Chapter 136: "How Exactly Is That Fair?"

Jordan twisted his body at the last possible instant, tucking into a roll before crashing hard onto the concrete floor.

Even so, pain shot through his shoulders and back, stealing the breath from his lungs.

’Argh... fuck.’

’The sections of pipe nearest the net are coated with oil.’

’I can’t traverse it directly.’

’I’ll have to build momentum before the oiled section and swing into the net instead.’

’Fuck whoever designed this course.’

Looking up, he saw the men had already reached the center of the chamber.

"There he is!" one shouted.

"Stop him!" another roared, lunging forward.

"Engage him now!" a third yelled as he charged alongside the others.

Jordan had barely regained his footing when the men descended on him.

Already seething from his failed attempt to reach the coin — and even more enraged by the sight of his own men turning against him — his temper snapped almost instantly.

"You wanna fight me?!" he roared. "Then fight me, you traitorous fuckers!"

His hand shot out, seizing one man by the collar before hurling him headfirst into another.

WHAM!

Before either could recover, Jordan’s boot slammed into a third man’s abdomen, folding him in half, while his elbow crashed into a fourth attacker’s jaw with bone-jarring force.

"Fucking filthy rats!"

"You dare betray House Marchetti?!"

"The House you swore yourselves to?!"

The center of the chamber erupted into violence. Bodies crashed against the reinforced chain-link walls with deafening clangs, while Jordan’s furious curses echoed through the maze.

Even so, more men kept pouring into the chamber.

Jordan couldn’t help frowning as yet another group charged at him through the crimson gloom.

’Fuck... just how many of them did Natalia plant in this maze?’

Still, Jordan hadn’t become the heir to House Marchetti without reason.

Every man who stepped within his reach was met with a savage punch or a devastating kick powerful enough to leave lasting internal injuries.

At last, after absorbing enough brutal blows and realizing the fight was hopelessly one-sided, the men abandoned their reckless assault altogether.

Some retreated just beyond Jordan’s reach and quickly huddled together, whispering frantically among themselves.

"Dude, this isn’t working."

"Where the hell is Mister Nazario?"

"Probably got dropped somewhere far from here."

"What do we even do now?"

"I don’t know, mate. Why don’t we just grab the coin first? Without the coin, the Young Boss can’t win. We still get the job done."

"Bloody good idea. Let’s get that damn coin."

Having settled on a new plan, they immediately scattered toward the chain-link walls instead of charging Jordan again.

"The coin!" one shouted.

"Get the coin first!" another yelled.

One after another, they hooked their fingers into the mesh and began climbing rapidly toward the ventilation pipes overhead.

Jordan spotted their intentions immediately.

"Bloody leeches," he muttered. "You’re not stealing my coin."

He lunged forward, grabbed the nearest climber by the back of his trousers, and yanked him violently to the floor before driving a crushing fist straight into his face.

THWACK!

Without missing a beat, Jordan seized another climber by the ankle and ripped him off the wall.

THWACK!

Unfortunately, when he looked up again, two men had already reached the overhead pipes. They swung forward hand over hand, excitement spreading across their faces as they closed in on the suspended net.

Then—

Slip.

"Argh!"

"Haaaargh!"

Just like Jordan before them, the moment their hands reached the oil-coated section of pipe, their grips gave way, and both men plunged straight to the concrete floor.

Unlike Jordan, however, neither had anticipated the fall. They crashed flat onto their backs with sickening force.

THUD! THUD!

"Argh... fuck..."

"What the hell was that?"

"Why the fuck is it so slippery?"

Jordan shot them a look of open contempt.

’Stupid suckers.’

Not wasting another heartbeat, he sprinted back to the nearest wall and climbed toward another ventilation pipe before anyone could recover.

This time, he knew exactly what awaited him. When he reached the section just before the oil-coated pipe, he stopped completely.

Tightening every muscle in his arms, he gripped the pipe with all his strength before beginning to swing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Below him, the men on the floor watched with bated breaths.

On the fourth swing, Jordan released himself in one explosive motion.

"Hurgh!"

His hands slammed into the thick rope net.

He caught it.

The entire net jerked violently beneath his weight.

CREAAAK!

For one stunned heartbeat, every man below froze.

Some nearly erupted into cheers out of long-ingrained habit at their Young Boss’s incredible feat... before they suddenly remembered whose side they had chosen.

The others recovered faster.

Cursing under their breath, they scrambled back toward the walls, desperate to climb after Jordan.

