Chapter 42: The Rules of Hell's Kitchen
Gustavo had heard enough. The Mexican cartel boss's broad face contorted with impatience, his dark eyes locked on Ethan with the kind of look that promised violence.
"Enough of this bullshit." His voice cut through the room like a machete. "I don't give a damn whether the kids go to school. Working under me selling product, they make plenty of money. They don't need some garbage classroom education."
"And just so we're all clear — anyone who touches my people, I touch back."
The threat was unmistakable.
"Same here!"
"He's right!"
A few of the bosses started murmuring agreement. Once one man had stuck his neck out to publicly defy Ethan, the others felt safer doing the same.
But Ethan didn't show a flicker of unease. He just looked at them coldly, with an authority that didn't need volume to register.
Before he could respond, Tom Ralph let out a soft laugh and spoke up.
"Kid — you really are too young."
"You think you can walk in here and pry our profits out of our hands without paying any kind of price."
"Profit means more to us than our own lives. The cheapest thing in this neighborhood is a human life."
"This is Hell's Kitchen. Your sermons don't work on us. We clawed our way to the top of this hellhole because we were ruthless enough to do it. We sold our souls a long time ago."
"You came up in this neighborhood too. Are you really telling me you don't know the rules of hell?"
Tom's voice carried a thin edge of mockery.
Ethan was silent for a moment. Then he answered, voice level: "I don't want to be your enemy. I just want you to understand that education is the only thing that can actually change these kids' fates."
"The kids are innocent. From the moment they're born, they wear a 'sin' the rest of the world hates them for — and they don't even know what they did wrong."
"What did they do? Is being born here a crime?"
"They can't walk yet. They can't talk yet. And already, the Hell's Kitchen label is on them, and people on the outside look at them like they're filth. That isn't fair."
"I know the world isn't fair. I'm not so naive that I think I can change that."
"All I want is to give them a chance. A chance to prove that being born in hell isn't their fault."
"They didn't get to choose between heaven and hell. But we can give them the right to choose now — whether they stay down here in this pit with bastards like us, or whether they climb out of the swamp called Hell's Kitchen and never look back."
His voice was steady and firm, even though he knew that in this room — full of men marinated in violence — his words might land on nothing but stone.
He'd said his piece. Whether any of it had reached them, he had no idea. He'd done what he could. The rest would have to be settled the way things in Hell's Kitchen always got settled — with strength.
Ethan stood up and swept his gaze across the table. The temperature in his voice dropped.
"One more thing. This wasn't a negotiation."
"I called you here to inform you. If you don't accept my terms — fine. We do this the old way. Hell's Kitchen rules. One on one."
He paused, then pointed his finger around the entire table.
"Me against all of you. Anyone who has a problem with that, get out. We settle it tonight, in the streets of Hell's Kitchen."
"Bring everyone you've got. I know every man in this room has cards up his sleeve — bring them all out tonight, because if you don't, you won't get another chance to use them."
"As for those of you willing to contribute to the school — you can stay. We can discuss the details."
That tore it. The bosses who'd been wavering snapped.
Gustavo jabbed a finger at Ethan. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that. Tonight. I've been wanting to put a bullet in you for a long time. Hell's Kitchen doesn't make exceptions for people who think they can break the rules!"
The other bosses rose to their feet, fury rolling off them. Ethan's challenge had insulted every one of them at once. None of them seriously believed that one young man could stand against all of their crews combined.
Ethan watched them without fear. He knew exactly what he had to do — let his strength do the talking.
He was about to face a coordinated assault from every gang in Hell's Kitchen. He'd need everything he had — power, intelligence, every trick at his disposal — to survive what was coming.
This fight wasn't just about his pride. It was about the school. About the kids. About the future he'd promised them.
Beside him, Fisk understood exactly what was about to unfold. Fisk had watched countless gangs rise and fall over the decades — and he knew, with the certainty of long experience, that the bosses who were walking out of this room right now would never sit in seats like these again. Not as gang leaders. Not as anything.
His expression carried a trace of pity as he watched the doomed men gather their things.
He knew, in his bones, that opposing Ethan was like throwing eggs at a stone wall. He shook his head and watched their backs as they stormed out, one by one. They would gather their soldiers tonight, and they would come for Ethan. And they had no idea what they were walking into.
"In that case," Ethan called after them, his voice almost gentle, "I won't see you out. I'll be waiting in Hell's Kitchen tonight. Bring everything you've got."
Inside the conference room, Ethan's expression hadn't changed.
He understood what these men intended. He understood their rage, their contempt. And he knew tonight wouldn't just be the gangs — the forces backing them would come too.
The bosses who'd rejected his terms filed out with grim faces, jaws set, eyes cold with resolve. The moment they were back at their headquarters, they'd start mustering their men for the storm ahead.
They'd sworn to themselves that Ethan would pay. They'd prove to the outside world that Hell's Kitchen still belonged to the gangs.
When the dust settled, only a few bosses remained at the table.
And one of them, to Ethan's mild surprise, was Tommy Shelby.
Tommy felt Ethan's gaze on him and gave a small smile. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not like those barbarians who think with their fists. I'm in favor of the school."
"I'll help you handle them. As long as you're willing to give me something worth my while."
Tommy's eyes flicked briefly to Fisk and Vongola Primo at Ethan's side.
Primo took the hint immediately. He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "I'll head back and get things ready. Midtown's on me." He turned and walked out.
Ethan waved a hand. "It's fine — these are my people. Besides, Uncle Fisk is the one who actually runs Hell's Kitchen. Tell me what you want."
The cavernous conference room was now occupied by just three men, working out terms.
Tommy didn't waste any time. "I want the Irish gang's territory."
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