Chapter 2
Chapter two
"Merge"
The conference room consisted of a thick mahogany table, leather chairs, power, cigars, and a wall of tinted windows looking out over the city my family practically owned.
Every chair around the table was filled with family.
The Belvior crest watched from above the fireplace like even it had something to say.
Decisions made there moved money, controlled neighborhoods, and determined who lived to see another sunrise.
I sat next to my father and listened to men talk about territory disputes, offshore accounts, and a new shipment coming through Port Allen. But the words blurred together because I had other shit on my mind.
Moments later, I dragged my attention back to the table and tightened my grip around my glass just as my eyes landed on Kalvon.
He sat across from me with a gold ring gleaming on his pinky and a smug look settled across his face, like he knew exactly what was eating me alive. That same smirk had gotten men killed in other families.
I looked away before the urge to wipe it off his face became a problem.
When the meeting finally adjourned, chairs scraped against the floor and men rose from the table. Kalvon took his time making his way toward me, wearing that same lazy grin as he leaned in and spoke low enough for only me to hear.
“So… big dawg,” he drawled, tapping his glass against mine.
“You’re down to a year to get married and produce an heir.
I know how bad you want that spot, so… either you’re procrastinating, for whatever reason, or…
” He glanced downward deliberately, mouth twisting into a taunting grin. “Your soldiers aren’t marching.”
My glass slammed down hard enough to crack.
Before Kalvon could even react, I was out my seat with my hand wrapped around his throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to shake the damn picture frames.
“Say that shit again!” I roared, my face inches from his, spit flying with every word.
My grip tightened until I could feel his pulse hammering desperately against my palm.
“Say it one more fucking time and I’ll have you gargling blood through broken teeth!
I’ll shatter yo’ fuckin’ jaw so bad they’ll have to wire it shut for six months! "
The nigga laughed anyway, cocky even while fighting for air.
“Damn,” he choked out, voice strangled but still defiant. “Guess I struck a nerve.”
I slammed him into the wall again, harder that time. His head cracked against the plaster and left a dent. A photo fell, the frame splitting down the middle.
“Nah, you just keep forgetting yo’ place.
In this family, crowns don’t get handed out because yo’ daddy stood next to power.
You earn that title in blood, sacrifice and in bodies stacked so high you can’t see over them.
You earn it by making decisions that would break lesser men, and by carrying weight that would crush your soft ass into dust.”
Kalvon’s eyes were watering now, his face purple, his cocky grin finally gone.
“Merge!” My father’s voice cut through the room like thunder.
He was on his feet, sharp-eyed despite his age.
“Enough!” he commanded.
I didn’t let go right away, because I had some more shit to get off my chest.
My free hand grabbed Kalvon’s collar, twisting the fabric until it choked him further.
“Yo’ soft ass wouldn’t survive a week carrying what comes with the crown!
” I hissed. “Not a single fucking week! So, the next time you feel like running yo’ mouth about what I do or don’t do with my life, remember this moment.
Remember how easy it was for me to put you on this wall.
Remember that I’m showing you mercy right now by letting you breathe. "
I shoved Kalvon one final time, hard enough that his legs buckled when I released him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing, one hand clutching his throat.
But the muthafucka didn’t stay down.
He stood—barely. One hand braced against the wall for support; the other massaged his throat where my fingers had left angry red marks that were already darkening into bruises.
“Careful, Merge,” Kalvon’s voice came out raw, shredded, like he’d swallowed glass.
“You keep losing control like that, and the council might start wondering if you’re fit to lead.
You know they’re already watching you. They see everything…
every outburst, every loss of control, and every time you prove you can't handle pressure without resorting to...” He gestured vaguely at the destruction around us.
“..this. You keep losing control like that, and the council might start wondering if you're really fit to lead.
Maybe they'll decide it's best if someone with a cooler head sat in that chair… someone who understands that power isn’t just about who hits hardest.”
I took one step back toward him… just one. But it was enough to make his smile falter, enough to make his hand tighten on the wall for support.
“You think the council scares me?” My voice came out quiet and deadly. “You think I give a single fuck what those old men in their ivory towers think about how I handle disrespect?”
I moved closer, slow, and predatory, until I was standing directly in front of him.
“Let me make something crystal fucking clear, Kalvon.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt louder than shouting.
“If the day ever comes when the council decides I'm not fit to lead, and they think someone with a ‘cooler head’ should take my place… it’ll be because I personally cut that head off and delivered it to them on a silver platter with yo’ name tag still attached. ”
I let the words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise.
Kalvon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The cocky defiance in his eyes flickered and was replaced by something that looked a lot like genuine fear, but Kalvon was nothing if not committed to the performance.
He chuckled and shook his head slowly. “We’ll see. Enjoy your invisible crown… while it still fits,” he concluded, then pushed off the wall and left, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
I stood there, fists still trembling.
“What the hell was that about?” my father barked from behind me, his tone measured but sharp. “Are you trying to prove him right?! Because from where I’m standing, you just gave him exactly what he wanted—ammunition!”
I finally turned to face my father who stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He was dressed impeccably as always in a three-piece suit, gold cufflinks, and not a hair out of place.
“What is it always about with him? Power… jealousy… and the fact that he thinks proximity to the throne means he deserves to sit on it. He stays forgetting his place. It was time I gave him a reminder.” I shrugged.
“By nearly killing him?”
“By showing him exactly what happens when you disrespect the man who holds the crown.”
My father was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that had built an empire and crushed countless enemies. He then shook his head as his eyes swept over the destroyed room, cataloging every broken piece and every sign of violence. Then they landed back on me.
“Sit,” he said simply.
It wasn’t a request.
I sank back into my chair, reached for my bourbon, and drained it in one swallow.
My father moved paced around the room slowly, his shoes crunching over broken glass. He picked up the fallen photo, examined the torn canvas, and exhaled deeply.
“Son, I love you, but Kalvon’s not wrong about everything.
Just how he’s watching, so is the council.
They’re also looking for weakness, and any excuse to question whether you’re ready.
No one wants a leader who moves like a bachelor with no vision and no heir.
That’s not power; that’s playboy energy, and this kingdom ain’t no playground. ”
“Then let them watch too. Then they’ll see strength. They’ll see that I don’t tolerate disrespect, I don’t hesitate, and when someone crosses the line, there are consequences.”
My father’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. It wasn’t quite approval or disapproval, but something more complex.
“There’s a difference between demonstrating power and losing control of it, son,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t lose control; I made a choice.”
“Did you?” he countered. “Another thing, I’m growing impatient myself, Merge.
I’ve given you time, hell, years, and you’re right at the deadline.
You knew the rules. What’s going on with Zonnique?
Are you two really trying to have a baby?
Because from the looks of it, you’re either not touching her at all, or she’s barren.
And if it’s the second one, we’ve got a problem that money and good genetics can’t fix. So, which is it?”
I grabbed the decanter from the middle of the table and poured more bourbon into my cracked glass. I took a sip, then another. The burn did nothing to dull the irritation crawling up my spine.
As soon as he mentioned Zonnique's name, the memory of the day I agreed to that bullshit arrangement hit me like a slap to the face.
Yup. Zonnique was still around… unfortunately.
Her becoming a semi-permanent fixture in my life started after that conversation with my father a year earlier.
My old man made it crystal fucking clear: no child, no control of the family empire.
Granted, I’d known about the position for years.
And for years I procrastinated, brushed it off, thinking it was just another one of his idle threats to keep me in line.
But that deadline he handed me wasn’t a casual reminder or some fatherly advice; it was a ticking clock counting down to a decision I’d been avoiding for far too damn long.