Jordan ignored them.

Using every ounce of strength in his shoulders and back, he hauled himself higher, reaching for the brass coin trapped inside the net.

Then—

He felt something shift.

’What the—?’

He never finished the thought.

Unable to withstand both his weight and the tremendous force he exerted pulling against it, the heavy steel pegs anchoring the net suddenly tore free from the concrete ceiling.

One peg came free.

POP!

Then another.

POP!

In the next instant, the entire net ripped away from the ceiling before collapsing all at once.

SNAP!

"Fuck!"

Jordan reacted on pure instinct.

His hand shot forward and snatched the brass coin from the collapsing net before gravity claimed him.

Clutching it tightly against his chest, he braced for the impact.

THUD!

Dust exploded across the floor as Jordan crashed onto the concrete, the heavy rope net slamming down beside him.

The second fall hurt considerably more than the first. This time, his back struck the concrete before anything else.

"Urgh..." he muttered irritably beneath his breath. "Did they reduce the budget or something...?"

Around him, the other men immediately noticed the coin clutched in his hand.

Abandoning the walls and ventilation pipes altogether, they spread out and advanced slowly, forming a tightening circle around him.

"Oh, Young Boss," one said with a mocking smile, "what rotten luck."

"That really was an impressive stunt."

One of them extended a hand.

"Now hand over the coin and forfeit the round. Then we won’t have to do this the hard way."

"You know us, Young Boss," another added. "We’ve trained together for years. Let’s keep this easy."

Their words only fueled Jordan’s fury.

Now that they all stood together before him, he finally had the chance to count them.

’Two.’

’Four.’

’Eight.’

’Eight fucking traitors out of the eleven soldiers who entered this round.’

’And God knows whether the other three are involved too.’

’Marvelous work, Natalia.’

Forcing the bitter thought aside, Jordan tightened his grip around the brass coin before rising smoothly to his feet. He lifted a challenging eyebrow at the eight men surrounding him.

"You think eight of you are enough to take this coin from me?"

Before anyone could answer, another voice drifted lazily through the chamber from directly behind him.

"Well, of course not."

Jordan stiffened instantly.

He recognized that voice without needing to turn around.

The mere thought of facing Nazario filled him with disgust. Keeping his back perfectly straight, he spoke through clenched teeth.

"You’re finally here?"

Nazario emerged from the shadows looking as sleepy and unhurried as ever, as though he had strolled in rather than sprinted.

"How could I miss the fun?" he said with a sneer. "Leaving just these eight idiots to take you down on their own? Pfft. That’d be far too insulting to the heir of House Marchetti, wouldn’t you agree, brother?"

Jordan let out a quiet sigh.

Nazario’s lazy theatrics were exactly why they had never gotten along. Jordan had never been able to stand them.

Still...

They were brothers.

Standing here, knowing his own brother had willingly participated in this betrayal, cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

"Nazario..." he said, his voice low and rough. "Did you really have to do it like this? If you truly wanted to surpass me, wouldn’t it have been better to beat me fairly?"

Nazario sauntered forward at an almost leisurely pace, circling outside the ring of men until he finally stopped directly opposite Jordan.

"Oh dear. Look who’s talking about fairness."

Tilting his head, he smiled faintly.

"Aren’t you Father’s first son? His precious heir? You’ve soaked up all that attention and glory your entire life while I’m always somehow second best... How exactly is that fair?"

Jordan regarded him with equal parts annoyance and pity.

"So that’s what this is about? You’re desperate to take my place?"

Nazario lifted his gaze toward the darkness above, as though the answer were written somewhere on the ceiling.

"Yeah... I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Let me see what else there is..."

A slow smirk spread across his face.

"Ah, I guess I also want to prove just how useless and completely undeserving you are of leading this House."

He chuckled softly, clearly amused by his own words.

"You see, Jordan, you’re not just a big softie, but a total idiot. You couldn’t even figure out who was stabbing you in the back... and you weren’t even capable of protecting the fools who chose to support a loser like you."

Jordan’s jaw tightened.

Something about Nazario’s cryptic words sent a cold warning through him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Nazario merely shrugged.

"Well..." he said lightly, "that part’s for you to figure out yourself."

Stepping back, he leaned lazily against one of the chain-link walls and folded his arms, looking every bit like a spectator settling in for a show.

"Now then... fellas. What are you waiting for? Strip my brother of that coin and bring it to me."