Chapter 5
The sit-down was arranged at an abandoned, cavernous warehouse in the industrial district—a neutral ground recognized by the city's criminal Commission. The air inside was freezing, smelling of rust and damp concrete. A single metal table sat in the center of the vast space, illuminated by harsh overhead work lights.
Roman Ashford walked into the warehouse flanked by four of his most lethal enforcers. He wore his tailored dark three-piece suit again, a deliberate display of civilized power over brute force. He moved with the predatory grace of a king, his swept-back hair perfect, his angular jaw locked in a mask of absolute authority.
At the opposite end of the table stood Victor Mercer, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed thugs. Beside him stood Dahlia, no longer in her champagne satin gown, but dressed in dark, severe clothing. She looked haggard, her eyes burning with a venomous, unhinged hatred as Roman approached.
"You actually showed up," Victor sneered, leaning his knuckles against the metal table. "I thought you might hide behind your walls with that little maid of yours."
"I don't hide, Victor," Roman said quietly, taking his seat at the table. He did not invite Victor to sit. "I came to hear you apologize for your daughter's actions, and to formally dictate the terms of your surrender."
Victor let out a harsh, barking laugh that echoed in the empty warehouse. "Surrender? You insulted my blood in front of the entire syndicate. You broke a sacred pact. The Commission demands compensation. I want the eastern shipping docks, Roman. Hand them over, reinstate the engagement, and we can forget this ever happened."
Roman didn't blink. He reached into his jacket, and the Mercer guards instantly tensed, raising their assault rifles. Roman slowly pulled out a silver cigar case, retrieving a cigar and lighting it, the negative space tattoos on his hands illuminated by the flame.
"Your daughter," Roman exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, "faked a pregnancy to trap me. She assaulted a woman under my protection. She is a liability and a fraud. If you think I will hand over my territory to pay for her lies, you are more foolish than she is."
"I am the rightful lady of that house!" Dahlia shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, unable to contain her rage. "I was going to give you everything! That maid manipulated you! She turned Owen against me!"
"Keep my son's name out of your mouth," Roman commanded, his voice dropping to a lethal, demonic rumble that froze Dahlia in her tracks. "You are nothing but a desperate parasite, Dahlia."
Victor drew his sidearm and slammed it onto the metal table, the loud clank echoing like a gunshot. "You have thirty seconds to agree to my terms, Ashford. Or my hitters outside will turn your SUVs into Swiss cheese, and you will never make it back to your precious maid."
Roman took another slow drag of his cigar. He leaned forward, the golden light of the work lamps catching the dangerous glint in his dark eyes.
"You think you brought enough men to kill me, Victor?" Roman whispered. "I brought enough men to erase your entire family tree."
As if on cue, the massive rolling doors at the far end of the warehouse screamed open. Three heavily armored Ashford tactical vehicles smashed through the barricades, their high beams blinding the Mercer guards. Dozens of Roman's elite soldiers poured out, laser sights cutting through the dusty air, locking onto every single man in Victor's detail.
Victor’s face drained of color. He had been outmaneuvered.
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"This is your only warning," Roman said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "The Ashford and Mercer families are at war. The next time I see your face, Victor, I will put a bullet between your eyes. Run."
Roman turned his back on them, walking calmly toward his armored vehicles as the Mercers scrambled to lower their weapons, vastly outgunned and utterly defeated at the negotiating table. The peace was officially dead.
