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Aithan

Five days later.

During the next council meeting, I step into the grand meeting hall, my suit sharp, my expression unreadable. The council members are already seated, their faces tight with anticipation. They think I’m coming here to defend myself.

They’re about to realize their mistake.

My father sits at the head of the long oak table, his presence as commanding as ever. His expression is unreadable, but I know him too well. He’s pissed that the last shipment was hit, but more than that—he’s pissed that it gives the council ammunition against me and he wants me to make it right. My father has gradually been relinquishing his power to me over the past few years. Allowing me to make big decisions and call the shots in certain matters, and today is one of those days.

I am going to send a clear message once and for all. My reign will not tolerate backstabbers and snitches.

Basilis is the first to speak, his voice laced with condescension. “Aithan, this attack raises serious concerns about your leadership. Losing a shipment of that magnitude, a shipment worth millions—it makes us look weak.”

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. “You’re right. It does.”

The admission stuns them. I see it in the flicker of surprise on their faces. They expected me to be defensive, to argue, to justify my carelessness.

Instead, I smile. “Which is why we’re going to find the rat who sold us out. And when we do, I’ll personally rip his heart out.”

Silence.

Orestes clears his throat. “That’s a bold claim. How do we know it wasn’t just a calculated move from one of our external enemies? Or maybe even the Russians? Those people should not be trusted."

He’s sweating.

Good.

I tilt my head. "Because the rerouting of the shipment was unknown to any external person. Only some men in this room.”

Orestes pales. Basilis shifts in his seat.

Gotcha.

My father watches the exchange in silence, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He’s letting me handle this, waiting to see if I can clean up this mess.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” I continue. “Every man who had access to that shipment’s details will be investigated. That includes all of you.”

Orestes jumps to his feet. “You can’t be serious!”

I arch a brow. “You look nervous, Orestes.”

Basilis tries to salvage the situation. “Aithan, this isn’t necessary. We should focus on finding our real enemies, not pointing fingers at each other.”

“Oh, but I think it is necessary.” I push my chair back and stand, my presence towering over them. “Because someone in this room is working against us. And I'm going to make an example out of him so severe, no one will ever dare betray me again.”

Orestes turns to my father. “We need leadership that knows what they are doing. Not one that invites failure and tries to point accusing fingers.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh, rolling my shoulders. “You think this was my failure?” My voice is smooth, but my blood is molten steel. “Let me ask you something. Who, exactly, do you think ordered the hit?”

Orestes stiffens, a flicker of unease betraying him.

I tilt my head. “I already know the answer. The only question is whether the person is going to admit it out loud… or if I’ll have to drag it out myself.”

The tension in the room spikes. Every man at the table straightens, the power dynamics shifting in an instant.

Orestes scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe you should go and ask the Russians whose asses you are so happy to kiss.” He mumbles.

“Ah, and I can tell you for a fact that they’ve got such lovely asses. Especially my wife.” I say with a deathly calm amusement.”

“Why couldn’t you marry one of our own? When we asked for you to marry, we did not ask for an alliance with the bloody Russians.” Basilis bristles.

“We are yet to enjoy any privilege from the so-called allegiance.” Another leader chimes in.

“That is because someone on this table, or should I say some people on this table keeps sabotaging us,” I say, looking directly at Orestes.

“You’re grasping at straws, Vasilios.” Orestes answers, “Do not try to make excuses for your incompetence.”

I smile. A slow, lethal stretch of my lips.

“Am I?”

The doors to the council chamber open, and two of my men walk in, dragging someone between them. He’s bruised, beaten, but still alive.

Orestes go pale.

I don’t look away from him as my men toss his rat onto the floor at my feet.

“Recognize him?” I ask casually, reaching for my cigar.

The man on the floor coughs, spitting blood, but when he lifts his head, his eyes find Orestes with something close to fear and regret.

“Tell the council what you told me.”

Silence.

Then, the man swallows hard and speaks.

