The Path Of A True King.
Chapter 54: Like Father, Like Son.

Chapter 54: Like Father, Like Son.

Chapter 93

The black SUV rumbled up the quiet street and came to a stop in front of the house.

It wasn’t huge—nothing like a mansion—but it was bigger than Elijah had expected.

A tall black fence encircled the entire lot, and a matching iron gate stood at the front.

Etched boldly into the center of the gate was the unmistakable emblem of the Azura gang.

Elijah blinked, stunned. "When the hell did Kai do all this?" he muttered.

With enough money, it seemed anything could happen in the blink of an eye.

The gate creaked open slowly as they approached.

A man stood beside it—Rio, one of Ben and Tony’s trusted men, gave a small nod as the SUV rolled past him.

Elijah shook his head. ’Where did Kai even get all this money in just a few days?’

But he already knew part of the answer.

The Moon Gang and the rival crews’ territories had fallen under Azura’s control.

Kai hadn’t wasted time.

Their people had gone block by block, sending a clear message submit or disappear.

And most chose to submit.

That meant more soldiers, more assets, and more revenue.

They’d seized everything—bars, strip clubs, underground fighting rings.

Drugs were pulled off the streets immediately.

Kai understood the rules of survival.

Selling the drugs would only put them on a collision course with the Alpha Gangs or one of their Subjects.

Azura didn’t need more enemies.

Not now.

The pathway to the house wasn’t long.

As they approached, Elijah noticed that even though the house wasn’t massive, it was clean, secure, and far better than the cramped apartment they used to live in.

He stepped out of the SUV alongside Jack.

The cool air brushed past them, but Elijah wasn’t thinking about the wind.

"Tell Kai to meet me at midnight. At the Base," Elijah said, voice low and tired.

Tony, still seated behind the wheel, nodded. "Got it. I’ll swing by at 11:30 to pick you up. You can see the new Base too. You’ll like it."

With a reverse and the sound of tires crunching gravel, the SUV backed out and drove off into the night.

Jack and Elijah turned and made their way to the front door.

When they stepped inside, the warm light wrapped around them instantly.

The house was alive.

Cozy.

The staircase was nearby, but Elijah walked past it and into the dining room.

To the right, the living room glowed with the soft flicker of a TV screen.

Amy sat on the couch, legs tucked in, watching something animated.

Jack drifted that way without a word, casually throwing himself onto the couch beside her.

Elijah knew what Jack was doing—keeping Amy distracted so she wouldn’t interrupt the conversation Elijah was about to have.

To the left, in the open kitchen, Stella stood at the stove.

The scent of seasoned meat and boiling rice filled the air.

She turned her head, eyes meeting Elijah’s.

"How are you, dear? Are you okay?" she asked gently.

Elijah gave a sheepish grin as he stepped into the kitchen. "Yeah... I’m fully healthy."

Thunk!

A knife slammed into the wall—an inch from his face.

Elijah froze.

Sweat broke on his forehead.

Stella’s smile faded into something cold.

Calculated.

"Then you can help with the cooking. Take that knife and cut those vegetables."

Without a word, Elijah pulled the blade from the wall, walked to the counter, and began slicing—slow and precise, like he was defusing a bomb.

Stella returned to seasoning the meat.

They worked in a tense rhythm for the next 25 minutes.

Not a word passed between them, just the sound of chopping, sizzling, and the occasional clink of a spoon against a pot.

Finally, Elijah finished his part.

He sat on a stool by the counter, resting his arms.

Stella, still cooking the rice, looked over at him. "How old are you?"

Elijah blinked. "Almost 16. Two months from now."

Stella’s expression didn’t change, but a shadow passed through her eyes.

"Sixteen. Not even twenty. And you’re already leading a gang." She frowned—not angry, but tired.

Like she’d seen this before.

Like the past was repeating itself.

"You think that’s something to be proud of?" she asked quietly.

"I didn’t ask for this," Elijah muttered.

Stella shook her head slowly. "What are you thinking, Elijah? Really?"

He didn’t answer.

