Chapter 3 - The Traitor’s Feast
At 10:00 AM the following morning, the sun broke through the clouds, casting a cold, brilliant glare over the skyline of Manhattan.
Inside the opulent penthouse boardroom of Vale Logistics in Midtown, Julian Vale sat at the head of a long mahogany table, sipping an espresso. Surrounding him were five senior syndicate capos, all discussing the upcoming shipment of luxury cargo arriving at Port Newark.
Julian checked his gold watch, a smug, satisfied smile resting on his lips. He was convinced that by now, the quiet maid in the staff cottage was dead, the infant was abandoned, and Damian Vale was drowning in chaos.
"Gentlemen," Julian announced smoothly, leaning back in his leather chair. "With Don Damian increasingly distracted by personal matters, I believe it is time we restructure the distribution routes through Brooklyn. I have already drafted the new operational agreements—"
BANG!
The heavy mahogany double doors of the boardroom didn't just open—they were blown off their hinges by a controlled explosive charge, splintering into thousands of sharp wood fragments that rained across the room.
The capos screamed, scrambling out of their chairs as smoke poured into the boardroom.
Through the burning haze stepped Damian Vale.
He was dressed in an immaculate charcoal three-piece suit, his dark coat flowing behind him. Behind him stood Owen and eight heavily armed security enforcers carrying automatic weapons.
Julian leaped to his feet, knocking his espresso cup over, spilling dark liquid across his white silk tie. "Damian?! What is the meaning of this madness?! You can't attack a board meeting!"
Damian didn't answer. He walked slowly down the length of the table, his polished leather shoes crunching on the shattered glass and splintered wood. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying granite.
"Sit down, Julian," Damian purred, his voice low and vibrating with absolute malice.
"Damian, you've lost your mind!" Julian shouted, looking frantically at the capos around him for support. "I am a high-ranking member of this family! You can't treat me like a low-level criminal!"
Damian reached out, grabbed Julian by the lapels of his suit with one hand, and slammed him face-first onto the mahogany table with bone-shattering force.
CRACK!
Julian shrieked in agony as his nose smashed against the hard wood, blood pooling onto his commercial documents.
The surrounding capos drew their weapons, but Owen’s men instantly aimed their rifles at their heads. "Nobody moves," Owen warned sternly. "Unless you want to share Julian's grave."
Damian leaned down, pinning Julian’s head to the table with his forearm, leaning right into his ear.
"Four months ago," Damian whispered, his words dripping like acid, "you forged my signature. You terrified the woman I loved. You forced her to flee into hiding, where she died alone in a public hospital."
Julian’s eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated horror. Blood poured from his nose onto the table. "D-Damian... I don't... I don't know what you're talking about—"
"And yesterday," Damian continued, pressing his forearm harder until Julian gagged for air, "you put organophosphate poison into the tea of a young mother who worked in my house. You tried to murder an innocent woman to cover up the existence of my daughter."
The entire boardroom went dead silent. The capos looked at each other in sheer disbelief.
"Your... your daughter?" Julian choked out, trembling violently.
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Damian pulled a sleek tablet from his coat and slammed it down beside Julian’s bleeding face. The screen displayed the audio recording of Julian’s secret meeting with the poison supplier, captured by Damian’s cyber intelligence team early that morning.
"You targeted my blood, Julian," Damian growled, grabbing Julian by the neck and hauling him up off the table like a ragdoll. "And in my world, there is only one penalty for treason against the Don’s family."