“Orestes knew.” His voice is hoarse, but every word rings clear. “He was the one who told me to pass on the shipment details. He said… he said it was time Aithan was taken down a notch.”

The room erupts—murmurs, sharp intakes of breath, shifting bodies.

Orestes pushes to his feet, his mask slipping. “This is a goddamn lie!”

I flick my gaze up to him, unmoved. “Is it?”

I glance at the man on the floor. “You sure about what you just said?”

The man nods. “I swear it. He planned everything with someone outside the organization. Said it was just to shake things up. Said… it would make the council think twice about Aithan’s place.”

I nod to Leon, who moves to the screen in the room and inserts a memory stick. In an instant, the screen flickers, and screenshots of messages between Orestes and his goon begin to play.

The air in the room turns razor sharp.

Orestes, knowing he has been caught red-handed, turns to my father and starts begging for his life. But my father turns to me and gives me a curt nod.

Judgement has been passed.

I pull my gun, fast as lightning, and take one shot. One clean bullet between the eyes and Orestes collapses.

Blood pools beneath his chair, staining the marble. I lower my gun, letting the weight of what just happened sink in. I don’t move, don’t blink, and don’t give anyone a chance to mistake this for an act of impulse.

This is control.

I turn my gaze on Basilis. “Do you want to tell me now if you had any part in this?”

The older man shakes his head violently. “I swear to you, Aithan, I had no involvement.”

I hold his gaze for a long moment before I nod, slipping my gun back into my jacket. “Then let’s hope, for your sake, that’s true.”

Basilis swallows hard.

The message is clear.

I glance at my father. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. But there’s approval in his sharp eyes.

The silence that follows Orestes' execution is deafening. Every man present understands the message loud and clear—betray the Elliniki, and you don’t just die; you become an example.

Moments pass as everyone waits for his command.

The air in the chamber is thick with the scent of gunpowder and approval, and some of the members sigh with relief. No one wants to see their business collapse because of some traitor in our ranks. We all do dangerous businesses, and a blabbing mouth spells doom for us all.

Demetrios speaks up first, addressing my father and me. “I am sorry, Archigos. I never realized their campaign against Aithan and his wife was for such dark ulterior motives.”

My father’s only response to Demetrios’s apology is a raised eyebrow. His gaze remains on Orestas's lifeless body, slumped in the chair, his vacant eyes staring at nothing, the gaping wound in his forehead still dripping onto the marble floor.

Sebastian, ever composed, leans back in his chair, flicking a cold glance at the remaining council members. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his authority presses down on every man in the room.

"This meeting is adjourned," he declares smoothly, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. He doesn’t spare Orestas another look. "The body will be disposed of accordingly. Helios, handle it."

Helios nods immediately, signaling a few men to take the body away. Two enforcers move forward, gripping Orestas by the arms, dragging him across the pristine floor. The blood leaves a long, dark smear in its wake. A fitting end for a traitor.

But I’m not done yet.

My gaze flicks to Basilis. The man is practically vibrating with tension, his fingers twitching like he’s seconds away from bolting. Sweat beads at his temple, panic glints in his darting eyes.

Good. He knows he’s next.

Basilis rises stiffly, giving a small nod, mumbling some half-assed excuse before making his way toward the exit. He doesn’t meet my gaze, but I watch him—every step, every nervous glance over his shoulder.

Run, little rat. Let’s see where your hole is.

Leon steps closer, muttering under his breath, "Want me to finish him off?"

I smirk, shaking my head slightly. "No need. He’s about to lead us straight to Lazaro himself."

Leon’s expression darkens with understanding, but he says nothing. Instead, he merely crosses his arms and watches as Basilis disappears through the doors.

Now, the real hunt begins.

Basilis practically sprints to his car. He fumbles with his keys, dropping them once before snatching them up with shaking fingers. He throws himself into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and exhales heavily, his hands gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

He jabs at his phone screen, dialing a number with frantic urgency.

