could control the beast that was the city. But the truth had been there all along. The city wasn’t meant to be controlled. It was a force of nature, chaotic and untamable, and it had devoured them both.

The door to the bar swung open, and Luis tensed instinctively, his hand hovering near his gun. Old habits died hard, even now. But it wasn’t an enemy that entered—it was one of Nico’s old lieutenants, a man named Vito. He looked as worn and beaten as Luis felt, his eyes hollowed out from the weeks of fighting.

“Luis,” Vito said, his voice rough as he approached. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Luis didn’t move. He simply raised his glass, motioning for Vito to sit. “What for? There’s nothing left.”

Vito sat down heavily, glancing around the bar before turning his attention back to Luis. “The city’s falling apart. Angelo’s trying to hold the Westside, but the Dockyard crew is pushing in. The Eastside’s a mess, and the Southside is barely holding on. Everyone’s waiting to see what happens next.”

Luis scoffed, shaking his head. “What happens next? More blood, more bodies. That’s all that ever happens.”

Vito leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper. “They’re looking for someone, Luis. Someone to take over. Nico’s gone, and the other crews—they’re not strong enough. There’s a power vacuum, and the city’s waiting for someone to fill it.”

Luis met Vito’s gaze, his eyes hardening. “I’m not that someone.”

Vito frowned, clearly frustrated. “You could be, though. You were with Nico from the start. You know this city better than anyone. If you don’t step up, it’s just going to be a bloodbath.”

Luis took a long drink, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the pain that had settled deep in his chest. He had been by Nico’s side through it all, through every victory, every defeat, and every betrayal. And now Nico was gone. The city had taken him, just like it had taken everyone before him.

“I’m done, Vito,” Luis said quietly. “The city’s eaten enough of us. Let it burn.”

Vito stared at him for a long moment, disappointment flashing in his eyes. He stood slowly, shaking his head. “If you don’t take control, someone worse will. You know that.”

Luis didn’t respond and didn’t move. He just stared at his glass, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Vito left the bar without another word, leaving Luis alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the ghosts of a war that had left him broken.

The city continued to tear itself apart.

With no one strong enough to hold the underworld together, the crews splintered, forming new alliances, betraying old ones, and fighting for whatever scraps of power they could find. Angelo’s control over the Westside was tenuous at best, constantly challenged by rival factions. The Dockyard crew, emboldened by Nico’s death, moved aggressively into new territories, but their victories were short-lived as other crews rose to challenge them.

Every day, more bodies were found in alleyways, on the docks, in the abandoned warehouses that had once been bustling centres of power. The violence was everywhere, a constant reminder that the underworld had no king, only chaos.

And in the midst of it all, Luis watched from the shadows.

He stayed far from the centre of the fighting, moving between safe houses, avoiding the reach of those who might seek him out. He didn’t want power; he didn’t want to claim the throne that had destroyed so many before him. He was tired—tired of the blood, tired of the violence, tired of a city that seemed destined to consume everyone who touched it.

But the city didn’t let go easily.

One night, as Luis sat alone in a dimly lit room, the sound of footsteps outside caught his attention. He reached for his gun instinctively, but the door opened before he could stand.

A figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the faint light from the street outside. It was a woman—her face familiar but older now, hardened by the years. It took Luis a moment to recognise her.

“Maria?” Luis asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Maria, Nico’s younger sister, stepped into the room, her eyes sharp and calculating. She had always stayed on the periphery of Nico’s empire, never fully involved in the violence but always aware. She had been watching, waiting.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Maria said, her voice cool as she approached. “The city’s in chaos, Luis. It needs someone to take control.”

Luis shook his head, the old weariness settling in again. “I’m not that someone, Maria. I told Vito the same thing. I’m done.”

Maria crossed her arms, her gaze never leaving his. “And what? You’re just going to walk away? Let the city burn.”

Luis looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Maybe that’s what it deserves.”

Maria stepped closer, her voice lowering. “Nico’s dead. I know that. And I know what this city has taken from you. But you and I both know that if you don’t step up, someone worse will. Someone who’ll burn this city to the ground just to wear the crown.”

Luis didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The weight of everything—of Nico’s death, of the battles they had fought, of the years he had spent trying to control the uncontrollable—pressed down on him like a physical force. He wanted to walk away, to leave it all behind, but deep down, he knew Maria was right. The city was still hungry, still devouring everything in its path. And if he didn’t step in, someone far worse than Nico would rise to fill the void.

“I don’t want it,” Luis said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maria softened slightly, her expression filled with something close to understanding. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you can walk away.”

Luis sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the floor. He had spent years fighting for control, for power, and now, at the end of it all, he was left with nothing but ashes. But the city didn’t stop. It kept moving, kept demanding more.

And maybe, just maybe, Maria was right. If he didn’t step up, someone else would. Someone who didn’t care about the blood they spilt or the lives they destroyed. Someone who would let the city burn just to claim the throne.

Luis stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Maria nodded, her expression unreadable. “Good. We’ll need to move quickly.”

Luis exhaled, his mind already working through the next steps. He didn’t want the crown, didn’t want the city, but he couldn’t let it fall into the hands of someone worse. He had seen too much and lost too much to let that happen.

The city was still burning. But maybe, just maybe, he could stop it from consuming everything.