Marco: King of the Streets

The slums of Mumbai were a battlefield where only the ruthless survived. Marco knew this from the moment he took his first punch at ten years old. By fifteen, he was running errands for local gangsters. By twenty, he had made a name for himself. Now, at thirty, Marco ruled the streets like a king—but even kings weren’t untouchable.

The King’s Throne

Sitting in his private lounge at Blue Mirage, the nightclub that doubled as his headquarters, Marco swirled a glass of whiskey, his sharp eyes scanning the faces around him. His most trusted men—Raghu, Karim, and Bablu—stood nearby, waiting for orders. The tension in the air was thick. Something was coming. Marco could feel it.

A nervous-looking informant named Chotu shuffled forward. “Bhai… there’s talk that someone wants you dead. Big money on your head.”

Marco smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Someone always wants me dead, Chotu. Give me a name.”

Chotu swallowed hard. “Shankar Patil.”

The room fell silent. Shankar had once been Marco’s right hand, but greed had poisoned him. He had fled the gang six months ago, taking a shipment of gold with him. Now, he was back for Marco’s throne.

Marco crushed the ice in his glass with his fingers. “Where is he?”

“Old mill near Dharavi. He’s got men. Lots of them.”

Marco grinned. “Good. Let’s remind him why I run this city.”

The Showdown

That night, Marco and his crew rolled up to the abandoned Dharavi Mill. The air was thick with the smell of rust and decay. Shadows moved in the dimly lit warehouse. Marco’s instincts screamed trap, but he wasn’t the type to back down.

Shankar’s voice echoed through the space. “Marco! You should’ve left while you had the chance!”

Marco chuckled. “You stole from me, ran like a coward, and now you think you can take my city? Come face me, Shankar!”

Gunfire erupted, the sound tearing through the silence. Marco’s men took cover, returning fire. Bullets whizzed past, shattering crates and sending sparks flying. Marco moved like a ghost, slipping through the chaos, his silenced pistol taking down Shankar’s guards one by one.

Then, he saw him—Shankar, standing on an iron staircase, a rifle in his hands. “You should have stayed in the slums, Marco!” he sneered.

Marco didn’t hesitate. He shot first. The bullet ripped through Shankar’s shoulder, making him stumble back. Marco closed the distance, grabbing him by the collar.

“You forgot one thing, Shankar,” Marco said, pressing his gun to his enemy’s forehead. “Mumbai belongs to me.”

A single shot ended it.

The Aftermath

The next morning, the city woke up to the news—Shankar Patil was found dead, his men scattered, his empire in ruins. Marco sat on the rooftop of Blue Mirage, watching the sun rise over his kingdom.

Raghu lit a cigarette. “That was close, bhai.”

Marco exhaled, watching the smoke dance in the morning light. “It always is.”

The war was over, but Marco knew peace was temporary. A man like him never truly rested. As he sat there, sipping his drink, his phone buzzed. A message from one of his informants: New players are coming. They want your throne.

Marco smirked. The city was never quiet for long.

He leaned back, letting the morning sun warm his face. He had built his empire with blood, sweat, and fear. If someone wanted to take it from him, they’d have to do more than just place a bounty on his head.

Marco stood up, stretching his muscles. “Time to remind them who runs Mumbai.”

A New Storm

By nightfall, Marco was already preparing for the next war. The underworld was shifting, alliances were being broken, and the police were sniffing around his businesses more than usual.

Karim walked in, concern etched on his face. “Bhai, the new gang—Khan Brothers—they’re making moves. Word is, they’re backed by someone powerful.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

Raghu smirked. “Want us to send a message?”

Marco nodded. “Yes. Find out who’s backing them. And if they think they can take my throne, let’s give them a welcome they won’t forget.”

As the city lights flickered, Marco knew one thing for sure—Mumbai was his battlefield. And he was never going to lose.