Chapter 9 - The Trial of the Council
The final hurdle for the Volkov empire wasn't fought with guns in a dark warehouse; it was settled across a polished mahogany table in the grand boardroom of Grayhaven House three days later.
Seated around the table were the remaining elders of the eastern syndicate families—men in expensive suits with cold, calculating eyes who had ruled the underworld for decades. At the head of the table sat Damian, flanked by Viktor and me.
“The Chicago territory is now fully integrated under our logistics network,” Damian announced, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “Maroni is awaiting federal trial on twenty counts of racketeering. Anyone here who has a problem with how the board is being restructured is welcome to speak up now.”
Silence blanketed the room. The elders exchanged nervous glances. They had seen what happened to Sullivan. They had heard about the bloodbath at Pier 44. Nobody was foolish enough to challenge the Reaper of Baltimore when he was standing at the peak of his power.
“Good,” Damian nodded calmly. “The meeting is adjourned.”
As the elders scrambled out of the boardroom like scolded schoolboys, Viktor lingered by the door, offering Damian a knowing smirk before closing it behind him.
Left alone in the grand room, I leaned back against the edge of the mahogany table, crossing my arms. “You handled them like a true king.”
“Kings are fragile, Elena,” Damian replied, standing up and walking slowly toward me. He stopped just a foot away, resting his hands on the table on either side of my hips, trapping me in his warm, protective circle. “Crowns get heavy. People always want to knock them off.”
“Then maybe you should take it off,” I whispered, looking up into his eyes.
Damian reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw down to my chin. “Only if you’re willing to share the weight with me.”
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open with a cheerful creak.
Lila stood in the doorway, wearing her bright yellow rain boots, dragging her cloth rabbit by its ear, her pink hearing aid flashing a steady, happy green. She looked at us, tilted her head, and trotted across the polished floor straight toward Damian.
Damian immediately dropped to one knee, opening his arms.
Lila climbed unhesitatingly onto his lap, pulling his hand down against her chest so he could feel her heart beating, then reaching up to press her tiny palm flat against his chest.
She tapped twice.
Fixed, her little fingers signed in the air between us.
May you like
Damian let out a rich, genuine laugh—a sound that chased away the last lingering shadows of Grayhaven House’s dark past. He wrapped both arms around her, lifting her into the air, and then looked up at me with a smile that completely transformed his face.
“She’s right,” Damian murmured, pulling both of us close. “The heart’s fixed.”
