Los Angeles looked cleaner when it rained. Like the filth ran down the gutters, pretending to wash the sins away. But I knew better.

I ran the underground here. Drugs, guns, money, names. Every deal whispered in the dark came through me. Ivan Romanov or “The Ghost”. You don’t say those names in this city unless you want something or unless you’re ready to bleed for it.

That’s why I don’t tolerate someone like Martin Ellis. A tech CEO with too much pride and not enough sense. Thought he could borrow seven million from me and ghost. Now he was standing in the valley, in the middle of a sidewalk at 2 a.m., thinking I came here to talk.

Mikhail stood beside me, silent, watching. Rain poured down, flattening Martin’s perfect hair, soaking his expensive shoes. He looked like a drowned rat.

“I built this kingdom from ash,” I said, my voice steady under the storm. “You don’t steal from me and walk away.”

He opened his mouth, probably to lie.

I pulled the trigger. One shot. His body dropped to the pavement like a sack of wet cement.

Then I saw her.

Across the street, half-shielded under a broken neon sign. A woman. Young. Frozen. Hands clutching her coat tight, breath caught in her throat. Eyes wide—too wide. She’d seen everything.

I crossed the street in silence, boots splashing in the rain. She didn’t run. Fear rooted her to the spot. Her whole body shook.

She looked like she didn’t belong here: wrong time, wrong place. Fear radiated off her like heat.

I stopped inches from her. No mercy. That’s how I lived. That’s why I was still standing.

Mikhail waited behind me, expecting the usual. But I didn’t raise my gun. I just looked at her. Let the silence drag. Let her know what I could’ve done. What I might still do.

Then I leaned in, voice low and sharp. “You saw nothing. Understand?”