The line rings once. Twice. Then—

Click.

"Lazaro," Basilis breathes, his voice frantic. "It’s done. Orestas is dead. Aithan shot him between the eyes, and Sebastian let it happen."

A slow exhale comes through the speaker. "You sound surprised."

"Surprised? I—" Basilis swallows, his throat dry. "I thought they’d at least—"

"You thought they’d show mercy?" Lazaro’s voice is like velvet, but there’s a sneer beneath the smoothness. "Then you’re an idiot."

Basilis grips the phone tighter, licking his lips. "I need to see you. We need to talk about what happens next."

A pause. Then, Lazaro chuckles darkly. "Meet me at the safe house. The one you know."

Basilis lets out a shuddering breath, nodding even though Lazaro can’t see him. "Alright. I’ll head there now."

Lazaro sighs, then his voice drops, oozing venom.

"This wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for those two whores."

Basilis stiffens. "Whores?"

"My wife and my daughter," Lazaro sneers. "Those ungrateful bitches betrayed me. My own wife—after all these years—goes running to Sebastian with her pathetic sob story. And Bella? She was supposed to be my legacy. My weapon. Instead, she crumbles at the first sign of trouble."

Basilis stays quiet. He obviously knows better than to interrupt when Lazaro is on a tirade.

"I should have put them both in the ground myself," Lazaro continues, his voice thick with rage. "Mark my words, Basilis. I don’t care if it takes me a hundred years to get my hands on them, I’ll make them pay."

Basilis shifts uneasily in his seat. He might be a traitor, but even he has his limits.

Lazaro exhales sharply, regaining control. "But first, Aithan Vasilios dies."

Basilis swallows. "What do we do now? I think they are unto me too."

"I still have pieces in play," Lazaro mutters. "The next attack is already in motion. By the time they realize what’s happening, I’ll be gone, and no one will ever know you were involved, so stop shaking. I can hear your bones rattling across the phone."

Basilis doesn’t know what terrifies him more—Lazaro’s arrogance or the certainty in his voice.

Neither of them realizes I’m listening.

I stand outside the council estate, a Bluetooth device in my ear, listening to every single word. It had indeed been a good idea to bug Basilis’s house and cars before striking Orestes.

My grip tightens around my phone, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Lazaro is still plotting.

Lazaro is still breathing.

But not for much longer.

Leon steps beside me, lighting a cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Viktor’s men are in position. The moment Basilis goes to him, we’ll have our target."

I nod once, my jaw locked tight. "Good. We wait."

There’s something beastly thrumming beneath my skin, a cold, steady rage that’s been festering since the moment I found Yelena collapsed in that bathroom.

The air is cool against my skin, but the fury burning in my chest keeps me warm. I stand outside the council estate, still listening to Lazaro run his mouth like he still holds the upper hand.

Fool.

He doesn’t realize that every word spilling from his lips is sealing his fate.

He’s always underestimated me. Only seeing me as nothing more than a reckless playboy—an heir who was more interested in women, liquor, and fast cars than in the empire I was born to rule and has been building with my sweat and blood. He thought I lacked the discipline, the foresight, and the heart of a leader.

That was his first mistake.

The second was believing he could maneuver against me in the shadows, manipulating pawns while keeping his hands clean. But Lazaro’s problem has always been his arrogance. He sees himself as untouchable; the mastermind pulling all the strings. And yet, he’s played his hand too early, too recklessly, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs right to his door.

The attempt on Yelena’s life was the final straw.

He thought to take my Princess away from me and sneak his daughter back into my bed when I am too consumed with grief? That I’d be too blinded to notice? All he has succeeded in doing is to get me consumed with rage, and rage is a weapon when it’s wielded with precision.

And I don’t swing blindly. I carve. I cut. I end.

I flick my gaze to Leon, who’s watching the street with practiced ease. “Viktor’s men are in position,” he says, voice low. “The moment Basilis arrives at his destination, we will be notified.”

Good.