In the underworld, the lower you go, the more chaotic it gets.
No rules. No order. Just blood, greed, and desperation.
But once a man's status and power reach a certain height, restraint becomes a necessity — because behind that restraint lie empires, families, and billions of dollars in business.
Take Wilson Fisk, for example — Kingpin, the undisputed ruler of the East Coast underground.
He wasn't some street thug swinging fists over territory. Unless his core interests were threatened, he rarely went to war.
When he wanted someone dead, he didn't start a bloodbath — he sent assassins. Quiet. Surgical.
That's how true power operated.
This time, Ryan's purge of the Cent Family was completely justified.
As the head of the Undertaker Family, being betrayed and nearly assassinated by a former subordinate gave him every reason to "clean house."
Even the confiscation of over two hundred million dollars worth of white powder could be brushed off.
At most, it could be traced back to the Irish Mob — one of Kingpin's puppet gangs.
Kingpin, of course, would grit his teeth, but he wouldn't move.
He couldn't afford to.
The Irish Mob's recent expansion in Hell's Kitchen had already crossed several lines.
They were taking more than their fair share of the underground market, and if Kingpin made that public, it would only draw the ire of other syndicates.
In short — Kingpin would have to swallow the loss.
And since Kingpin's main forces couldn't act openly… the Irish Mob alone was nothing worth worrying about.
Ryan wasn't afraid before.
Now that he had Frank Castle — a battle-hardened ex-Marine and his newly minted Action Guard Captain — he was even less concerned.
The Next Day
Frank began recruiting.
With his Marine Corps background, reputation, and old connections, assembling two hundred elite operatives wasn't a challenge.
After all, everyone knew the joke — "Once a Marine, always a killer. Just give us a paycheck."
New York's veteran circles ran deep, and with Frank's name, people would line up to work for him. Within days, Ryan would have a private strike team ready to move at his command.
Meanwhile, Ryan had other business to handle.
Led by the legal department's attorneys, he arrived at the Osborn Group — one of the largest military contractors in America.
In the early 2000s, Osborn Industries still maintained close ties with the Pentagon.
But behind the gleaming glass and steel towers, the company was beginning to show cracks.
The reason?
Norman Osborn's genetic illness — the same disease that haunted his bloodline for generations.
As his condition worsened, internal confidence declined.
Still, even a "declining" Osborn Group was worth tens of billions of dollars.
The 2.3% stake Ryan had just acquired from the Cent Family's assets was valued at over six hundred million — enough to make him a significant shareholder.
So, when Ryan arrived, Norman Osborn himself chose to receive him.
The office was expansive, minimalist, and sharp — much like the man behind the desk.
Norman Osborn stood tall despite his thinning frame. His cheekbones jutted out under pale skin, but his eyes — cold, hawk-like — gleamed with predatory intelligence.
Ryan quietly activated his Qi Observation Technique.
Through his spiritual sense, Norman's life force was still strong, though faintly tainted by instability.
He hadn't yet reached the breaking point.
He hadn't become the Green Goblin — not yet.
But soon.
While Ryan studied him, Norman was doing the same.
That morning, he'd been informed that the Cent Family's shares had been transferred to the Sullivan Family — and that the young head, Ryan Sullivan, would be attending personally.
Norman had heard of the internal chaos among the undertaker families in Hell's Kitchen, but such matters rarely interested him.
What mattered to him was this:
Would this new shareholder — this unknown young heir — become a threat to his control of the board?
Right now, Osborn's situation was precarious.
The Super Soldier Program had stalled for decades. The military wanted results or would start cutting funding.
Investors were growing impatient, pressuring Norman to shut down several of his projects.
If this newcomer joined their side, Norman's position would weaken further.
He smiled thinly.
"Ryan Sullivan, is it? Given my age, I hope you don't mind if I call you Ryan?"
"Of course not, Mr. Osborn," Ryan replied smoothly. "It's an honor. I've always admired your work — especially your paper in Applied Evolution. It helped a lot with my university research."
Norman chuckled. "Ah, that was a long time ago. Please — call me Norman. Your father and I had a good relationship back in the day…"
The two traded polite flattery, both measuring each other carefully behind courteous smiles.
Ryan already had a long-term plan for the Osborn Group.
He knew that only after Norman's inevitable transformation into the Green Goblin — and his eventual fall at Spider-Man's hands — would the company become vulnerable enough for a full takeover.
But for now, building trust and planting seeds within Osborn's structure was more than enough.
And on Norman's end, desperate for allies to support his research and keep his control over the board, he found Ryan's calm confidence refreshing.
Two foxes — one old, one young — found mutual benefit in each other.
By the end of the meeting, Norman had decided this young man was worth keeping close.
He even personally walked Ryan through several confidential R&D projects — military exosuits, bio-serums, and experimental genetic therapies.
For over two hours, they talked like old friends.
But as a CEO running a near hundred-billion-dollar company, Norman's time was limited.
After giving a few quiet instructions to his blonde, impeccably dressed secretary, he returned to his mountain of work.
Meanwhile, Ryan followed the secretary through the glass corridors of Osborn Tower — the faint hum of high-tech labs echoing around them.
His eyes gleamed.
This wasn't just a company.
It was a forge — one that could temper him new weapons, new technology, and new power.
And soon enough, when the time was right…
Osborn Group would no longer belong to Norman.
It would belong to him.