? Sit ?
A cold draft slipped through the broken windows of the abandoned warehouse, stirring dust across the cracked floor. A bunch of boys—barely fourteen, maybe fifteen—stood in a loose semicircle. Very few were younger, around ten or eleven, sitting close to each other to feel bigger compared to the others.
Vito from the Red Corner, looked better than the last time. His cheeks weren’t as hollow, his posture less shaky.
Beside him were other boys, the self-declared leaders of a bunch of gangs—some old, some new—that had copied the Wolves’ naming style— the Panthers and the Scorpions.
Children...
Pretending to be kings.
Few were shy. Others were glaring at each other, remembering old debts, fights, history.
"Still remember me, punk?" one pointed. "You rushed me last week!"
"Got a problem with that?" the accused boy said, cracking his knuckles.
"Hey! You over there! What happened yesterday ain't over!" another shouted.
"We've been at each other for months now. Stop acting like a princess."
Fights were inches apart from erupting... but they didn't.
Because the worst of them all was leaning against the wall. Vito.
The other boys kept a cautious distance from him. Out of fear.
The Red Corner kids reputation speaking for itself in his gaze fixed on them.
But his mind was somewhere else.
On the boy who reminded him where he stood.
And there he was.
The tension dissolved the moment Leo stepped into the warehouse.
At his entrance— a simple silhouette against the rising sun— every one of them stiffened.
A little way off, four other figures hid behind a crumbling brick building.
Their heads stacked like an uneven totem pole.
Pinch at the bottom.
Lino perched over him.
Mira above Lino.
Tonno towering awkwardly at the top.
Tonno squinted.
“He told us not to come. You think they’ll try something funny?”
Lino didn’t look away from the warehouse.
“I don't think. I know, meathead.”
Tonno frowned.
“Then why are we peeking? Shouldn’t we be helping him?”
Mira rested her chin on Lino’s head, eyes sharp, almost excited.
“It’s a leaders-only meeting. Not just gangs. Representatives of groups of children from different streets. Leo's idea. And it doesn’t matter. He’ll flatten them if they try.”
Pinch looked uninterested, thinking. “His fights are boring.”
Then, smirked to himself. “But hey, he wins.”
Lino murmured,
“Still, stay sharp. In case cops come or other gangs or something.”
The others nodded together—quieter now, more serious.
From their hiding spot, the warehouse looked like a stage.
And Leo had just stepped into the spotlight.
Vito’s stomach twisted.
He remembered everything— the most shameful fight of his life.
The humiliation that burned deeper than any bruised rib.
Not one hit.
Not one.
Even with Jax beside him, both swinging with everything they had.
“Thank you all for coming,” Leo said, his voice calm, almost gentle— a softness that made the room more tense, not less. "A lot of you came, more than I expected. I appreciate it."
He walked toward the center of the warehouse, every step measured.
"We never had it easy since day one. Since we were born. All of us here. We're all poor and living in the worst place in the city. Some of us aren't just poor. Rough treatment from family, from guardians, from bosses. The streets were never friendly. We all have been around enough to know."
"But these past days, they’re even worse. I know it's been hard on all of us here."
"Even so, I don’t think that gives anyone an excuse to prey on the weak. Some of you here were doing it even before with your stomachs full.”
His eyes swept the boys just once.
"I wanted us to talk and find solutions."
"For that to happen—for us to survive this—the mugging, the petty attacks on toddlers and the elderly need to stop."
“I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to hear about it.”
They all looked away.
Then—
“S–Says the one who’s stacking up all the food for himself!” one boy blurted, voice cracking as he stepped forward.
“Don’t take us for fools!” another snapped, pushing himself off the crate he’d been sitting on. He straightened up, gathering the scraps of courage the others gave him. “Look at you and your gang! You’re not starving like us! We’ve seen you! Healthiest kids out there. If it weren’t for the rags you wear, I’d think you were some rich brats who got lost down here!”
A third rose to join them.
Three pairs of shaky legs moving toward Leo—nervous, half-starved, and still convinced that numbers can help them. Convinced that the rumors were just that... rumors.
Vito exhaled through his nose.
"I advise against it, tough guys."
He shook his head.
The other boys did the same.
They’d been around long enough. They knew how this would end.
Leo finally spoke, voice steady.
“I’m not stacking anything,” he said. “Me and my friends look out for each other. That’s all. How about you explain your situation to me, and to everyone here? Maybe we can help you.”
The three boys hesitated mid-step, thrown off by the lack of anger and attitude.
But they kept walking.
"Go and bring us what you have... and we won't hurt you. We don't want to."
Leo’s eyes tracked each of them. They were in no shape.
Some of the boys watching from the sides leaned forward slightly. Out of curiosity.
To see if the old rumors still held weight…
to see if Leo had softened…
to see if the undefeated kid was still carved from iron or his two years of absence had put cracks in him... and winning against Vito, Jax and Zack was a fluke or over-exaggerated.
Leo felt every one of their gazes.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Felt what refusing would mean in a place like this.
