Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
By Friday evening, the tension in the city had broken. The Russian syndicate operating out of the shipping yards had made a definitive move, firebombing one of Leo's secondary warehouses near the river. The financial loss was negligible, but the message was loud. War was coming.
Leo’s study was packed with his inner circle. Victor, Carmine, and half a dozen capos stood around the mahogany desk, arguing over territory maps and retaliation routes. Smoke from imported cigars hung in a thick, blue haze beneath the crystal chandelier.
“We hit their holding docks on 5th Street tonight,” Victor growled, slamming a heavy fist onto the map. “Burn their supply lines before they try another stunt.”
“No,” Leo said, his voice cutting through the noise like a scythe. He sat in his leather chair, the new smartphone resting face down on the blotter. “We wait. They want us to overreact. They want the police breathing down our necks while they consolidate the piers.”
“Boss, if we look weak—!” Carmine started.
“I don't care what we look like, Carmine. I care what we control.” Leo stood up, towering over the room. “We secure the perimeter. Double the guards at the main estate. Nobody leaves the compound without my explicit authorization.”
At that exact moment, the heavy oak study door clicked open.
Every gun in the room cleared its holster in a fraction of a second. Six handguns leveled at the doorway.
Leo’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Mave stood frozen on the threshold. She was holding a silver tray with an empty crystal decanter. Her eyes widened as she stared down the business end of half a dozen firearms. The color completely drained from her face.
“Hold your fire!” Leo roared, stepping past the desk so fast his chair tipped over backward.
The capos lowered their weapons, murmuring apologies. Carmine looked disgusted, muttering under his breath about staff protocols.
Leo crossed the room in three strides. He planted himself directly in front of Mave, shielding her from the room, his chest heaving. He grabbed the heavy silver tray from her trembling hands and slammed it onto a nearby side table.
“What are you doing in here?” Leo demanded, his voice tight with suppressed panic. “I said no one enters the study during a meeting.”
“Mrs. Gable told me to clear the bar cart,” Mave whispered, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound controlled. She was staring past his shoulder at the syndicate enforcers. The reality of Leo's world—the blood, the guns, the sheer terror of his life—had just crashed into her quiet routine. “I didn't know you were busy.”
“Get out,” Leo said, his hand gripping her elbow a little too tightly as he guided her back toward the hallway.
“Leo—,”
“Go to your quarters, Mave. Now.”
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with a mixture of fear and profound disappointment. She pulled her arm gently from his grip, turned on her heel, and walked away without another word.
May you like
Leo stood in the doorway, watching her retreating back until she disappeared around the corner. When he turned back to his men, his face was carved from absolute ice.
“As I was saying,” Leo snarled, his eyes locking onto Carmine. “Double the guards. And if anyone enters my private wing without knocking again, I'll feed them to the bay myself.”
