Las Vegas – 2:13 AM
The neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip flickered like a heartbeat, hiding the darker truths that often lurked beneath its dazzling surface. High rollers chuckled over their whiskey, tourists snapped selfies in front of slot machines, and dancers twirled under the flashing strobe lights—while just a couple of blocks away from Fremont Street, a man was facing his end.
Neil Angelo stood quietly beneath the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp. Dressed in a black blazer and clean loafers, he opted for no tie. A thin plume of smoke curled from his Montecristo cigar as his dark brown eyes locked onto the trembling figure kneeling before him.
"D-Don Salieri sent me. I swear—" the man stammered, blood trickling from his mouth. "I didn't mean to disrespect the Angelo family—"
Neil raised a finger, and the air thickened with silence.
He stepped forward deliberately, the sound of his polished shoes echoing against the concrete. "If you knew the name Angelo," he said, his voice calm yet chilling, "then you understood what it meant to lie to me."
The man whimpered in response.
Neil's expression was unreadable. No anger. No compassion. Just cold calculation.
"You messed with my warehouse," Neil continued. "You skimmed off the top. You sold information to the Triads. And now you're begging like you're worth more than a bullet."
A soft click broke the tension. Neil's silenced Glock was aimed squarely at the man's forehead.
One shot.
Clean. Final.
He turned away, unfazed as blood splattered onto his designer pants.
"Clean this up," Neil instructed without glancing back. Two suited men in black gloves nodded and moved in like shadows.
The Bellagio Penthouse – 3:00 AM
Glass walls revealed a skyline filled with bright towers and artificial stars. Neil stood alone, pouring bourbon into a crystal glass when his phone buzzed.
1 New Message — UNKNOWN
"Welcome home, Young Master. We see you've made your move."
He took a sip.
"Of course you're watching," he murmured. "You always have been."
Just then, the penthouse door swung open. A tall, elegant woman stepped inside—dressed in a black trench coat, heels clicking on the floor, and her hair pulled back into a sharp bun. She tossed a file.
"Triads are on the move," she said. "In the eastern sector. Surveillance picked up a coded drop a couple of hours ago."
Neil opened the folder, revealing Chinese characters, encrypted accounts, and a name: Li Jianlong.
His jaw clenched.
"Beijing still wants a piece of Vegas?" he asked.
"They want control. They think you're weak because you vanished for seven years."
A faint smile crossed his lips. "Then I'll remind them why I left... and why I'm back."
Flashback — Seven Years Ago, Mumbai
The alley was thick with the stench of gunpowder and urine. His father's lifeless body lay crumpled at his feet. Mafia boss Angelo—dead. Betrayed by his own right-hand man. Fifteen-year-old Neil stared at the blood seeping into the concrete.
"No tears," the old man beside him murmured. "Tears are for civilians. You're not one of them."
"I'll come back," Neil vowed through gritted teeth. "I'll take everything back."
Present – Las Vegas Strip, Later That Night
Neil stepped into The Aether, a luxury casino that had once belonged to his father, now run by corporate sharks.
The music pulsed. Chips clattered. He moved through the crowd without a glance. Eyes followed him—women captivated by his presence, men intrigued by his enigma.
A security guard approached. "Sir, this floor is for executive guests—"
Neil raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"
He flipped a black chip marked with the Angelo family crest. The guard's face drained of color.
"S-sorry, Mr. Angelo. Of course—right this way."
Upstairs, in the VIP suite, five men lounged around a marble table. One of them—a man in a grey suit with a greasy smile—was Robert Crane, the one who took over the Aether after Neil's father passed.
Crane looked up, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Well, well. If it isn't the ghost himself. Neil Angelo. I thought you were—"
"Dead?" Neil interrupted flatly. "You wished I was. But hope is a poor defense."
He took a seat across from Crane. The tension in the room thickened.
"I'm here to reclaim what's rightfully mine," Neil declared, setting a flash drive down on the table. "These are the original deeds to Aether. My father never transferred ownership. You forged the documents and funneled money through offshore accounts. This casino? It belongs to me by blood and by law."
Crane leaned forward. "Hey, kid—"
Before he could finish, Neil shot him in the leg from beneath the table.
The room erupted into chaos. One man lunged for his gun—Neil's bodyguard slammed him against the wall before he could even pull it out. Screams filled the air as Neil rose, unfazed.
"I won't repeat myself," Neil said, his voice icy. "Get out of my city. You have 48 hours."
Blood pooled beneath the table as Crane squirmed in pain.
Outside The Aether – 4:12 AM
Neil stepped out onto the street. The lights still twinkled. The city still throbbed with life.
But it felt different now.
His city.
His battle.
As the first light of dawn crept over the skyline, Neil lit another cigar and murmured:
"Welcome back, Neil Angelo."