He didn’t want a fight these hungry kids—
But he couldn't risk looking weak.
Not when he wants them in line.
Mira's curved in excitement. "No weapons. Barely able to stand. Bare handed. Good. I can enjoy this to the fullest."
Lino whispered, "Tonno."
"What?"
"Bet you a coin if he uses his right hand."
"You're on."
Pinch looked left and right, making sure the place is still safe from ambushes, but remembering it's very early in the morning and it's a Leo fight, he couldn't help but yawn.
The three boys finally lunged.
Leo shifted.
Left foot digging in.
Guard rising like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The raids kept piling up, and so did the anger.
Every arrest in the slums sent another wave of people marching toward the station, louder and bolder each day.
A pair of constables shoved two thieves and a couple of Don Carlo’s henchmen through the station doors. Outside, the crowd roared—sharp, bitter, furious.
“Where the hell are you lot when kids are starving?”
“Arresting beggars while the Dons run the whole damn district!”
“Useless! Bloody useless!”
Every shout rattled the windows.
Captain Harry sat hunched at his desk, Don Carlo’s “request” for more time still echoing in his skull. Letters from nobles lay scattered beside him—threats dressed in politeness, urging him to fix the slums before the unrest touched their gates.
Daniel entered, pale with exhaustion.
“Sir… that’s the fifth raid today and it's not even eight o'clock. Ten days straight, and nothing’s changing. It’s getting worse.”
Harry looked up—eyes unfocused, like he’d been staring at something far away for hours.
“Sit, Dani.”
Daniel dropped into the chair. He glanced toward the bullpen.
One group of constables laughed loudly.
“Cleaning the trash feels great, honestly.”
“Bet we get a raise for keeping the slums in line.”
They were buzzing—self-righteous, drunk on authority.
Meanwhile the veteran officers worked silently, faces carved by dread.
They’d seen this pattern before.
They knew escalation when it was staring them in the face.
Harry finally spoke, snapping Daniel's attention back to him.
“Let’s grab a drink tonight.”
Daniel blinked. “Sir?”
Harry shrugged, lighting a cigarette.
“You did the right thing writing up those officers taking bribes. Don’t listen to the idiots calling it betrayal or snitching. You’re the only one here who still sees straight.”
Daniel nodded stiffly.
“I’d be honored.”
Harry exhaled smoke, waving it off.
“Loosen up. I called you over so you’d breathe, not stiffen like a bloody statue.”
Silence hovered over the office for a moment.
Daniel finally asked,
“Isn’t there anything else we can do? These raids… sir, they’re pointless.”
Harry’s mouth twitched. “There you go. I wanted you to open up about your real thoughts.”
He leaned back. “For now? Not much. But the second a crowd erupts down there—really erupts—we’re pulling out of the slums.”
Daniel’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Harry didn’t flinch.
“You heard me. No-go zone.”
Daniel’s voice rose.
“That means the mob officially controls it.”
Harry jabbed the cigarette toward the window, toward the angry crowd outside. “Yes. Dangerous for the nobles. Because if they keep pressuring us, that—” another shout erupted“—gets bigger. Nobles don’t fear the Dons. They fear crowds.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Why not go after the Dons directly?”
Harry barked a bitter laugh.
"Because you don’t arrest men like them, kid. You try, and the judge owes them a favor, the prosecutor owes them a debt, and half the officers in this precinct owe them their lives, their houses, or their silence. Evidence disappears, witnesses vanish, juries get bought, and every honest cop ends up reassigned, ruined, or buried. And the public? They’re too scared to talk, too hungry to care, or too grateful for the crumbs the Dons toss them to keep the streets from burning.”
He paused, eyes narrowing as if the whole city were an unpleasant memory. “Now… say that by some miracle we find a way... Um... how do I put it... off-the-books to get the Dons out of the picture or put them in jail—do you know who’s taking their spot?”
Daniel got shivers, imagining the unthinkable before saying it out loud.
"The Undertaker."
"That's right." Harry laughed. "No one wants that man on the chair. I'd shoot myself before it happens."
Silence.
Just the hum of chaos outside.
Harry rubbed his face. “I’m out of tricks, Daniel. I’m trying not to burn this city down. If you’ve got an idea, any idea, I’ll take it. But the ones you’ve suggested… they don’t work. Not against these people.”
Daniel bit his lip, thinking. Hard.
“…I’ll try. I’ll come up with something.”
In the abandoned warehouse, the outcome was exactly what everyone expected.
Leo was already walking away from the so-called fight. His chest rose steadily—no rush of breath, no tremor of exertion. Coat still on. Didn't even need to take it off.
Across from him, the three boys staggered on their feet. Their lips were split, their shirts stretched from being yanked, and one of them was clutching a shoulder that had gone numb from a single, perfectly placed body shot. They weren’t harmed bad—but they’d been picked apart, piece by piece, like someone correcting errors on a page.
Vito stared, analyzing.
"Not even close... Makes it look easy and makes you feel stupid for trying."
