Tony had just left the store when three angry-looking men emerged from the shadows. Their footsteps pounded against the wet pavement, and before he could react, one of them swung a metal pipe with brutal force. It crashed against his hand, the impact exploding in pain that shot up his arm like fire.
He staggered back, clenching his teeth so hard it hurt, forcing his body to stay upright. His chest rose and fell in uneven gasps as the night air sharp in his lungs
Before he could think straight, another blow slammed into his chest. He heard the sickening crack of his ribs, the air knocked out of him in a strangled cry. Then the fists came, heavy and merciless, raining down on him. Each strike crushed deeper into his body, each one knocking away what little breath he had left.
On instinct, Tony fought back. His fist shot forward, smashing into one attacker's jaw. Another swung, but Tony twisted, slamming his elbow into the man's temple. The thug stumbled backward, groaning.
"Finish him!" one of them shouted.
A fist collided with Tony's jaw, snapping his head to the side. He spat out blood, copper burning on his tongue. His vision blurred, the world spinning in and out of focus. Dizziness clawed at him, threatening to drag him down, but he refused to fall. Not now. Not here.
One of the thugs grabbed his arms, locking him in place. Tony thrashed, but the grip tightened. Another stepped forward, pulling a knife from his belt. Its blade caught the dim light, gleaming with the promise of death.
The third thug smirked, relaxing now that their prey was trapped. That moment of arrogance was a mistake. The man holding Tony slipped on the wet pavement, his grip loosening. Tony seized the opening, driving his knee upward and kicking the knife-wielder with every ounce of strength left in his body. The man stumbled back, the knife clattering from his hand.
Adrenaline surged through Tony's veins. He rammed his elbow into the staggering man's chest and shoved him aside. The thugs shouted after him, but Tony was already running.
He ran as though the night itself was chasing him. His legs pounded the ground, his lungs burning. The thought of his wife and children flashed through his mind, sharper than any blade. If he fell now, if he didn't make it home, they would suffer. That thought alone fueled his steps.
Footsteps thundered behind him, closer, closer. He vaulted a low fence, his body screaming in protest. He darted through narrow lanes, cutting across backyards, his heart hammering like a war drum. His legs grew weak, trembling, but he pushed harder until finally—the footsteps faded. Silence swallowed the night.
By the time he reached his door, he was gasping, every breath a stab of pain. His side throbbed with bruises, his body drenched in sweat. He pounded the door with frantic urgency, as though death itself stood behind him.
Inside, Selina froze. The harsh banging made her heart leap into her throat. Her hands trembled as chills raced down her spine. "Wh-who… who is it?" she called, her voice unsteady.
"It's me—Tony! Open up, quick!" His voice cracked with desperation.
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God!" She rushed to the door, yanking it open.
Tony stumbled in, his face pale, blood on his lips, his clothes torn. Tears spilled down Selina's cheeks as she caught him. "Tony!" she sobbed, helping him inside.
He winced, every step agony. "Th-thugs," he panted. "Three of them… professionals. They were going to kill me. I… I managed to escape." His voice shook, but his eyes burned with grim clarity. "One of them—he had a tattoo. Marcus. He has the same mark on his chest. It belongs to that secret court."
"Sit down," Selina urged, guiding him to the couch. He collapsed with a hiss of pain, clutching his side. She pulled his jacket off, her hands trembling, then lifted his shirt. Her breath caught. The bruises were already darkening, swelling across his ribs and chest.
Her eyes filled again. "We need to go to the hospital, now," she said, her voice sharp and commanding despite her fear.
Tony's gaze darted toward the stairs. "The children?"
"They're asleep," she assured, already grabbing her bag. She slipped an arm under his shoulders, steadying him. "Come. We'll get you there."
The two of them stumbled into the night, rain misting against their faces. A taxi screeched to a stop at Selina's desperate wave. The driver's eyes widened at Tony's battered state, but he said nothing, speeding toward the hospital.
At the emergency ward, doctors and nurses rushed Tony inside. Selina's heart pounded as she stood by, helpless, watching them wheel him away. The antiseptic air stung her nose, her palms cold and clammy as she whispered prayers under her breath.
Hours later, Tony was finally stitched, bandaged, and stabilized. Selina sat by his bed, clutching his hand, relief softening her trembling smile. "Don't ever scare me like that again," she whispered.
Tony managed a weak chuckle, his thumb brushing her fingers. "I'll be careful. I'm not dying now. I'm not leaving you or the children. I promise." His eyes held hers with gentle affection.
Her tears slipped freely. She pressed her forehead to his chest, her voice breaking. "You almost didn't make it home. What if they—what if you…" She couldn't finish.
Tony kissed her temple softly. "I'm here."
"Tell me everything again. Don't leave out a single detail."
He chuckled faintly and recounted the ambush. Selina's fists clenched as she listened. "Oh my God. I always knew he was dangerous," she whispered, her voice low and bitter. "But I never thought Marcus could go this far. We must report this to the police. Immediately."
Tony nodded, though exhaustion clouded his eyes. "Tomorrow," he murmured, pulling her closer. "We'll go tomorrow."
---
The next morning, Tony walked into the police station, Detective Ramos leaned forward, listening carefully as Tony described the ambush in detail, the blows, the knife, the tattoo.
"They weren't random thieves," Tony said firmly. "That insignia belongs to Marcus Harper. I've seen it on his chest myself."
Ramos's pen scratched across the notepad. His jaw tightened. "We'll look into it, Mr Ayo. You were lucky to escape alive."
Tony's voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his fear. "I just want my family safe."
---
Later that day, Marcus was summoned to the station. He entered with unnerving calm, his eyes sharp, his smile practiced. He sat across from Ramos and Tony, folding his hands neatly on the table.
"Tony," Marcus said smoothly, his tone dripping mockery. "What a surprise."
"Mr. Harper," Ramos began, his voice firm, "we have reason to believe you may be connected to the assault on Mr. Ayo last night."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I'm not aware of any such attack."
"Mr. Ayo recognized a tattoo," Ramos pressed. "A tattoo linked to your name."
Marcus chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Suspicions, Detective, are not proof."
Ramos snapped his notebook shut. "We're not pressing charges, for now. But take this as a formal warning. Stay away from Tony and his family."
Marcus tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Understood," he said. But the glint in his eyes betrayed him.
---
That evening, Marcus stormed into his house, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled. Rachel, seated on the couch, flinched at the sound.
"What's wrong?" she asked cautiously, her voice small.
His glare cut into her like a blade. "Go to your room. Don't disturb me."
Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed her retort and quietly obeyed, shutting the door behind her.
Marcus dropped into his chair, gripping a beer bottle so tightly his knuckles whitened. His chest heaved with fury, his eyes burning with hatred.
"I won't let you walk away with this, Tony," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. The words weren't just a threat. They were a vow.
He drained the bottle in one gulp, then stormed out again, fury boiling in his veins.