Sunrise painted Harbor in bruised oranges, but Alex's head throbbed like a busted radiator. The gym—his gym now—hummed with uninvited energy. Scarface and his two shadows shoveled debris, stealing glances at him like he'd hung the moon. Or slit a throat. "Boss needs chow," Scarface grunted, tossing Alex a greasy breakfast wrap from the corner bodega."Thanks." Alex bit in, scrolling job listings on his phone. Engineer gigs. Normalcy. A knock rattled the door. Through the grimy window, a wiry guy in oil-stained overalls waved frantically—Rico Morales, Harbor's self-proclaimed "fastest wrench in the district." Alex waved back. Rico burst in, eyes darting to the cleaning crew. "Heard you iced Vinny's debts last night. Legendary. Need a mechanic? I fix anything."Before Alex could clarify, shouts erupted outside. A bakery van screeched up, blocking the gym. Out stormed Mrs. Patel, apron dusted in flour, wielding a rolling pin like a battle axe. "Kane! Your goons shaking me down? Five hundred for 'protection'? I bake naan, not payoffs!"Scarface paled. "Boss didn't—"Alex groaned inwardly. Goons? He stepped out, hands raised. "Mrs. Patel, what's this?" She thrust a crumpled note: Pay up or ovens go cold. - Syndicate.Rico smirked. "Classic move. Subtle.""It's not—" Alex pinched his nose. Last night's recruits must've "helped" the bakery, scribbling nonsense on a repair invoice. He scanned the van: seized brakes, frayed wiring. "Your rig's a death trap. Let me fix it. Free."Mrs. Patel squinted. "Why? So you blow it later?""No. Because faulty brakes aren't safe. Kids cross here." In twenty minutes, Alex jury-rigged the van—new lines from gym scrap, tuned engine purring. Rico assisted, chattering: "See? Boss-level precision. Like that time Vinny 'fixed' the docks."Word spread faster than yeast. By lunch, a crowd gathered: food truck Jax ("Heard you're muscling in—spare my tacos?"), noodle vendor Lin ("Take my spot, just don't flambé it"). Alex fixed carts, tuned generators, mediated a parking spat—all while the "recruits" stood guard, puffing chests.As dusk fell, Lena Voss snapped photos from her beat-up scooter across the street. Kane Syndicate expands. Bakery 'ransom' paid in repairs? Smart cover. Her editor would eat this up.Inside, Rico clapped Alex's shoulder. "Harbor's yours, Don Kane. What's next—Undercity?"Alex stared at the journal Uncle Vinny left behind, its pages whispering of "shadow oaths." Just a gym, he thought. But the streets sang a different tune.End of Chapter 2
