Location: Saint Mary's Church — East End, 11:12 a.m.
The air inside the church felt heavier than the coffins.
Three of them. Lined in front of the altar. Each one a closed casket.
Shotgun damage does that.
The pews were full. Not with believers—but with killers dressed in suits. Chains tucked, glocks holstered, sorrow fake.
They weren't here to mourn. They were here to measure.
Street Law #17: A funeral is just a meeting with guns you hide in your jacket.
Big Smoke sat in the front row. Dark sunglasses. Black trench coat. A gold ring glinting on every finger like power he never gave back.
Next to him was María Delgado, queenpin from the south side, veiled in black lace. Even her silence had a price tag.
Behind them, every corner boss from downtown to the Heights showed face. Not out of respect.
Out of fear.
This wasn't just a funeral. It was a scoreboard.
---
Location: Outside Saint Mary's – 11:37 a.m.
Dre leaned on a rusted Chevy parked across the street, watching the procession unfold like a movie he already knew the ending to.
Tone stood beside him, freshly stitched up. His Glock tucked in the back of his jeans felt like it had weight again.
"You know who them boys were?" Dre asked.
Tone nodded. "Southbridge hitters. Not locals. Meaning someone outta town put that call in."
"You think it's Smoke?"
Tone didn't answer.
Because he knew. Of course it was Smoke.
But saying it out loud meant declaring war. And war meant choosing which part of your soul you were okay losing.
Tre was in the backseat, hoodie over his head, staring at the sky like it owed him answers.
---
Location: Church Basement – Same Time
Shade lit a cigarette in the back hallway, leaned against a soda machine that hadn't worked since '08.
"He gon' make a move," he said without looking.
From the shadows stepped out Priest, the cartel's quietest killer. Face scarred. Voice gone. His reply was a simple nod.
Shade flicked ash and sighed.
"We give Tone a week. Either he bends… or we break him."
---
Location: Graveyard — 12:22 p.m.
The coffins were lowered. Dirt hit the wood like raindrops from hell.
Tone stood by himself, off to the side. No prayers. No tears. Just silence.
The preacher said something about peace. Tone heard none of it.
He was busy watching Smoke.
Smoke was laughing at something María whispered. Real casual. Real disrespectful.
Tone clenched his jaw.
Dre stepped up beside him.
"You sure you ready?" Dre asked.
Tone didn't respond. He just reached into his coat… and handed Dre a folded piece of paper.
"What's this?"
"A list."
Dre opened it.
Nine names.
All crossed out—except one.
At the bottom: "Big Smoke. Final Chapter."
---
Street Law #1: Never write a name down unless you're ready to die for what comes next.
---
Location: Back of the Church — 12:49 p.m.
As the crowd started to thin, a black Bentley pulled up smooth. Out stepped Detective Marlo Reyes—not in uniform, not exactly out of it either.
Clean-cut, gold chain under his collar, gun holstered but always easy to reach.
He walked past the hearse, hands in pockets, nodding to no one.
He was here for intel, not condolences.
He found Tone by the gate.
"Hell of a turnout," Marlo said.
Tone didn't even glance at him. "You here to ask questions?"
"I'm here to give advice."
Tone lit a cigarette.
"Don't start a war you can't finish."
Tone took a long drag.
"I ain't start nothin'. I'm just the last man standing."
Marlo nodded slowly. "That's what they all say… right before the bullets start writing poetry."
Then he turned, got back in his Bentley, and drove off like a man who knew he'd be back soon—with a body to ID.
---
Location: Dre's Basement – Later That Night
Tre sat at the table, taking apart a handgun. His hands were slower than his thoughts. Every click and snap was like a drumline in his chest.
Dre watched from the couch, bottle in hand.
"You scared?" he asked.
Tre didn't lie.
"A little."
Dre nodded. "Good. That means you ain't stupid."
Then he stood and tossed Tre a burner phone.
"When it rings, you move. No questions. No hesitation."
Tre caught it, stared at the screen. Empty.
"You gon' call me?"
Dre cracked his neck.
"Nah. Tone will."
---
Location: Smoke's Warehouse – Midnight
Big Smoke stood over a table full of guns and blueprints. The city spread before him like a chessboard.
He pointed to a block circled in red.
"That's where we hit next. Clean sweep. No witnesses."
Shade looked up.
"What about the Brick?"
Smoke smiled slow. "Tone can keep his little legend. For now."
He stepped away from the map and toward the open window, the skyline of the city flickering like teeth.
"But when I take it… I want him alive to see it."
---