CHAPTER TWO
RAVEN
My fingers drum against the scarred wood of the table.
Slow, hollow, a pulse counting down to the first crack of composure and the first splatter of blood in this decrepit, stone box of a meeting room.
Ezekiel sits at the head. Calm. Unshakable.
The kind of mask honed by years of death and ruin, though I know he’d much rather be anywhere else than here.
The feeling is mutual. My hands still carry the warmth of blood from the fresh corpse stashed in the trunk of my car, the evidence of today I’ve yet to bury.
David will just have to wait, because apparently, this meeting couldn’t.
I scan the table. Every man here is a storm shackled by pretense and pride, a predator masking their hunger behind the practiced curve of a smile.
But I see through it. Years of betrayal, stolen contraband, back-alley deals, and missing bodies…
Debts the families just don’t forget about overnight.
And Ezekiel? He’s the only man with the audacity to call them all in and propose a damn treaty that could change all our futures.
I can smell it. Their fear. Greed infused with the faint copper stench of blood, soaked into every fiber of their expensive suits.
Not even soap or expensive cologne could stifle their contempt.
Yet, each of them knows they must play their part.
Understanding now that there’s a far greater threat out there.
Threats that supersede their petty rivalries and old grudges.
A threat we might actually eradicate if we all act together.
If they don’t, they bleed. I could pull the trigger right now.
One heart stuttering to silence would be all it takes for this room to bend to me.
I’d watch them all break and I would smile.
I know it. They know it. Ezekiel knows it too and that’s exactly why I’m here.
Across from me, Lucian Mortello leans back, his smug grin stretched wide across his face, half-lidded eyes boring into Ezekiel as if he’s planning what flowers to bring to his funeral.
Mortello’s smart, but not smart enough to pull a stunt like that.
He’s the capo of the Mortello crime family, and yet, here he is, underestimating us.
He thinks in leverage and chains. In power gambits.
But with me in this room, he’s playing with a fire he cannot contain.
If he isn’t careful, the last thing he sees before he dies will be my face.
Drago Vaelric leans forward, snarling. Spitting accusations like bullets across the table.
I catch the tremor in his fingers as they strike the wood.
Generational grudges die bleeding, old man.
Pakhan to the Russian Syndicate, and yet he mistakes noise for strength, volume for dominance, scanning the others to see who will falter, who will side with him, who will be the first to crack.
This treaty may be the only thing that will keep the people we care about alive.
Safe from the corruption outside these walls.
Corruption that’s woven so deeply into society that not even Armageddon could fix it.
Corruption far greater than our families were ever capable of.
“You expect us to give it all up? For what, King? To be the good guys? Since when did being good ever feed our families or keep the business going?” Drago spits, silencing the low murmur of discontent.
The originals didn’t choose this life. Organized crime.
It was born from the desolate depths of poverty, hunger, and the bone-crunching instinct to kill or be killed.
Somewhere along the way, the wealthier they got, the more ruthless they became, until eventually, none of it was about hunger anymore.
It was about power. To the men sitting across from us, it still is.
And how did they keep that power? By being the most feared Mafia Don their organization had ever seen.
Slap a few generations on top, and you have the result of that sitting in this room, all bent out of shape because their way of life is about to be drastically renovated.
So is ours, though we’ve had a little longer to come to terms with it.
Ezekiel doesn’t flinch beneath their scrutiny, not intimidated at all by the threat and wealth rolling off each of their tailor-made suits.
He has about fifteen years on me, and the more I’m around him, I see the shadow of Titan in his movements.
In the way he measures a man before he decides if he’s worth killing or showing mercy.
It’s that level of familiarity that has me trusting Ezekiel.
Titan was more of a father to me than my own piece of shit sperm donor ever was, and if he trusted Ezekiel enough to leave him all of this, then what kind of man would I be not to follow where he leads?
I just wish I didn’t have to. Give me a rifle and leave me to the silence of the tombs I call home. That’s where I truly belong.
Ezekiel blinks. His blue eyes are darker than their usual shade. A calm before the lethal storm that will inevitably follow if shit goes pear-shaped. Still, Ezekiel remains unperturbed. Nobody has seen what he’s seen. If they did? We'd be having a completely different conversation.
“It’s been two years since The Royal was exposed.
” Ezekiel’s hand sweeps over the table, fingers brushing the edge of the papers before him.
“Two years since Charles Jensen and Co. were taken out.” He taps the stack deliberately, drawing everyone’s attention to it.
