32. Venetia
Venetia
T he silence that follows the gunshots is deafening.
Smoke still hangs in the air from our weapons, and the metallic scent of blood mingles with the ancient stone smell of the hall.
I stand over Leonard’s corpse, my knife still sticky with some of his blood, and survey the carnage we’ve just created.
Eleven students remain, watching us with expressions that range from grim satisfaction to cold calculation. Not one of them looks shocked.
These are mafia heirs. Violence is their birthright.
Emma speaks first, her voice steady. “Well, that was inevitable.” She stands and steps over one of the bodies without so much as a glance downward. “Leonard’s family have always been ambitious beyond their capabilities.”
“His father thought he could play both sides,” adds Peter Hutchinson, pulling out a handkerchief to clean blood spatter from his glasses. “Foolish, really. You can’t serve two masters in this business.”
I sheath my blade.
Sophia, a woman with a hardened face, surveys the destruction around us but stays quiet.
“Blake,” I call over. “What did you find on Leonard’s phone?”
He’s been scrolling through the device since we finished clearing the bodies. “Encrypted messaging app, but it’s still logged in. Leonard was sloppy. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment betrayal.”
“What do they say?”
“Give me a moment to decrypt the full conversation thread.” Blake moves to one of the tables, connecting Leonard’s phone to his tablet. “But from what I can see in plain text, someone’s been coordinating attacks across multiple territories tonight. The timing wasn’t coincidental.”
Viper snorts, his face grim. “My territory’s being hit hard.
Professional soldiers, not street gangs.
Someone with serious money is funding this operation.
Anton said the same thing about his holdings, along with Fairfax, McPherson, and Halliday, all hit simultaneously while we were dealing with the fake deaths here. ”
“So it’s not him?” Relief floods through me.
Viper shakes his head. “The territories of the families with no living heirs were hit. You were supposed to die, and ACH’s territory was supposed to be taken.”
“Was it?”
“I doubt it, but who knows. I came back in here to save your arse. Again.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, but there isn’t really any anger in it. He’s right. Sort of. I was already planning my move, but his arrival created a distraction.
Emma steps forward. “If I may, Venetia? My family’s intelligence network has been tracking unusual mercenary recruitment over the past month.
Private military contractors are being hired through shell companies.
We thought it was for overseas operations, but the timing suggests domestic use. It’s too coincidental.”
“What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
“Enough to overwhelm traditional family security forces,” she replies grimly. “Whoever’s behind this has been planning a coordinated takeover of the entire northern criminal infrastructure.”
The weight of that statement settles over the room like a shroud. We’re not dealing with a simple territorial dispute or even a family vendetta. This is a wholesale attempt to restructure the criminal hierarchy.
I get my brain to work, ticking over the information we have, and try not to dwell on all the shit we don’t know.
“Okay. The trafficking operation is where this all started. We stumbled upon human trafficking through the academy, and that led us to the Graduate network, which led us to the Cravenmoor Institute.”
Blake looks up from his tablet. “The trafficking was just the tip of the iceberg. A way to fund something much larger.”
“And to test loyalty,” adds Rafferty, who’s been quietly checking weapons. “See which families would participate in something that depraved, which ones would look the other way, and which ones would actively oppose it.”
Sophia nods. “My father always said the trafficking was a recruitment tool. If you’d participate in selling children, you’d do anything for the right price.”
The clinical way she discusses child trafficking makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to focus. These students have been raised in a world where such horrors are business considerations, not moral outrages. I can’t change their upbringing, but I can use their knowledge.
“So Cravenmoor used the trafficking network to identify corruptible families, then used the Graduate programme to place operatives in key positions throughout the criminal hierarchy,” I summarise.
“The poisonings were to kill three particular students, but they couldn’t get them in the usual way.
They had to be clever; they had to make it look like everyone was a target, while forces moved to take over territories belonging to families whose heirs actually died. ”
“Leaving Cravenmoor in control of a consolidated criminal empire spanning most of northern England,” Blake confirms, looking up from Leonard’s phone. “And according to these messages, that’s just the beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns the tablet screen toward us. “Cravenmoor’s been in communication with similar organisations across Europe. This isn’t just about British criminal families—it’s about creating a continental network under centralised control.”
The scope of what we’re facing hits me. We’re not just fighting for our families’ territories; we’re fighting against the complete restructuring of organised crime across multiple countries.
“How long do we have?” I ask.
Blake scrolls through more messages. “Based on these timestamps, the territorial attacks began an hour ago. Most family strongholds have probably fallen by now, or they’re in the process of falling.”
Viper’s jaw clenches. “I need to get back to Manchester. My people are probably dead or captured. But it doesn’t make sense why they went after me.”
“You took a major piece of the puzzle from them. They want it back,” Blake states.
I look around the hall, taking in the blood-soaked stones, the loyal students watching us with calculating eyes, and the ancient walls that have witnessed centuries of conflict. “We make our stand here.”
“Here?” Emma sounds surprised. “Venetia, this academy is a sitting duck. If Cravenmoor brings his full force against us here, we are dead.”
“No. This is an old castle that used to defend against marauders. If anything, we have the advantage. He has to come to us, on ground we control, with people we trust.” I gesture to the assembled students.
“Every one of you represents a family with resources, connections, and intelligence networks. We’re the next generation of criminal leadership, and we are going to show this Jonathon fucker who he is messing with. ”
The students exchange glances, and I can see the shift in their thinking.
Blake’s tablet chimes with an incoming message. “Encrypted communication coming through Leonard’s phone. Someone’s trying to reach him.”
“Answer it,” I decide. “Let’s see who’s been pulling his strings.”
Blake hesitates. “If they realise Leonard’s dead?—”
“Then they’ll know we’re ready for whatever comes next.” I move closer to the laptop. “I’m tired of being reactive. It’s time to take the initiative.”
He nods and accepts the incoming call. The screen flickers, then resolves into the image of a man in his fifties with steel-grey hair and cold green eyes. Even through the digital connection, his presence is commanding.
“Leonard,” the man says without preamble. “Report.”
“Leonard’s indisposed,” I reply, stepping into view of the camera. “Permanently.”
The man’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch a slight tightening around his eyes. “Miss Corbyn-Hale. How delightful to finally meet face-to-face, even under these circumstances.”
“Jonathon Cravenmoor, I presume?”
“Indeed. I trust you’ve been enjoying the evening’s entertainment?”
“Your entertainment has caused multiple deaths on the inside and probably hundreds on the outside. Did my dad kick your arse? If he didn’t, know I will.”
Cravenmoor laughs, a sound like breaking glass. “In our world, my dear, there are only the strong and the weak, the prepared and the caught off guard. The alive and the dead.”
“And which category do you think I fall into?”
“That remains to be seen. You were not supposed to survive. Yet here you are.” His eyes shift, taking in the blood-soaked hall behind me. “Though I must admit, your handling of Leonard and his associates shows promise. Perhaps we can reach an accommodation.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Don’t be hasty. You’re currently sitting in my ancestor’s seat of power, surrounded by my family’s history, in possession of materials that belong to me. Surely, we can negotiate like civilised people.”
I feel the assembled students tense behind me. This is their first direct exposure to the man who’s been orchestrating all this chaos, and even through a screen, his malevolent charisma is palpable.
“I’m offering you a choice, Miss Corbyn-Hale. Join me willingly, and I’ll share that empire with you. Continue to resist, and I’ll take it anyway, along with your life and the lives of everyone in that hall.”
The line goes dead.