Chapter 12 - The Syndicate Summons
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Alexei tried to recover his composure, slamming his hand down on the heavy table.
“You are bluffing, Whitfield,” the Russian boss growled, though his thick accent betrayed his sudden panic. “Your brother signed the port contracts over to my cartel. It is a legally binding syndicate treaty. If you attempt to revoke it, you are declaring war on the entire Russian organization.”
Daniel didn't yell. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply snapped his fingers.
The massive digital screens hidden behind the tapestries on the dining room walls suddenly flared to life.
The screens displayed the crystal-clear security footage of the estate’s basement cell. The live feed showed Julian and Vanessa, stripped of their finery, shivering in the damp, soundproof concrete room, looking completely broken and terrified.
Then, the audio files began to play.
The hidden microphone recordings of Julian eagerly agreeing to sell out the syndicate territories. The recordings of Alexei actively plotting to assassinate any Commission members who opposed the hostile takeover.
The older bosses around the table turned to look at Alexei with pure, unadulterated hatred. Attempting a coup was one thing; plotting to murder the other heads of the Five Families was an unforgivable death sentence.
“You broke the sacred pact, Alexei,” Falcone hissed, standing up from his chair.
“It’s a deepfake!” Alexei roared, realizing he was entirely trapped. He lunged toward Daniel, desperate to eliminate the threat before the other bosses could react.
He didn't make it two steps.
Grace, who had been standing silently near the service door holding a silver coffee pot, moved with a sudden, blinding speed that shocked everyone in the room. She dropped the heavy silver pot, drew a compact, suppressed pistol from beneath her crisp white apron, and fired two precise shots.
The bullets struck Alexei squarely in the chest.
The massive Russian boss collapsed backward, crashing violently onto the mahogany table, shattering crystal glasses and spilling dark red wine across the expensive white linen. He gasped twice, blood bubbling past his lips, and died instantly.
The dining room erupted into chaos. The remaining bosses scrambled out of their chairs, terrified they were next.
“Sit down!” Daniel roared, his voice cracking like a whip, freezing the powerful men in their tracks.
He looked at Grace, who calmly lowered her weapon, her face completely stoic, betraying absolutely no emotion as she stood over the body of a cartel king.
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Daniel turned back to the trembling Commission members.
“The Russian threat has been neutralized,” Daniel announced coldly. “The Whitfield syndicate remains absolute. If any of you ever attempt to negotiate with a traitor in my family again, my maid will serve you exactly what she just served him.”
