Creation Of All Things-Chapter 50: Vincenzo Moretti

The dimly lit room reeked of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey. At the head of a long table, a man in a sharp black suit leaned back in his chair, a thick cigar burning between his fingers. His gaze was sharp, calculating. This was Vincenzo Moretti—Don of the Reaper Mafia.

His voice was calm but laced with irritation. "Who the hell is screwing with our operations?"

Around him, powerful men sat in tense silence. These weren’t small-time criminals—these were the big shots. The ones who ran the streets from the shadows.

One of them, an older man with slicked-back hair, cleared his throat. "It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve already hired the best assassin for the job."

He smirked. "Ghost. First super soldier ever created. There’s nothing he can’t handle."

The room fell into a brief silence. Then—

THUD.

Something heavy hit the floor.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance.

There, standing in the doorway, was Adam.

A menacing smirk played on his lips as he casually adjusted his jacket. At his feet—

The limp, unconscious body of Ghost.

"Yeah… about that," Adam said, kicking the assassin’s body forward. Ghost rolled across the floor, stopping just short of the table.

Vincenzo’s cigar slipped slightly between his fingers.

Adam chuckled. "Found him on the way here. Figured I’d finish what we started."

He took a step forward, the dim light casting shadows across his face. His eyes glowed with something dangerous.

"See, the problem with your little ’super soldier’…"

He tilted his head, voice dripping with amusement.

"...He was man-made."

Adam cracked his knuckles.

"I was born like this."

Silence.

No one dared to speak.

The silence stretched. Thick. Heavy.

The only sound was the faint crackle of Vincenzo’s cigar as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. His expression was unreadable, but the way his fingers slightly twitched against the table? Yeah. He was pissed.

One of the men shifted uncomfortably. Another reached for his gun under the table—

BANG!

Before he could even blink, Adam was in front of him, palm slamming down onto the weapon, pinning it to the table. The entire wooden surface cracked from the force.

"Don’t," Adam said, voice casual, but the warning was clear.

The man swallowed hard, fingers twitching away from the gun.

Vincenzo finally spoke. "You’ve got some balls, kid." He tapped the ash off his cigar, his expression cool despite the clear tension in the room. "Walking in here like this, throwing Ghost at my feet like garbage."

Adam tilted his head. "You hire garbage, you get garbage results."

A flicker of amusement crossed Vincenzo’s face. But just as quickly, it vanished. "You know, I should have you killed where you stand."

Adam grinned. "You could try."

FWIP!

A knife shot toward his head. Fast. Precise.

But Adam barely moved.

CLINK.

He caught it mid-air with two fingers, spinning it lazily before stabbing it into the table—right between the hand of the guy who threw it. The blade barely missed flesh, but the message was clear.

The guy flinched, his breath hitching.

Adam smirked. "Twitchy bunch, huh?"

Vincenzo’s expression darkened. His men were some of the most dangerous people alive. Assassins, ex-military, killers with blood on their hands. But right now? They looked hesitant.

Because Adam wasn’t just some reckless idiot. He was something else.

Something worse.

Vincenzo exhaled, eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

Adam pulled out a chair, spun it around, and sat—arms resting on the backrest, completely relaxed.

"You." He grinned. "Out of my city."

A low murmur spread through the room. Some of the men tensed. Others clenched their fists.

Vincenzo just stared. Then—he laughed. A deep, guttural chuckle that slowly filled the room. "Kid… do you have any idea who you’re talking to?"

Adam leaned forward slightly. "A dead man. Unless you start packing."

The laughter stopped.

Vincenzo’s jaw tightened. The room’s energy shifted.

Adam just sighed, standing up and cracking his neck. "Alright, you guys clearly need a little encouragement."

Then—he moved.

BOOM!

A single step—and he was already behind one of the men.

A fist slammed into the guy’s gut, sending him flying into the wall like a ragdoll. The impact left a deep crater in the concrete.

The next guy barely had time to react before Adam grabbed his wrist—

CRACK!

A sharp snap. The man screamed, clutching his now-broken arm before Adam kicked him straight into the table, flipping it over in the process.

Chaos erupted. Guns were drawn. Knives flashed.

Adam grinned. Now we’re talking.

BANG! BANG!

Bullets fired. But Adam was already gone—moving faster than their eyes could track.

He weaved through the gunfire, boots skidding across the floor as he twisted around a blade, catching another guy by the throat and slamming him headfirst into the ground.

Another rushed in from behind—

Adam ducked. Spun. Grabbed the guy by the collar and threw him across the room like a ragdoll. He crashed through a glass cabinet, shards flying everywhere.

More bodies hit the floor. One by one.

Until—

Silence.

The room was wrecked. Half of Vincenzo’s men lay unconscious, groaning in pain. The rest? Too scared to move.

Adam dusted off his hands, looking down at Vincenzo—who was still in his chair, gripping his cigar so tightly it nearly snapped.

Adam smirked. "Now then. You were saying?"

Vincenzo’s eye twitched. His empire. His best men. Destroyed in under a minute.

He gritted his teeth. Then, slowly, he reached for his phone.

"Pulling out," he said, voice strained but resigned. "Effective immediately."

Adam grinned. "Smart choice."

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With that, he turned on his heel and strolled toward the exit, hands in his pockets. He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Next time you wanna send a killer after me…" He nudged Ghost’s unconscious body with his foot.

"...Pick someone better."

Then—he was gone.

Or so they thought.

Just as Vincenzo let out a shaky breath, Adam’s voice rang out again, smooth and mocking.

"Oh, and one more thing…"

Vincenzo’s blood ran cold. He turned his head slowly—

Adam was still there, leaning against the doorframe, looking way too amused.

"I want you out of the city," he said, tilting his head. "But someone else wants you in prison."

Before anyone could react—

BANG!

The doors burst open.

Armed officers flooded the room, weapons drawn. Tactical gear. Reinforcements.

And at the front of them all— Read exclusive chapters at novelbuddy

Joshua.

A badge flashed under the dim light as he stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Vincenzo Moretti," he said, voice firm. "You’re under arrest."

The entire room shifted. Some of the mafia members reached for their weapons—

"Don’t," Joshua warned.

Vincenzo clenched his jaw, eyes flickering between Adam and the officers. His empire was already in shambles, his men beaten to the ground. And now this?

He exhaled sharply, tossing his cigar aside. "Tch."

The retrieval team that was supposed to get Joshua to safety earlier? They were here now, alright—just not in the way Vincenzo had hoped.

Cuffs clicked around his wrists.

Adam grinned. "Man, you should’ve seen your face."

Joshua shot him a tired look. "Adam."

Adam raised his hands. "Alright, alright, I’ll stop."

He took one last look at Vincenzo, who was being led away, his face twisted in pure rage.

Adam smirked. "Welcome to your retirement, old man."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out—this time for real.