Chapter 46
Forty-Six
“To lead the wolves, you don’t just bare your teeth. You show them blood.”–Cyan MacBrady.
The chime on my phone signals a new message. Even mid-mission, I pull it out. Johnny’s words flash on the screen. Aria loved her surprise. A rare smile tugs at my lips.
“Do you think it’s wise to let her come to New York, given what’s about to go down?” Collin asks. From my expression alone, he knows who that text was about.
I understand the concern. Lorenzo’s gone underground, and technically, New York is still his.
“It’s safe,” I say, my voice sharpening as I slide my phone into my pocket. “I sent three of the Ten and a dozen men. She’s protected.”
Collin narrows his eyes. “Safe?” His brow furrows. “We still don’t know who from our syndicate met Leo.” I don’t answer.
The elevator slows as we near the top. Collin’s body tightens beside me, coiled and ready.
My instinct, sharp as broken glass, scrapes through my thoughts.
Can I still trust my men? Ping! The door opens.
Collin whips out two blades without hesitation.
Five lethal seconds later, both guards collapse, gurgling for air.
I step forward. The monster inside me rises, pleased.
“Col, let’s make it rain red.” These old bastards cling to their rusted thrones like relics from another era.
Giuseppe, Capo of Illinois, Lorenzo’s loyal consigliere, still thinks it’s the 1980s–blind to the cracks splitting the foundation beneath him.
He called this meeting to cling to power. Fool.
Sebastian whistles. “You always take the fun out of these types of parties, Col.” He stands at the open stairwell. Troy and Thomas don’t speak; they drag the bodies out of sight and take their positions.
Collin and I move. The M134 is already in my hands. He slips out another pair of knives as the lads prepare to fling open the double doors ahead of us.
“Oi, fine day to you all, gentlemen,” I announce as we step inside.
Every Capo and underboss turns. They’re unarmed thanks to Giuseppe’s precious rule: no weapons.
His second mistake. “Seems my invite to this illustrious shindig got lost in the mail,” my tone smooth as a razor under velvet. “Wouldn’t you agree, Giuseppe?”
“You bastard spawn of an Italian whore,” he spits, the fat fuck lunging for his gun.
He’s too slow. Collin’s blade sinks into his forearm.
Giuseppe screams. “Ahh! Motherfucker! Tommaso, do something!” He turns to his underboss.
Tommaso leans against the far wall, unmoved, his gaze locked on Giuseppe, burning, merciless.
The bastard assaulted his sister last year. That sin bought me his loyalty. Realizing no one is coming to save him, Giuseppe tries to retreat, but Collin’s next blade pins his arm to the table. I hand Collin the M134 and take his machete. Giuseppe’s eyes widen.
“Let me lay this down for you lads,” I say. “Disrespect my mam again…” I Step toward the bleeding relic.
“Kill him!” Giuseppe screams with a frantic glance at the others. No one moves. “You’re a mistake that should’ve been drowned at birth! Lorenzo will gut you like the bastard you are!”
I raise my hand. Next, the blade slices through his trapped arm, clean. Blood explodes across polished mahogany.
“You’ll never be one of us, you mongrel piece of Irish trash!” he shrieks as crimson sprays the air.
I turn my back on him and address the room. “Gentlemen, loyalty isn’t about tradition. It isn’t about respect. It’s about power.” I let the words settle as I lean forward, wrenching Collin’s knife free from the severed limb still pinned to the table.
“Oi, let me make this clear. This isn’t a negotiation. This is a fucking funeral. You’ll either walk out with me… or leave in a body bag.”
Tommaso steps beside me. I place the machete in his hand. He doesn’t hesitate.
Giuseppe has fallen from his chair, crawling, leaving a slick red trail across the floor.
Tommaso hacks into him. The screams rip through the boardroom.
I pick up the severed arm and walk to the head of the table, Lorenzo’s seat, and lay it on the table.
Blood drips onto the polished surface as I take my seat.
The screaming stops, Tommaso swings again and again.
When he’s done, he returns to the wall, soaked in blood, and lights a cigarette.
I scan the room. Eyes flick from the arm to me, and no one speaks.
Fear is how respect is earned. To sit at the head of this table, you have to be the most ruthless motherfucker in the room.
“Now,” I say, calm as a saint, “let’s talk about our future.
Who isn’t ready to follow?” No one speaks.
They know the truth. This is the beginning of something new…
or the end of them. I turn to my left. Gustavo “Iron” Mansueto, Capo of New Jersey, grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles bleach white.
“How’s the family, Gustavo?” I tilt my head.
“I hear your daughter Maddie’s headed to Stanford this fall. Bright future, wouldn’t you say?”
His eyes flicker with fear, calculation, and understanding. Everyone knows he worships that girl. Gustavo is the last relic of Lorenzo’s dying era. But relics can still adapt.
“Yes,” he says, swallowing hard. “Maddie’s future is bright. Thanks for asking.” He hesitates, then nods. “My wife, Maddalena, is throwing her a graduation party. It’d be an honor if you attended.” Translation: My loyalty is yours.
I nod once. “Thank you, Gustavo. My business with Lorenzo will conclude long before then. Send me the details.”
I shift my gaze to the right. Tristen “The Nose” Mullen, Capo of Southern California, shifts in his seat.
His nickname comes from the beak on his face…
and his execution style—bullet straight through the nose.
My intel says he’s juggling two wives and a polyamorous mess of secrets.
I’m about to apply pressure when another voice cuts in.
