The conference room was filled with nearly every leader of Brooklyn's underworld factions. Both sides of the long, solid-wood table were packed, yet the air was unnaturally still — heavy, suffocating, silent. No one spoke. Even the faint hum of the air seemed frozen in place.
Frank and Anderson exchanged a glance before each quietly took a seat. When their eyes fell upon the empty chair at the head of the table, both men's pupils tightened. Then, like everyone else, they too sank into silence.
Out in the hallway, the clock struck seven.
Dong… dong… dong…
The deep tolls snapped Frank and Anderson out of their thoughts — the appointed time had come.
Frank swept his gaze over the gathered leaders. Since his arrival, a few more figures had entered, and now, upon closer inspection, he realized every single major power in Brooklyn was represented. Not one was absent. The sheer intimidation of last night's massacre — two great families wiped out in one night — had clearly done its work.
Then came the sound of steady footsteps in the corridor.
"He's here…" someone muttered under their breath.
Every head turned toward the heavy double doors.
The next instant, the doors swung open.
A tall, broad-shouldered young man in a black suit stepped inside. His Asian features were cold, his face expressionless — yet his entire being radiated a murderous aura so thick it seemed to crawl under one's skin, the kind of killing intent that could only be forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
The moment he entered, an overwhelming, icy pressure blanketed the room.
Several men instinctively held their breath; the air itself seemed to weigh upon their lungs.
So this was the man who had destroyed two families overnight. Even seated mob bosses, hardened by years of violence, felt a chill creep down their spines. The young man's presence alone was enough to make their blood run cold.
Chen Mo walked to the head of the table and sat down slowly, expression unreadable.
Behind him stood Eddie, his trusted butler — dressed in a gray suit, hair silvered and neatly combed back, every inch the image of a calm, dignified gentleman.
Only now did the assembled leaders notice the old man's presence. Until this moment, their minds had been wholly consumed by Chen Mo's suffocating aura.
Chen Mo sat upright, commanding and still, his sharp eyes sweeping across the room like blades.
Wherever his gaze passed, men flinched. Each felt as though an invisible hand had seized their heart. No one dared meet his eyes — heads lowered one after another.
These were all underworld bosses — men who'd clawed their way up through blood and bullets. Yet compared to the raw, violent energy radiating from Chen Mo, their own murderous intent felt laughably small.
After letting the silence stretch, Chen Mo finally spoke, his tone flat and cold:
"Everyone's here. Looks like no one was foolish enough to skip."
His calm voice rolled through the room like distant thunder, and every man sat up straighter, hanging on his words.
"Good. Saves me the trouble of… persuasion."
That one sentence — light, almost casual — carried such killing intent that several men felt a shiver crawl up their spines.
It confirmed what they had all feared: anyone who hadn't shown up tonight would already be dead.
Some secretly thanked their instincts for not tempting fate.
"I won't waste words about last night," Chen Mo continued. "The era of the two great families ruling Brooklyn is over. From this day forward, the entire Brooklyn underworld will be under the control of the Martial Hall."
His gaze swept the long table again. No one dared look up.
The underworld had always followed the law of the strong — whoever had the greatest power ruled. Once, that had been the two great families. Now, they were gone. Most in the room had already accepted this shift; they knew their own limits. None were strong enough to claim Brooklyn for themselves.
But two men exchanged a subtle glance — a fleeting spark of intent quickly smothered as both lowered their heads again.
Chen Mo noticed. His lips curved into a cold, knowing smile.
"Does anyone have objections?"
Heads shook in unison — too quickly. No one dared even breathe too loudly, let alone speak.
"Excellent," Chen Mo said softly. "That'll make things easier. Eddie, tell them the new rules."
He leaned back in his chair as his butler stepped forward.
All eyes turned toward the elderly man who had stood quietly at Chen Mo's side all this time.
Eddie took one unhurried step forward, his calm, steady voice carrying through the silent hall:
"Since you've all accepted the Martial Hall's leadership, things will now be done our way."
"The chaos and recklessness of the old order are over. We will begin with discipline — the Seven Rules of the Family."
He reached into his pocket, unfolded a sheet of paper, and after adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses, began to read:
The Seven Rules of the Family
First: Keep absolute silence. What is heard in the family stays in the family.
Second: The family's interests come before the individual's. Always put the greater good first.
Third: Obey all orders unconditionally. Commands from superiors are to be carried out without question.
Fourth: Loyalty is absolute. Betrayal and surrender are punishable by death.
Fifth: All information is confidential. No secrets may be shared — not even with family.
Sixth: No unauthorized action. Kidnapping, killing, or criminal acts without approval are forbidden. Innocents are never to be harmed.
Seventh: Brotherhood above all. Members must never turn on one another. Internal betrayal will not be tolerated.
Eddie paused, glancing over the crowd — many faces tense, uncertain, uneasy.
Then he continued, voice steady but carrying quiet steel:
"From this day forward, these seven rules will be enforced without exception. The days of chaos and disobedience are over. Anyone who violates the Family Code…"
He lowered the paper slightly, his gaze calm yet cold.
"…will be punished severely. In grave cases—executed on the spot."