The other gang leaders stared. Their hopes of seeing some sort of weakness got shattered.
And the three boys who had charged him felt it deepest. Their legs were jelly from realizing they hadn’t lasted even a full minute. Their attacks had been swatted aside like flies. With minimal effort.
From behind the window of the warehouse, the Wolves watched like spectators at a play.
Mira grinned. “Gods, I’m sparring him the moment this whole fiasco calms down.”
Lino sighed. “You're the only one crazy enough to want such thing. But... feels good remembering he’s with us.”
Tonno rolled his eyes. “Why’d we even come out here then? Should have just stayed asleep.” then his eyes widened in realization.
"Oh! Lino, pay up! He threw a few rights."
"Later, meathead."
"You always say that."
Pinch was already half-asleep, but he managed a small grin, happy for the win.
Leo sat down on a crate, elbows on his knees, looking like he’d simply finished tightening a few bolts instead of dismantling three teenagers. A faint, fleeting disappointment crossed his eyes... disappointment of fighting weak and hungry bodies.
“Sit,” he said quietly.
“All three of you.”
The boys dropped down immediately.
And just like that, all kids fell in line.
“Let’s first know each other’s names,” Leo said.
A strange silence followed.
Vito blinked.
A few boys frowned.
One gasped under his breath.
This was… not what they expected.
Leo rose to his full height, shoulders relaxed, gaze steady.
“I’ll start,” he said. “I’m Leo Velano. Leader of the Wolves. I live on the eastern side of the slums, and I work at the underground boxing hall.”
Simple.
Then he waited.
And the waiting was louder than the introduction.
Most of these were kids who only knew how to announce themselves with fists, not words.
Kids who thought respect was something you tore out of someone, not something you offered.
Finally—one boy cleared his throat nervously and stepped forward.
“I—I’m Antonio,” he muttered. “I work as a chimney sweep. We’re not exactly a gang, but… my fellow sweeps—our bosses are squeezing us. That’s why we—I mean... I came here.”
Leo nodded, smiling.
“Nice to meet you, Antonio. But for now, let’s keep it to introductions. We’ll get to the rest later. Alright?”
A surprising shiver ran through Antonio’s spine.
Goosebumps.
Just from being acknowledged. From being spoken to like an equal by someone this strong.
“Alright,” he said softly.
Leo nodded.
“Anyone else?”
A moment passed as kids exchanged nervous looks.
Finally—
“I’m Jude… Street Forty-Nine. We named ours—I mean gang after the street we live in. And I don't work.” another said, voice tiny.
"Nice to meet you, Jude." Leo spoke again. "See guys? It's not difficult. Anyone?"
“Grub! Panthers gang! Near old man Ramos' bakery. I am a tailor's apprentice.” one barked, hand shooting up.
Soon the dam broke.
Voices rose, one after another—awkward, shy, embarrassed, proud.
Every name took a small piece of tension out of the room.
Even the three boys who attacked Leo earlier.
“Trent,” one muttered to the floor.
“Mike,” another said, overly stiff, trying to hide his limp.
“Finn,” the third added, rubbing his jaw.
By the time they were done, the warehouse felt warmer.
Softer. Almost like something possible was taking shape.
All except one.
The kid from the Red Corner stood with his arms folded, expression twisted in mock amusement.
Vito.
“What is this nonsense?” he scoffed. “What, we playing school now? You can beat us one by one. So how about you quit the fake friendly act?”
"Next time you do? Bring along something to eat. We're all starving here, mate."
He kept going, grinning wide—too wide. "How about we re-schedule, teacher? And bring something more delicious, better than the trash your wolf-mates brought to me, thinking I was some stray dog."
Truth was, Vito’s jab wasn’t confidence.
His smirk had that brittle edge again—the one he got whenever Leo reminded him where they stood, seeing the way he commanded the room.
The warmth shattered.
Pinch’s jaw clenched so tight it creaked.
Tonno whispered, betrayal heavy in his voice, “You gotta be kidding me…”
Lino clicked his tongue, disgust deepening his voice. “See, Tonno? They’re not worth crap. Right, Mira?”
But Mira wasn’t answering.
Her eyes were locked on the Red Corner boy. Her breath uneven.
That laugh—
That arrogance—
That same gang—
It pulled up the memory like a blade against a scar.
The knife. The blood. The betrayal. The terror.
She wanted to storm in. To break his nose. To smash his teeth into the floor and grind her heel down until he remembered her face for the rest of his life.
She wanted violence.
Righteous, furious violence.
But she didn’t move.
She stared at Leo, her fists trembling—yet she waited.
Learning.
“I failed back then,” she whispered inside her mind.
“Leo… what would you have done if you were in my place?”
Thank you for reading :)
?? Join the Community!
chat about the story, share theories, or help build a friendly, no-pressure community, you’re welcome to join my Discord:
-
Free to join, no profit or ads — just a place for fans and curious minds.
-
don’t have a RoyalRoad account, you can join and participate.
-