The conference room smelled of cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and old sins. Chaos sat at the far end of the round table, his pale blue eyes resting on nothing in particular.
Xavier stood beside him, silent and watchful.
Three days had passed since the massacre on Gullian turf, and Xavier had adjusted faster than most men would have.
His father had been a drug dealer who owed Gullian money, a debt that ended with his family slaughtered and Xavier taken captive. He had run a few deals before, so the underworld was not entirely foreign to him.
What was foreign was standing beside Chaos Riegrow as his bodyguard and assistant.
In three days, Xavier had learned enough to understand one thing clearly.
Chaos did not ask twice.
At the head of the table, Caesar's chair remained empty.
Once again, Chaos was handling business on his father's behalf.
He hated the room.
The dark wooden walls. The leather chairs. The framed city map marked with territories Caesar had taken by force, bribery, and burial. He hated the quiet respect that settled over the room before he even spoke, as though the men waiting inside had not spent decades feeding the same machine they now expected him to inherit.
Dante Moretti entered first. Caesar's underboss. The others followed.
Lev Orlov.
Rafael Cruz.
Bruno Salvi.
Men with blood on their hands, money in their accounts, and loyalty carved into their faces like old scars.
"Young Master," Dante greeted, lowering his head slightly.
Chaos's gaze moved across the room.
"Sit."
They sat.
Chaos removed his black gloves slowly, finger by finger, and placed them on the table beside the stack of reports. His expression was calm.
Almost bored.
But every man in the room knew better.
Whenever the gloves came off, terrible things usually followed. Whatever had angered their young master boded badly for everyone present.
Dante pushed a file toward him. "The west-side accounts."
Chaos did not touch it. "I read them."
Rafael's fingers tightened around his pen.
Dante paused. "Then you saw the issue."
"I saw several."
The room grew colder.
Chaos leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting toward the city map on the wall. "Three shipments delayed in six weeks. Two crews reporting losses they cannot explain. Street-level complaints increasing. Payment from the eastern clubs arriving short."
His gaze returned to the table. "And somehow, despite all of this, every man responsible still managed to send me a report full of excuses."
No one answered.
Wonderful.
At least they still knew when silence was cheaper.
Dante folded his hands on the table. "The delay came from the docks. Port authority has been under pressure. New inspections. New faces. Someone is pushing them."
"Someone?" Chaos repeated.
Dante's jaw tightened slightly. "We believe the Varkov family is behind it."
Chaos finally looked at him.
"You believe?"
Dante did not flinch. "We are confirming it."
Chaos picked up the file and opened it. He turned one page. Then another.
"The Varkovs gained two of our club buyers last month. They intercepted one payment runner. They have been offering cleaner supply at a lower price, and now the port authority suddenly develops a conscience."
He closed the file gently.
"You are not confirming anything, Dante. You are catching up."
Rafael lowered his gaze. Bruno swallowed.
Dante accepted the blow without expression. That was why Caesar had kept him alive for so long. He knew how to bleed internally.
Chaos turned to Lev. "The north?"
Lev's voice was rough. "Stable."
Chaos stared at him.
Lev corrected himself. "Mostly stable."
A faint smile touched Chaos's mouth.
It made the room worse.
"Mostly," Chaos repeated.
He had less than a day before he was supposed to leave, yet somehow everyone seemed determined to test the limits of his tolerance for bullshit.
Lev reached for his report and opened it.
"Two local crews have been cutting the product too aggressively. It brought attention. Three bodies in one week. Police are pretending to care because the newspapers are watching."
Chaos's fingers stilled.
For the first time, something close to disgust crossed his face.
"Names."
Lev gave them.
Chaos listened without blinking.
When Lev finished, Chaos asked, "And why are they still breathing?"
The question was soft.
Bruno shifted in his seat.
Dante answered carefully. "They belong to Niko."
Chaos looked at him.
Dante continued, "Niko has been loyal to your father for fifteen years. His crews move fast, and his numbers are usually strong. We thought it best to call him in first before making a final decision."
Chaos stared at Dante for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
There was no humour in it.
"You thought it best." His gaze moved around the table. "Who else thought it best?"
No one moved.
Chaos stood and walked toward the city map.
His coat moved behind him like a shadow dragging itself across the floor.
"The problem with my father," he said, "is that he taught all of you to confuse loyalty with usefulness."
Dante's eyes followed him.
Chaos stopped in front of the map and touched the northern district with two fingers.
"Niko has been loyal for fifteen years. Has loyalty made him careful?"
No one answered.
"Has loyalty kept his men disciplined?"
Still nothing.
"Has loyalty kept bodies out of the newspapers?"