“And those whose names are on that list have had a two-year head start. To run. To hide.” He leans forward slightly, the air thickening as he meets each of their gazes.
“I will not stand idle and leave ourselves open to retaliation for exposing them. I will not allow them the chance to reform and slip back into the world while we bleed in the shadows.” The room tightens.
You can feel it. I sit back, studying each of their reactions.
They know that if this comes back to bite us, it won’t be them who’s left standing. It will be us.
They all know everything there is to know about The Royal and the corrupt fuckheads behind it all.
How untouchable and indestructible they’ve made themselves over the years.
Not because of who they had on their payroll.
Almost everyone with a sparkling title was involved in some capacity, making it no match for anyone who dared try to expose them.
If they weren’t part of it, they knew about it and did nothing, and those things are one and the same to me.
They were always the bigger, sharper predators, leaving a blood trail that made our own sins look like scratches on glass.
The damage they caused was far worse than anything we’ve ever done.
No matter how the media tried to paint us as monsters.
We are monsters, but we’re the monsters who are willing to make a stand.
That’s one of the reasons why Ezekiel is so fixated on reform.
Not for virtue. Not for mercy. We’ve all made peace with the fact that we’re not meeting their fable, God.
But to cut out the decay before it consumes us, too.
To stop feeding the filth that’s already rotting the veins of this earth.
None of us is a saint.
We’ve spilled enough blood. Whispered enough lies and done things that would make the devil himself vomit. But we are here, and they are there, and if this world has any chance of surviving itself, it’ll be us who put an end to it.
“And what does that have to do with us? We weren’t the ones who exposed them,” Drago mutters, checking his watch as if he’s got more important places to be. Fuckin’ Mafia politics.
“Modernizing and legitimizing our operations,” Mortello cuts in, smooth as a sword sliding from its sheath, “turning our criminal legacy into smart business acumen… It doesn’t seem impossible if we’re willing to work together.
” My eyes narrow. The serpent in a suit, all teeth and lies.
He’s the only one who seems to be on our side in this, even if he’s about as trustworthy as a church built on corpses.
Over the years, his family has been accused of crimes that had nothing to do with them or his men.
The underground has always been an easy target.
A convenient scapegoat while the real predators prowled above us.
If we have any chance of this working in our favor, that’s the angle we need to exploit.
The rich only care about themselves, and no one will change my fucking mind about that.
“You’ve all spent years swallowing the taste of it,” I add, not bothering to look at any of them.
“Loss. Humiliation. Possessions they ripped from your hands. Possessions they planted there, only to throw your own in cells and label it as justice.” No one says a word, but I can feel their bodies stiffen from where I’m sitting.
“Most men die before they ever get the chance to claim revenge. Well, this is us offering it to you. And it’s the only opportunity you’ll ever get to take it.
” My voice is low, but you could hear a pin drop.
I lift my gaze and meet Ezekiel’s, the corner of his mouth twitching as he realizes what I’m doing.
I’m not above manipulating them. I’m simply bending their fear and deepest hangups, letting them dance on the knives I place.
You don’t win with men who’ve decided before the chairs even scrape the floor.
Finally, Drago sits back, grudgingly folding himself into the chair like a man forced to swallow defeat, but doesn’t like the way it tastes.
Silence drapes over the table. Mateo Cardena and Enzo Delacour haven’t spoken a word since they arrived.
They’re calculated, patient. Taut like coiled wire, ready to snap when you least expect it.
They’re known for cruelty, but also fairness.
Men whose names make people flinch, yet they never break the rules they set for themselves.
Respect earns respect. Cross them, and you pay in full.
The unspoken understanding passes between them as they focus on Ezekiel. This is bigger than pride and they fucking know it. Mateo shifts, finally breaking the silence.
“I’ll agree to stand with you. Help by any means necessary.
But we do it on my terms where my men are concerned.
Any breach…” He doesn’t finish the threat.
He doesn’t need to. We’re all smart enough to know how this game of blood goes.
Enzo leans forward, fingers steepled, his gaze like fire on ice.
“Agreed. Qu’il en soit ainsi. We keep our families and our territories safe. We work together to take these bastards to their graves where they are to rot. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Ezekiel lets the weight of their acceptance linger and even Drago nods.
Pride swallowed. I’m not a fool. I know that alliances forged in tedious desperation are fragile.
This is borrowed. Not given. But today? The world tilts in our favor.
It means we have a lot more resources at our fingertips.
More people on foot. Behind computers. All of it.
This is a reckoning. And we’ve all got a job to do.