Chapter 4 - The Council of Wolves
By nightfall, the Calder compound on the North Shore resembled a military bunker.
Floodlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the iron gates and the patrols of armed enforcers marching along the perimeter. Inside the grand library, the heavy mahogany doors were bolted shut.
Seated around the sprawling conference table were the three remaining capos of the Calder syndicate: Marcus Vance Sr., old-guard enforcer Dominic Rossi, and our chief financial officer, Arthur Sterling.
They weren't happy.
“You brought a child into the stronghold, Julian?” Arthur Sterling snapped, adjusting his glasses nervously as he looked at me across the table. “And not just any child—word on the street is that the hit squad today was hunting for the girl. If the West Side crew knows about her, they know about the vault records. They know about the leverage!”
“Let them know,” I said calmly, pouring a glass of single-malt Scotch at the bar cart.
“You don’t understand the danger!” Dominic Rossi slammed his heavy fist onto the mahogany table, rattling the crystal decanter. “Vincent kept her a secret for a reason! If the syndicate finds out that the old man sired an illegitimate daughter in his old age—a bloodline competing for control of the empire—half our captains will turn on you by sunrise to back her claim!”
I turned slowly, holding the glass of amber liquid, and walked to the head of the table.
I didn't yell. I didn't slam my fist. I just looked at Dominic the way a executioner looks at a condemned prisoner.
“Let them try,” I whispered. The quietness of my voice made the old capo instinctively lean back in his chair. “My father built this empire on fear and secrecy. But he died protecting her. Which means she belongs to the Calder bloodline. And anyone who thinks they can use her as leverage will find out very quickly what happens to traitors in this house.”
“And what about the West Side crew?” Arthur asked cautiously. “They won't stop at one hit squad. They know the ledger is missing.”
“The West Side crew won't be a problem by dawn,” I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. “Vance.”
Vance stepped out of the shadows near the fireplace, holding a secure laptop. “We traced the encrypted signal from the dead operative’s radio to a warehouse off Lake Calumet. It’s the primary staging ground for the new West Side boss, a man named Marcus Vance... wait, no. Viktor Moretti.”
My eyes narrowed. Moretti. The Detroit syndicate stretching its claws across the state line, partnering with local thugs to break our monopoly.
“Get the tactical teams ready,” I ordered, setting my glass down with a sharp clack. “We’re going to pay Viktor a visit.”
“What about the girl, Boss?” Vance asked, hesitating. “She’s upstairs with the housekeepers. But she keeps asking when you’re coming back to read her a story.”
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My chest tightened—that strange, foreign ache returning with blinding intensity. I had spent my entire life believing love was a weakness, a vulnerability that enemies could exploit. But looking at Lily’s face in the sandbox today had made me realize something terrifying: she wasn't my weakness.
She was my redemption.