“Cyan, with all due respect, we’re not stupid.
” Toribio The Professional, Santelli, Capo of Nevada, nods toward the mutilated corpse on the floor.
“If anyone doesn’t understand what’s happening here, he deserves to join him.
” If anyone could rival me, it’s Toribio.
But I know he’s not interested; it’s the only reason he’s still alive.
He glances at his watch. The man is always in a hurry to leave these meetings.
He hates being away from his precious Vegas.
Unlike the others, he has no weakness to exploit. For him, it’s simple: Vegas and money.
“Very well, Toribio, let’s get down to business.
” I lean forward. “This is a hostile takeover. Anyone opposed, speak now.” Nothing but silence.
I rise slowly, scanning each face. “This isn’t business.
This is survival. Welcome, lads, to the new world order…
where I am now the Don of the entire American syndicate. ” I let that land.
“If anyone makes a move against me or mine, I will erase your entire bloodline, down to your fucking dog.” I pause, then gesture. “Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor?”
One by one, hands rise. Their silence is a pact, their stares, signatures. “My goal is simple. Our revenue’s been bleeding out for years because Lorenzo refused to evolve. I won’t make that mistake. We’re pivoting in a new direction. One that makes us all richer.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Romeo “Pretty Boy” Paparella, Capo of Northern California, asks. Doubt cracks his voice. “The government’s legalizing most of our income streams.”
“I know; that’s why we build legitimate businesses of our own.”
“We already have legit fronts,” Romeo argues.
“I’m not talking about restaurants, pizzerias, or garbage-hauling operations you’re using to launder cash.”
“Are you saying we go fully legit?” Tristen asks, eyes narrowing. “Drop the illegal side?”
“Fuck no,” I smirk. “That would invite new players onto our turf.”
“What exactly are you proposing?” Derulo Four-Toes Recine, the Capo of Pennsylvania, grunts.
“I’m not reinventing the wheel, just upgrading it.” I nod to Tommaso. “Bring Troy in.” Moments later, Troy enters with a sleek black briefcase. He opens it and distributes folders around the table.
“I’ve drafted a custom expansion plan for each of your territories.” I lock eyes with Romeo and Tristen. “In California, green’s legalized. We grow the best product, dominate the dispensary market, and print money.”
I let the pause stretch. “That’s just the start. I’ve partnered with the president of The Devil’s Jokers MC. Texas is begging for a supplier. We flood it before the law catches up.” Romeo flips through the file fast now. “What do you say?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tristen says, nodding.
Derulo scowls. “That works for them. I don’t have the climate.” Read the packet, you thick bastard. Lorenzo didn’t like his Capos to think, just to be brutal. Derulo fits the mold.
“Sports betting’s next,” I say evenly. “We launch a fully online casino, develop mobile apps, and partner with Toribio to dominate the betting market coast to coast.”
“This sounds great in theory,” Toribio says, leaning back. “But licensing isn’t guaranteed. Neither is scale.”
“You’re right. That’s why I already handled it.
It was slipped into the last pork-filled spending bill in the Senate; the state legislature just cleared the way.
I greased the right politicians. Paid the ones who’d take it and gathered enough dirt on the ones who wouldn’t.
” I steeple my fingers. “Every detail is mapped. Read the files.” They do. When they look up, I know I have them.
Except for Toribio, his brows lift. “What’s your kickback?”
“Fifteen percent.” I let the number breathe. “And my Boston-based software company supplies the systems for all ventures.”
Toribio’s lips curve Lorenzo took twenty-five. “I think we all agree,” he says. “But Lorenzo has to die for this to work.”
“I agree,” Derulo mutters.
“I’ll handle Lorenzo,” I say simply.
Toribio nods once. “Alright. We’ll stay out of it. But once you clean that mess up, we’re ready to implement your plans.”
Exactly what I wanted. A turf war would’ve been a bloodbath; this way, it stays clean. Just me and Lorenzo. “Now onto other business.” I scan the table. “Once Lorenzo’s dealt with, Boston and New York become one syndicate.” Heads nod.
“Also, the Illinois seat can’t be left vacant.” I gesture toward Tommaso. “I’ll appoint him interim Capo. The title becomes official once Lorenzo’s out of the picture. No sense letting things rot while I finish my unfinished business.”
This is the endgame. I already own his empire, and Lorenzo’s life.
He just doesn’t know it yet. “Gentlemen, one more thing.” I rise.
My palms press into the table. Blood from Giuseppe’s severed hand smears across the polished wood like a signature.
“Let’s talk rats… and real loyalty.” I glance around the room.
“I suggest you all perform an extermination within your syndicates.”
I snap my fingers. Troy moves instantly, dragging Derulo’s underboss from the wall. Carlos hits the table hard. Troy shoves the gun into his mouth. He’s gagging, eyes wide. Perfect.
“Derulo,” I say, tossing him a blade. “Here’s Lorenzo’s informant. A gift.” Derulo catches it midair. He’s been a butcher longer than he’s been a Capo. “Take his tongue,” I add. “Then take him home and make an example.”
The room doesn’t react, but I feel it. My control settling in. Derulo stands, steps forward. Troy grips the snitch’s jaw, and his tongue is gone in one clean stroke. The wet slap of meat hits the table. I don’t smile at the violence. I smile at the message.
“Gentlemen,” I say, standing tall, blood beneath my fingertips, “welcome to the new world order.”
I gesture to Carlos, who is bleeding from his mouth.
“Loyalty. Or death.”