Page 1 of Riot

Prologue

Creed

It’d been a few months since everything went down with our twisted-ass father, and I was still working my way through the filth he left behind. His legacy wasn’t just blood and empire.

It was bodies. Secrets. And unfortunately the destruction children’s souls.

He ran a network of predators, masked by business fronts, charities, fake-ass schools. Sick bastards hidden behind six-figure suits and stock portfolios. And I’d made it my personal mission to find every single one of them.

One bullet at a time.

Tonight’s target? Raz Haim. Oldest son of Boaz Haim, a name that still made my teeth grind. Israeli arms dealer, world-class sadist and collector of exotic animals. His son was worse. I’d found Raz on one of my father’s encrypted lists—code-named, but clear. Pedophile. Violent. Sloppy. He was one of three names left.

And lucky me… the sick fuck was right here in Manhattan.

The elevator let out a soft ding as it opened onto the top floor of a luxury high-rise in Tribeca. The hallway smelled likeoverpriced cologne. Cold light, marble walls. The kind of place that made predators feel safe.

I didn’t knock.

Picked the lock.

Silencer on. Glock ready.

The penthouse was all glass and shadows. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a quiet skyline. A single jazz record crackled low from the corner speakers. The lights were dimmed, casting eerie halos on brushed concrete.

I moved slow, checking each room.

The living room was empty.

So was the kitchen.

But then?—

I saw him.

Raz.

Or what was left of him.

He was slumped in a leather armchair, head tilted back like he’d just leaned into a good drink. Except the blood said otherwise. It spilled from his head, thick and black against his pale skin. A single bullet wound bloomed at the center of his forehead. Clean. Precise.

I didn’t do that.

From the corner of the shadows, a figure stepped forward, quiet and unbothered.

“Thought you were in L.A.,” I said, smirking as Riot emerged, gun still in hand.

“I got back early,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d handle that myself.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Man, I’m glad you’re finally helping clean up Pops’ mess.”

Riot didn’t smile. Just stared at Raz’s body, jaw tight.

“I’m hoping if I take out enough of ‘em,” he muttered, “it’ll make up for the shit I’ve done.”

I didn’t ask. I knew better. There were ghosts behind his eyes I hadn’t earned the right to name.

“You gotta let that shit go,” I said.

---