Chapter 6 - The Council of Vultures
The grand dining room of the Vale Estate was illuminated by a massive iron chandelier casting warm, amber light across the fifty-foot mahogany table.
It was eight o’clock the following morning.
Lily sat in a high wooden chair at the head of the table, wearing a brand-new yellow cotton dress that a local boutique had delivered at sunrise on Roman’s orders. She was happily eating fresh blueberry pancakes prepared by Roman’s French chef, smearing maple syrup across her cheeks with wild enthusiasm.
I sat beside her, sipping tea from a delicate bone-china cup, wearing an elegant emerald-green wool dress that fit me perfectly.
At the far end of the table, Roman stood before a bank of six high-definition security screens, listening to an encrypted live audio feed originating from the syndicate boardroom in downtown Manhattan.
Gideon stood beside him, holding a tactical radio.
Through the speakers, Victor Vance’s arrogant voice echoed clearly:
“...and so, gentlemen of the board,” Victor was saying to the thirty syndicate leaders assembled in Manhattan, “it is with deep regret that I inform you Roman Vale’s body was stolen from St. Jude’s Hospital last night by rogue mercenaries. I am officially invoking Directive 9 to assume full control of the Vale Empire as Acting Chairman.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the speakers from the other mob bosses.
Roman took a slow sip of his black coffee. A dark, terrifying smile spread across his face.
He tapped a button on his encrypted console.
“Is that so, Victor?” Roman’s voice boomed through the Manhattan boardroom speakers, loud, clear, and vibrating with absolute authority.
The audio feed instantly erupted into wild shouts and gasps of shock from the thirty bosses assembled in Manhattan.
“Roman?!” Victor’s voice shrieked through the speakers, laced with sudden, naked panic. “That’s... that’s an AI voice generator! Roman Vale is dead!”
“I am very much alive, Victor,” Roman replied smoothly, walking toward the high-definition video camera mounted on the wall. “And I am currently looking at the offshore bank receipts showing the three million dollars you paid to Dr. Mark Harrison to shut down my life support.”
Dead silence fell over the Manhattan boardroom.
“Furthermore,” Roman continued, his voice dropping into a lethal, low register, “I have the physical confession of the hitman you sent to my room last night—the one who tried to plunge a potassium syringe into my neck before my security team put a bullet through his chest.”
“It’s a lie! He’s unhinged! He’s incompetent!” Victor screamed into his microphone.
“Gideon,” Roman ordered quietly. “Execute Protocol Alpha.”
On the screens, three doors of the Manhattan boardroom were thrown open simultaneously.
Fifty heavily armed tactical guards wearing Roman’s private crest marched into the room, surrounding the table. Gideon’s secondary team seized Victor by his arms, forcing him onto his knees on the carpet in front of the thirty terrified mob bosses.
“You have five minutes to sign over every asset, shell company, and territory under your name, Victor,” Roman declared, staring directly into the camera lens. “If you refuse, the federal prosecutor’s office will receive the video footage of you planning my murder in Room 412.”
Through the video monitor, we watched as Victor broke completely. He wept, his manicured hands shaking violently as Gideon slapped a pen and an asset transfer contract in front of him on the carpet.
Within two minutes, Victor signed his life away, reduced from a powerful mob lieutenant to a destitute, disgraced traitor waiting for a federal arrest warrant.
Roman clicked the monitor off.
The dining room fell silent once again, save for the sound of rain tapping gently against the high glass windows.
Roman turned around, unbuttoning his suit jacket, walking slowly toward our end of the table.
Lily looked up from her pancakes, holding up a syrup-covered strawberry toward him with a wide, toothy grin.
“For you, Mr. Roman!” she chirped cheerfully.
Roman stopped. The man who had just dismantled a multi-billion-dollar criminal empire with a few sentences dropped onto one knee beside Lily’s highchair, opening his mouth and letting her pop the sticky strawberry right into his mouth without a second’s hesitation.
“Delicious, little bird,” Roman smiled, his grey eyes shining with warmth as he wiped a spot of syrup from her nose with his thumb.
May you like
He turned his gaze to me, taking my hand into his.
“The traitors are gone, Elena,” Roman said softly. “My empire is secure. And so are you.”
