The Mafia's Undoing-Chapter 100: Inside Out

Rikers Island is exactly as bad as I expected.

They put me in the general population. Not protective custody. Not isolation. Gen pop with murderers, gang members, violent offenders.

It’s deliberate. Someone wanted me vulnerable.

First day, three separate attacks. All random prison violence, according to the guards who showed up after.

The next morning, a guy tries to shank me in the shower. I broke his wrist and took his weapon.

In the afternoon, two guys jumped me in the yard. I drop one, and the other backs off when he realizes I actually knew how to fight.

In the evening, there was another attempt during dinner. This one I see coming because he was too obvious, an amateur.

I was using everything I learned. Years of training, street fighting, and dirty tactics. Whatever keeps me alive.

But I’m alone, outnumbered, and surrounded by people who either want me dead or don’t care if I die.

And every fight takes something out of me. I’m good, but I’m not invincible.

By the second day, I’m exhausted and bruised. My ribs were aching from that morning shower attack.

Then the riot starts.

It began in the mess hall during lunch, an argument over food that escalated too fast.

Within minutes, there was full chaos. Inmates fighting, guards retreating, and alarms blaring.

I’m on my feet immediately, my back against the wall, assessing the threats.

This isn’t random. It’s too coordinated, like someone orchestrated this.

Someone wanted chaos, and I’m the target.

Five inmates move toward me through the fighting. They were large and moved with purpose.

It’s obvious they weren’t here for the riot but for me.

"Morrison sends his regards," the leader says.

Then they attack all at once. No posturing, no threats, just immediate violence designed to kill.

I fight back with everything I have. Brutal, desperate, and efficient.

I drop the first one with an elbow to the throat, the second takes a knee to the groin, goes down gasping, but there are still three, and they’re really trained. I’m taking hits, fists, elbows, and a shank that grazed my ribs - shallow but bleeding.

My eyes swelled shut, my ribs were definitely broken, and blood was in my mouth.

I’m going to die here. In a prison riot, exactly like Morrison planned.

Then someone massive tackles one of my attackers from the side.

He was huge and scarred, but he fought with military precision.

Together, we drove them off. The remaining three back away, disappearing into the chaos.

The man grabs my arm. "Come on before they regroup."

He pulls me through the riot, into a side corridor. The laundry room is defensible with only one entrance.

He props me against the wall. I’m bleeding badly, and my breathing hurts.

"You’re Marvin," he says, and it wasn’t a question.

"Yeah." I coughed and tasted blood. "Who are you?"

"Jackson Wade. Former Marine." He’s checking my injuries with professional efficiency. "Couple broken ribs. Knife wound’s shallow, your eye’s gonna swell shut, but no permanent damage. You’ll live."

"Why help me?"

"Because you’re being railroaded. I know bullshit when I see it." He pulls out a makeshift first aid kit from a hiding spot. "Also, I owe you."

"You don’t know me."

"But I know Katherine Blaire." He’s cleaning my wounds. "My sister was one of your consulting firm clients. You helped her escape from a trafficking ring. Gave her a new identity and a clean slate. Real life."

The memory surfaces. "Phoebe? Phoebe Wade?"

"That’s her." Jackson’s voice is fierce with pride. "She told me what you two do. Helping people escape criminal life and give them a second chance. That’s worth more than freedom."

"You risked your life for a debt you didn’t owe."

"That’s what Marines do." He finishes bandaging. "We don’t leave people behind. Your girl helped my sister, I help you. That’s how honor works."

The riot’s still going on outside, and we could hear it. Fighting, screaming, and the Guards trying to regain control.

"Morrison’s people will come back," I say. "With more numbers."

"Then we hold this position." Jackson checks his own makeshift weapons. "Laundry room’s defensible with one entrance. We can last until the riot’s over."

"Could be hours."

"I’ve held worse positions." He grins despite the situation. "Fallujah, 2004. Now that was a siege."

My vision’s blurring. The adrenaline was wearing off, and my injuries were catching up.

"You need medical," Jackson observes. "Possible internal bleeding from those broken ribs."

"I’m fine."

"You’re dying. Stop being stubborn."

"Dying’s for later, right now I need to-"

The laundry room door bursts open.

I’m on my feet, my weapon ready, Jackson beside me-

Katherine.

She’s actually here in Rikers during a riot.

"Katherine?" I can’t process this. "What - how-"

"Shut up." She’s crossing to me, her hands already checking my injuries. "Oh God, Tony. You’re bleeding, you’re-"

"I’m okay."

"You’re not okay!" She’s crying now, her hands gentle but firm as she examines me. "Timothy got us access. We came as soon as-"

Timothy and Bella appear behind her, both armed and looking grim.

"We need to move," Timothy says. "The riot’s being suppressed, but Morrison’s people are still hunting Tony."

"He can barely walk," Katherine protests.

"Then I’ll carry him." Jackson extends a hand. "Jackson Wade. Former Marine and friend."

"Katherine Blaire." She shakes it quickly. "Thank you for keeping him alive."

"Just returning a favor your firm did for my sister."

Bella’s studying me. This sister I barely know. "You look terrible."

"Thanks. You look like Dad." I try to smile, but it hurts.

"We need to get you medical attention," she says. "Real medical attention, not prison first aid."

"Can’t. I’m under arrest. They’ll just bring me back here."

"Not if you’re not here." Timothy’s voice is grim.

Before I can ask what that means, the prison PA system crackles to life.

Morrison’s recorded voice was playing through the speakers.

"Anthony Marvin, by now you’re wondering why you’re still alive."

My blood runs cold.

"Simple. I want you to watch what happens next."

A screen in the laundry room used for prison announcements and messages flickers to life.

Live feed from an exterior shot in a van with men in tactical gear dragging someone out.

Susan.

Katherine screams. "NO!"

Susan’s face is bruised. Terrified but defiant. She’s fighting them even though it’s useless.

Morrison’s voice continues: "Your friend for your freedom. You walk out of Rikers, turn yourself over to my people, and Susan lives. Stay protected, she dies slowly. And you’ll watch the whole thing."

The feed shows Susan being forced into the van. Her eyes find the camera.

"Don’t do it!" she screams. "It’s a trap! Don’t-"

The feed cuts out.

"You have thirty minutes," Morrison says. "Choose wisely."

Katherine’s on her knees, sobbing. "Susan. He has Susan."

I’m trying to stand, and Jackson helps me. Every movement was in agony.

"It’s a trap," Timothy says. "You walk out there, you die. Morrison kills you both."

"And if I don’t, Susan dies." I meet his eyes. "I don’t have a choice."

"There has to be another way-" Katherine starts.

"There is." Jackson’s voice cuts through. "We get tactical. Morrison expects surrender; we give him war."

Bella’s already on her phone. "Lisa, where’s the van?"

"Tracking now." Lisa’s voice came through the speaker. "They’re heading to Queens. Warehouse district near the docks."

"I know that area," Jackson says. "Near where my sister worked. Six-story building with multiple entry points. It’s defendable but not impenetrable."

"We’d need numbers," Timothy says. "A team."

Jackson smiles, and it’s not a nice smile. "I know twenty guys in here... all Marines and wrongfully convicted on bullshit charges. They’re all ready to fight."

"You’re talking about a prison break," I say.

"Morrison wanted a riot?" Jackson’s eyes are cold. "We give him an army."