Three years ago, Arthur, the supreme ruler of the world's largest underground syndicate, lost his loyal subordinate Johnny, who took three bullets for him during an assassination attempt. Johnny's only dying wish was to return to his hometown and open an auto repair shop. Arthur gave up his throne, went incognito, and opened the shop for his fallen brother in Redstone, a desolate town on the US-Mexico border. For three years, he endured endless humiliation from Kyle, the local gang's heir, and his gold-digging girlfriend Sarah—dirty rags thrown in his face, his nameplate stomped on, protection money doubled. He tolerated it all because he had promised Johnny that this peaceful place would see no more blood. Then Kyle stole the bulletproof Maybach that Johnny had built with his own hands, smashed it into scrap metal with a sledgehammer in front of the whole town, and mocked, "Dead means dead, nothing left." Arthur took off his dog tags and spoke a single word into his cuff: "Clean." Armed helicopters tear through the night sky, dozens of laser sights lock onto Kyle's heart. Victoria, the syndicate's second-in-command, kneels on one knee in her red-bottom heels: "My King." From a mechanic to the dark emperor who makes drug lords kneel on the spot and national armies personally unbuckle his armor—he wasn't being patient; he just hadn't spoken yet. Now, he has spoken.
