The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 405

“You woman,” one of the thugs sneered as he stepped forward, his eyes crawling over her.

“Pretty face, but I didn’t know you had claws. Makes me wonder how wild you’d be in bed—”

He didn’t get to finish. Josephine’s kick slammed into his groin, folding him in half with a strangled cry.

“Don’t you dare say filth like that in front of children,” she snapped.

“You bitch!” another thug barked, lunging to grab her arm.

But Josephine wasn’t the same girl she used to be.

She had spent countless nights forging her body in silence, mastering the flow of inner energy Alex had passed down to her.

The world seemed to slow down in her eyes. She saw every twitch, every step before it came.

Her palm cracked across the man’s face with a thunderclap.

He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the pavement.

“Get her!” their leader roared.

Josephine didn’t hesitate.

She had always loved fighting back against bullies, but this—this was different.

Power surged inside her like an endless storm.

Josephine couldn’t help but smile.

‘I am the tempest, I am the flame.’

Every strike exploded with force. Her fists, her kicks, even her elbows sent grown men flying as if they’d been hit by speeding trucks.

The children nearby watched wide-eyed, then burst into cheers.

“Sister Josephine, you’re amazing!”

“Beat those bad men! You’re our hero!”

“You’re my idol, Sister Jo!”

She fought through twenty men without slowing, her movements sharp, brutal, unstoppable.

In minutes, the ground was littered with groaning bodies.

Security finally arrived with the park staff.

One officer stepped forward. “Miss, we’ll take it from here.”

“They’re all yours,” Josephine said, brushing hair from her face with a faint smile.

But before the thugs could be hauled away, one man staggered up, hate burning in his eyes. “Go to hell!” he roared, pulling a pistol from his waistband.

The gunshot cracked through the air. Children screamed. Josephine froze—too slow this time.

But Alex was faster. He appeared in front of her, his hand snapping up.

The bullet stopped against his palm, crushed between his fingers. In the same motion, he flicked it back like a pebble.

It smashed into the thug’s hand, sending the gun clattering to the ground as he howled in pain.

“How dare you touch us!” the thug spat, clutching his mangled hand.

“Do you even know who we are? We’re with the Chicago Outfit! My name’s Max Capone. My eldest brother is Al Capone—the legend of Chicago!”

The crowd gasped.

“What? Al Capone? The Chicago Outfit?”

Everyone froze. The guards, the staff, even the security team turned pale at the name.

Everyone knew it. The Chicago Outfit. A mafia empire that hid behind “security firms” while running every illegal racket under the sun.

They were infamous for their brutality, their reach, and their absolute disregard for law or life.

Al Capone—the name alone was enough to paralyze most men.

He had built the Outfit into a ruthless machine, a criminal dynasty spreading far beyond Chicago, swallowing city after city.

Even Vancouver had fallen under their shadow.

One of the guards stepped forward, “Sir, they’ve rented the entire park. You’re not allowed to be here.”

Max sneered through the blood dripping from his hand.

“So what if they rented out this park for their little party? They still need permission from the Chicago Outfit. We own this area! No celebration happens without us approving it!”

The guards shifted uneasily, knowing full well what that meant. Nobody crossed the Outfit without paying a price.

Alex and Josephine stood in silence, their expressions unreadable.

Max smirked, his arrogance undimmed. “What’s wrong? Scared now? You know who I am. You know what comes next, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Alex said flatly.

Then his boot shot forward, cracking across Max’s face. The thug flew backward, his entire body rolling across the ground.

Alex’s smile didn’t falter.

He grabbed Max’s hand and, with barely any effort, bent his pinky backward until it snapped.

The bone tore loose. Max screamed, the sound raw and animal, echoing across the park.

“Quiet,” Alex said coldly, his voice a knife. “We’re civilized men. We don’t use violence. That would be… immoral.”

Still howling, Max was dragged out of the park gates.

Once outside, Alex forced every thug to kneel in the street.

“Now,” he said, “call your people from the Chicago Outfit. For every ten minutes they’re late, one of your finger bones will be broken. Make the call. Now.”

Sweat poured down Max’s face. His voice trembled, but his pride pushed through.

“You’ll regret this. Once I call them, hundreds will come. Thousands if I want. You’ll be crushed!”

“Wonderful,” Alex said with a low laugh. “I’m counting on it. Now, pick up the phone. You’ve got ten minutes, or bones start breaking.”

Max roared at his men.

“Call them! Call everyone! Let this bastard see what it means to defy the Chicago Outfit! We may just be the Vancouver branch, but no one touches us without paying in blood. Make the damn call!”

Alex nodded approvingly. “Good. Call them all. The more that come, the better. It’ll save your fingers.”

He stepped aside, pulling out his own phone, his voice calm and commanding when the line connected.

“Carlos, it’s time to clean up the underworld. Come to Vancouver City Park. I’ve got twenty bait fish here waiting. You handle the net.”

“Yes, sir,” Carlos replied. His voice carried absolute loyalty. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Alex let out a long, heavy sigh.

He had seen it too many times—streets ruled by men like this, thugs and gangsters who thrived on extortion, breaking shopkeepers for protection money, dragging kids into crime, and silencing anyone who dared resist.

They spread terror like a disease, crushing the weak day by day.

And the weak, abandoned by law and ignored by those in power, had no choice but to hide, bow their heads, and bleed quietly under the weight of fear.

“Justice without force is powerless,” he murmured. “But force without justice is tyranny.”

“So I will become both—the force and the justice.”

Lifting his head, he whispered a quiet prayer.

“May the True Source grant me strength in this.”