Page 9 of The Silent War

Then I stood. Rolled my shoulders. Walked out.

Ready to face the next bastard who thought they could stand in the way of it.

Chapter Four

LUCA

The meeting room was all marble and dynasty money imported chandeliers, old oak table that had seen too many signatures written in blood.

Three families had flown in from their own capitals. Old names, arrogant. They thought their surnames carried weight here. Thought Villain would bow because of what their bloodlines meant across oceans.

They didn’t understand.

This city doesn’t bend to dynasties. It bends to Crows.

I lit a cigarette. The men at the far end of the table frowned like I’d spat in a cathedral. Good.

“You called us,” one of them said. His accent thick, his cufflinks dynasty polished. “We assumed it was to discuss partnership. An equal seat at the table.”

I leaned back in the chair, stretched my legs. “Equal.” The word always pissed me off. “You think because your bloodline shares a Codex with ours, you get equal ground in my city?”

“Our family has ruled trade in?—”

“Not here,” I cut in. Calm.“Your family might have influence elsewhere. Here? You’re tourists.”

One of them shifted in his seat. Tried to smile like it was still politics. “We assumed dynasty honor meant?—”

I tapped ash into the glass tray, slow.

“Honor doesn’t unload shipments at three in the morning. Honor doesn’t bleed on the street when a deal goes wrong.” I took another drag. “Honor doesn’t mean shit in Villain. Only leverage does. And leverage here wears our name. Crow.”

Silence. Heavy. I liked it.

Bastion leaned forward beside me. “You want Villain, you don’t get it through family crests. You get it through us.”

I watched the men squirm under a weight they couldn’t measure.

They’d walked in expecting dynasty protocol. Polite negotiation. Some treaty they could wave at their cousins like a trophy.

What they got was Villain.

What they got was Crows.

And the only thing keeping me calm, the reason I hadn’t torn this room apart when they dared to speak of partnership, was that two rooms away, on my black console, her account still blinked green.

Still alive.

Still ours.

“Here’s how this works,” I said, meeting the stares of men that hadn’t earned their name. “You want a seat at the table, you pay for it. With loyalty. With territory. With your cut signed over to the Crows. Otherwise?” I looked down the length of the table. “You can fly back home and tell your cousins Villain isn’t a place you do business.”

One of the heirs cleared his throat. Young. But old enough to understand what I meant, but too green to know when to shut the fuck up. His last name was on bank vaults in three countries.

That type of entitlement makes him think he mattered. He doesn’t. Not in this room with us.

“With respect,” he said, chin lifting just enough to be a mistake, “you may run Villain, but dynasty protocol recognizes parity. Bloodlines don’t answer to syndicates.”

The word landed heavy, like he’d spat in our face.