Chapter 6
The heavy mahogany doors of Alaric’s private study closed with a definitive, echoing thud. The room was a stark contrast to the bright ballroom; it was dimly lit, smelling of expensive cigar smoke and old leather. The walls were lined with books and security monitors displaying every inch of the Montesi compound.
Alaric stood behind his massive oak desk, staring out the reinforced glass window at the dark, sprawling city below. Behind him, three of his most trusted capos sat in high-backed leather chairs. They were all hardened, white American men, dressed in the same formal attire from the ruined celebration, their expressions grim and strictly professional.
"Report, Dominic," Alaric commanded, not turning around.
Dominic, a broad-shouldered man with fair skin and a thick scar running through his eyebrow, leaned forward. "Bastian and his mother are currently held up at a cheap motel on the south side. They tried to access their offshore accounts. As you ordered, the banks denied the transfers. Faye Mercer is with them. She’s frantic, demanding to be flown to Europe."
"Let her demand," Alaric rumbled. He turned away from the window, the ambient light catching the heavy signet ring on his hand. "What about Bastian’s loyalists? The men he brought into our ranks?"
"We’ve identified twelve soldiers and two lieutenants who were secretly taking kickbacks directly from Bastian’s personal ledger," answered Marcus, the youngest capo, his American accent sharp. "They were planning to support his claim for the succession once Faye’s child was born."
Alaric’s face remained a mask of deep, intimidating calm, but the fury in his eyes was blinding. "Bastian was plotting a coup. He thought an illegitimate son would give him the leverage to push Serena out and force me into retirement."
"It appears so, Boss," Dominic nodded. "Bianca was orchestrating the political side, feeding rumors to the other families that Serena’s child was weak, that a female heir would destabilize the territory. They were laying the groundwork for a hostile takeover."
Alaric walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself three fingers of scotch. He didn't offer any to the men. "They mistook my patience as a father for weakness as a boss. I want those twelve soldiers and the two lieutenants dealt with tonight. No noise. Make them disappear."
"Understood," Marcus replied, pulling out his encrypted phone to send the orders.
"And what of Bastian himself?" asked the third capo, an older man named Silas. "He still has connections in Chicago. If he reaches out to the syndicates there, he might be able to borrow enough muscle to strike back."
"Bastian is a coward," Alaric stated, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid. "He will try to run before he tries to fight. But we will not give him the chance."
"Do we hit the motel, Boss?" Dominic asked, a predatory eagerness in his voice.
"No," Alaric said softly, walking back to his desk. "If we hit a cheap motel, it looks like a desperate mob hit. I want Bastian to feel the walls closing in. I want him to watch his legacy burn before I take his life. Shut down every business front he manages. Burn the warehouses he oversees. I want his name scrubbed from this city by sunrise."
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"And the women, Boss?" Silas asked cautiously. "Bianca and the pregnant girl?"
Alaric’s jaw tightened. He thought of his own pregnant daughter, violently shoved to the floor. "Bianca pushed my daughter. She put my blood in danger. She will not survive the week. As for the girl... let her live with the ghost of the man she thought would make her a queen."