She stirred the rice, then spoke again, more firmly. "You know what scares me the most? You don’t even know what you’re doing. You’re just following your stupid will."

Elijah looked up, confused. "What do you mean... ’Stupid Will’?"

Stella’s hands trembled slightly as she set the spoon down beside the rice pot, her back still turned to Elijah.

"You’re just like your father," she said, her voice rising just enough to carry into the living room.

"Chasing power like it means anything. What’s wrong with your family..."

Her words hung in the air like smoke—bitter, lingering.

In the living room, Jack and Amy heard it.

Jack didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only leaned back deeper into the couch.

Amy lowered the volume on the TV, sensing something heavy, but she didn’t say a word.

Elijah stood frozen in the kitchen.

The confusion on his face hadn’t faded since she first spoke.

Slowly, Stella turned, her expression unreadable, and she walked over to the table, easing herself down into one of the chairs.

"Elijah..." she began, softer now.

"I knew. I didn’t want to, but I knew you’d end up like this."

She stared at him—her eyes not angry, but deeply tired. "Why do you think I asked you what you wanted? I hoped—maybe, just maybe—you’d say something different. Something that’d take you away from this path. But it seems like fate always knows how to drag our bloodline back to the top. No matter how far we run."

Elijah’s brow furrowed, thoughts swirling in his head.

Stella’s voice pressed on.

"It’s a good thing it went to you and not your sister," she added, a faint pain behind the words. "You... you at least understand what’s at stake."

Every sentence she spoke birthed more questions.

Elijah took a half-step forward.

"Mom... what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low, almost scared.

But Stella didn’t answer him directly.

She looked him in the eye and instead asked, "Elijah. What do you want from all this?"

That simple question hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

Elijah glanced at the polished tiles on the wall across from him—seeing his own reflection faintly in the surface.

He barely recognized the person staring back.

Six months.

That’s how long it had been.

That was all it took for everything to change.

He had grown taller, his once-soft frame replaced with lean muscle.

The roundness of youth was gone from his face. His jaw was sharper now, his shoulders broader.

His eyes held something they didn’t before—weight.

He looked like someone in his late teens or even early twenties... and he felt even older than that.

He was no longer the kid who waited for instructions.

No longer the boy who flinched at raised voices or worried over school tests.

He was a gang leader now.

One making thousands of dollars every week.

He had his own house.

Loyal people.

Territory.

Power.

But as he looked into his own eyes reflected in the tiles, something deeper stirred.

He remembered the apartment—small, suffocating.

Remembered watching his mother come home late, hands raw, back aching, blood on her arms from long hours of cleaning jobs for people who didn’t care whether she lived or died.

He remembered being told what to eat, when to sleep, and how to act—because they couldn’t afford to upset anyone with more influence. He remembered the fear.

The helplessness.

The shame of knowing he couldn’t protect his family.

Elijah’s eyes sharpened as his voice emerged—quiet at first, but gaining strength with every word.

"I want strength to protect the ones I love," he said.

"I want power to change the situation of the ones I love. I want to become someone I won’t regret being... when I die."

He took a breath .

"I want to learn many things. Experience everything I can. Do things no one said I could. I want to be free... free from the people of this world who think they get to decide our worth."

He looked directly at his mother, and in that moment, his voice rang with clarity.

"I just want to be me. That’s the end goal. That’s the end dream."

The house fell silent after that.

His words echoed through the rooms like a vow.

Amy stared at the screen blankly.

Jack smiled faintly, still watching from the couch, nodding to himself.

Stella looked at her son—really looked.

And she laughed.

Not mockingly, but softly, with something that sounded like disbelief.

"Huh... you look just like your father when you talk like that," she said, shaking her head.

"But your father wanted to take a different path. And he died for it. We all almost died for it."

She smiled faintly—tired, pained. "What makes this any different?"

Elijah gave a half-shrug, voice calm but honest.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "But I’ll do my best to protect my family... no matter what."

He looked away, his voice dipping lower.

"But that’s also the thing that scares me the most. That fear... it keeps me up at night. That’s why I train. Every. Single. Night."