Richard’s glass of wine barely rippled as the report came in.“Vercetti is dead, sir. His compound… gone. Callahan’s boy lit the sky with fire.”The underling’s voice quivered, his eyes darting to the carpet as though afraid to meet Richard’s gaze.Richard swirled the wine slowly, the liquid catching in the glow of the chandelier above him. “And the others?”“Dozens of men—dead. The survivors scattered.”A soft laugh escaped Richard’s lips. He set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. “Good. Let him burn the weeds. It saves us the trouble of trimming the garden ourselves.”He rose, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate calm, and strode toward the massive oak doors at the end of the chamber. The guards flanking them opened the way without a word.Beyond the doors lay the Table.A vast underground hall, dimly lit, where men and women of power gathered like shadows around a polished stone circle. Their faces were half-hidden, but their vo

Caleb stood with the man sleeping at his feet and thought of Richard, calm and measured and still moving chess pieces even as the house burned. The courier’s words hurt in a different way; if true, it meant the conspiracy was not local politics. It meant there were hands on strings he could not reach with blades and bullets.They took what they could from the house: ledgers, the yellow-coated man’s phone, a stretch of cloth with a mark cut into it. They left nothing but a message for the night.When they returned to the mansion, it was almost dawn. The house slept, but for the low, steady watch of men who kept their eyes open for the same ghosts that did. Outside, the city smoked and the lights came alive again, indifferent.Mr. Loo met them at the gate; fatigue shadowed his face. He took the yellow coat’s phone and flipped through the messages with the slow care of a man who had been building patterns for years.“There’s a code here,” he murmured. “Numbers, times. Someone’s mapping o

The estate smelled of blood and smoke. The marble steps, once a symbol of the Callahans’ wealth and power, were stained red in streaks that no servant could ever scrub away. The gardens were silent, flowers crushed beneath boot prints and bodies. The air still carried the ghost of gunfire.For the first time in decades, the Callahan mansion looked fragile.---Caleb hadn’t moved from the steps since dawn. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat and streaked with blood—some his, most not. The revolver rested against his thigh, barrel blackened from the heat of too many shots.The sun rose slowly, spilling light over the ruins, as though mocking him with beauty in the aftermath of slaughter.Diana emerged from the hall, her braid undone, clothes torn at the shoulder. She carried a fresh clip in one hand and a cracked phone in the other.“They’re saying it already,” she muttered, sitting beside him. Her voice was flat, but her eyes betrayed the storm inside. “Every channel. The Callaha

It began before dawn, Men loyal to the Callahans arrived to guard the shipments only to find their own banners already torn down, replaced by flags that bore the sigil of Cassian Holt. By the time Caleb’s runners brought word to the mansion, half the waterfront was already ablaze.Caleb stood at the window of his father’s office, fists braced against the sill, staring at the plumes of black smoke curling into the sky. The city wasn’t just bleeding—it was being gutted.Behind him, Diana burst in, her hair loose, her eyes sharp. “They’re hitting everywhere at once—markets, nightclubs, warehouses. It isn’t random.”Mr. Loo followed, his coat spattered with rain and soot. “It’s coordinated. Elias Crowe’s men on the docks, Victor Kane in the East District. Cassian…” His voice dipped, heavy with dread. “Cassian himself was seen at the ironworks, cutting down your father’s loyalists like cattle.”Caleb turned, his jaw tight. “And the police?”Diana’s laugh was bitter. “Bought. They look th

They came all at once.At dawn the city looked like it was waking up to ordinary things—delivery trucks, shopkeepers sweeping storefronts, people going to work—but the Callahan name had already been marked. The Consortium’s moves had been precise for weeks: they’d poisoned accounts, paid off officials, leaked stories, and arranged the appearance of a legal inevitability. Tonight those plans became action.Caleb had expected raids, attacks on warehouses, fights in the streets. He had not expected the law to arrive in the same uniforms that once served them. He had not expected the forms and seals and handcuffs to be the tools used to take everything from him.“Get Jasper and the twins to the panic room,” Caleb said. His voice had been hollow for days; now it had an edge. “Diego, you and Sandra take positions on the north wall. Evelyn, Mr. Reed—stay with Diana. Mr. Loo, organize the men. Lock the gates.”They moved fast. Soldiers and guards they trusted ran to obey. Diego and his daught