Marseille, France — 6:30 a.m.
Léo had no family. He never had. His memories were a blur of streets, shelters, and cold nights. The only thing that mattered was the moment: survival. But survival had a price.
At 17, Léo knew that the world didn't give a damn about the weak. If you wanted to make it, you had to be strong, cunning, and willing to do things others wouldn't. Things that, if you weren't careful, would swallow you whole.
He woke up to the sound of seagulls calling from above. The smell of saltwater mixed with the pungent odor of decay that clung to the alley where he had spent the night. His body was sore, a reminder of last night's fight. It was a fight he'd won, barely, but it had left him with bruises that would stay for days.
Léo was used to the pain. It was part of life in Marseille, part of life on the streets. But today was different. Today, he had a meeting. A meeting that could change everything.
8:00 a.m. — La Canebière
He arrived at a shabby café in the heart of the city. The place was nearly empty, save for a few older men nursing their coffee, talking in low voices. Léo wasn't here for the coffee. He was here for Rachid.
Rachid was a local figure, a man who controlled the underworld in this part of Marseille. He was the kind of person you didn't approach unless you had something valuable. And Léo had something. Or rather, he had the potential to have something.
Rachid didn't look like much, sitting at a table in the corner. He was in his mid-thirties, well-dressed but not flashy, with a cold demeanor that made people nervous. He was looking down at a phone when Léo approached, his eyes never leaving the screen.
When he finally looked up, it was as if he was measuring Léo with a single glance. He didn't smile.
"Sit."
Léo sat, his heart pounding, but he didn't let it show. He wasn't afraid. He couldn't afford to be.
"You've got guts, kid," Rachid said, his voice low but commanding. "I've been hearing things about you. Fights you've won. People you've pissed off. But I need to know if you can do more than just survive. I need to know if you can play the game."
Léo swallowed hard. "What game?"
"The game of power," Rachid said, his eyes narrowing. "The game where everything is a transaction. Where you sell your soul for the chance to rise. Where you make alliances and break them when it suits you. Where you're constantly looking over your shoulder, knowing that if you slip, you're dead. Can you handle that?"
Léo didn't answer right away. He had to think. He had no family, no friends, no ties. All he had was his ambition. He wanted more. He wanted to rise above the filth of the streets.
"Yeah," he finally said. "I can handle it."
Rachid smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just found his next meal.
"Good. Because you're going to work for me now."
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