Lev lowered his eyes.
Chaos turned to Xavier. "What do you think?"
Xavier did not flinch.
"His loyalty is sentimental decoration," he said. "We should remove it from the report."
For a brief second, the room shifted.
The men looked at Xavier as though noticing, perhaps for the first time, that the boy standing beside Chaos was not merely a rescued captive.
Chaos looked faintly pleased.
Rafael cleared his throat. "What do you want done with Niko?"
Chaos returned to his seat.
"I want him stripped of his crews by morning. His accounts frozen by noon. His lieutenants separated and questioned. Anyone involved in poisoning the product disappears from the chain completely."
Bruno nodded quickly. "Understood."
Chaos looked at him. "Do not nod like a servant when you have not understood me."
Bruno froze.
Chaos's voice remained calm. "I said removed from the chain. I did not say create noise. I do not want grieving mothers on television, police pretending to be heroes. And I do not want my father's name whispered beside dead children because some idiot wanted to stretch profit."
The silence after that was heavier.
Dante studied Chaos carefully. "You sound displeased with the business."
Chaos looked at him. "I am displeased with stupidity."
"That is not what I said."
"No," Chaos replied. "But it is the answer I am giving you."
For a moment, the two of them only stared at each other.
The others said nothing.
They all respected Chaos.
They all feared him. But fear did not mean they understood him.
Caesar loved the empire. Chaos looked at it like a disease with excellent bookkeeping.
Dante reached for another file.
"There is also the matter of the eastern clubs."
"Rafael," Chaos said.
Rafael sat straighter. "The club owners are nervous. Police pressure has increased since the last raid. They want reduced payments until things cool down."
Chaos opened the file without looking at him. "No."
Rafael hesitated. "They are threatening to move to Varkov protection."
Chaos turned a page. "Let them threaten."
"If they go, we lose a major channel."
Chaos looked up.
Rafael stopped talking.
"The clubs are not nervous because of the police," Chaos said. "They are nervous because they think Caesar is distracted and I am young enough to negotiate with."
Rafael's face tightened.
Chaos closed the file. "They will pay in full."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then they can pay the Varkovs and discover the difference between protection and ownership."
A faint smile passed across Dante's mouth.
Approval.
Chaos saw it and disliked it immediately. "Do not look pleased."
Dante's smile vanished.
Chaos leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"This is not a war room. This is a sanitation meeting. The business stinks because men got comfortable. The docks are leaking. The clubs are testing boundaries. Street crews are getting greedy. The Varkovs are circling because they smell decay."
His gaze moved from one man to another.
"And all of you brought me files."
No one defended themselves. They were too experienced for that.
Chaos picked up the first report and tossed it into the centre of the table.
"I do not want another explanation that begins with pressure, loyalty, history, friendship, or Caesar's old promises. I want names, numbers, and results."
Dante inclined his head. "You will have them."
Chaos looked at him.
"I know."
The certainty in his voice made the promise sound less like trust and more like a warning.
Xavier's phone rang.
Every eye in the room turned to him.
He glanced at the screen, then straightened.
"Excuse me."
Chaos gave the slightest nod.
Xavier walked out to take the call. The door closed behind him.
Chaos picked up a slim black folder beside his gloves and slid it across the table.
Dante opened it. Inside were photographs.
Account records.
Still images from security feeds.
Messages copied from phones that should have been impossible to access.
Rafael leaned forward. Then went still.
Bruno's face lost colour.
Lev's eyes narrowed.
Chaos watched them all.
"The Varkovs are not the only leak."
Dante's voice lowered. "Who gave you this?"
Chaos smiled faintly.
"That is the difference between my father and me."
Dante looked up. "Caesar asks who betrayed him after the knife enters his back..."
Chaos slipped his gloves back on, one finger at a time. "I prefer to know who bought the knife."
Rafael's throat moved.
Chaos's gaze shifted to him, and Rafael immediately looked down.
Dante saw it.
So did Lev.
Chaos stood.
"As of tonight, no product moves without revised clearance. No crew receives unsupervised supply. No club gets leniency. No port contact receives payment until their loyalty is verified."
His eyes swept the table.
"Anyone who complains may send the complaint to Caesar."
He paused. His gaze drifted to the empty chair at the head of the table.
Then back to them. "If he answers, let me know."
No one spoke.
The door opened again and Xavier walked in.
His face had changed.
The sharpness remained, but beneath it was something uneasy. Something careful.
"Young Master…"
Chaos turned to him. "Mm?"
Xavier swallowed once, collecting himself.
"Your mother... "
The room went utterly still.
Xavier's voice lowered. "The Madam is dead."