Chapter 2 - Council of Scorpions
The subterranean boardroom smelled of aged mahogany, stale bourbon, and latent treason. Situated deep beneath the estate behind blast-resistant steel, the room held a long table around which sat six men and one woman. These were the district barons of the syndicate, individuals who had spilled blood alongside Nikolai for over a decade. Yet tonight, the tension crackled like static electricity before a lightning strike.
Nikolai sat at the head of the table, an unlit cigar rolling between his fingers. Above, the hum of fluorescent lights reflected off the polished wood. On the monitor mounted at the far wall, a looping feed showed the garden pathway where Mia had been ambushed. Exactly thirty seconds of footage had been erased—a clean, professional deletion utilizing an administrator override key.
""One of you walked into my private quarters,"" Nikolai said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. ""One of you touched my daughter.""
Marco, the silver-haired boss of the docklands, leaned back and chuckled dryly. ""With all due respect, Nikolai, we run a multi-billion-dollar enterprise. You pull us away from trade agreements because a little girl scraped her knee in the garden?""
Before Marco could draw another breath, Nikolai moved with blinding speed. The heavy crystal tumbler on the table flew through the air, shattering against the wood inches from Marco’s knuckles. shards of glass sprayed across the table.
""She is my heir,"" Nikolai snarled, rising from his chair, his silhouette casting an ominous shadow over the entire room. ""And whoever touched her bypassed security clearance level five. There are only eight biometric cards in existence with that access. One is in my pocket. The other seven are in this room.""
Elena, the syndicate’s financial architect, adjusted her glasses, her composure remarkably intact. ""Then run an audit on the digital logs, Nikolai. Don't point guns at your own council over paranoia. If the rival family, the Morettis, got their hands on an encryption key, we are looking at war, not betrayal.""
""The Morettis don't have our internal encryption,"" Viktor chimed in from the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest. ""Someone sold it. Or someone handed it over willingly.""
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Nikolai’s gaze flicked to Viktor, noting the subtle change in his lieutenant’s stance. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, metallic object, and tossed it onto the center of the table. It landed with a dull metallic clink. It was a twisted piece of silver—a Volkov crest, snapped deliberately in half, found discarded in the courtyard gravel.
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and plunged the entire room into absolute darkness.
