Damian Wolfe
The gala was still in full swing behind the velvet-draped walls, music echoing like a heartbeat through marble and glass. The kind of sound designed to reassure the powerful that they still had the world spinning beneath their feet. Everyone was having the time of their lives.
But I had no time for toasts and flattery.
I had business to attend to, I wanted to see what the Monarch had installed.
Bishop's second text had come through while I was still sipping champagne, the words clean and sharp:
"Monarch Syndicate wants a private word. Now."
Of course they did.
I moved through the corridors of my empire with the ease of a man who owned every shadow and silence, with my champagne still in my hands. My steps were unhurried, deliberate because fear was for men who had something to lose. And I'd already lost the only thing that ever made me feel alive.
What remained was power. And I'd be damned if I let that slip away.
The room at the top floor of the east wing had been designed for moments like this. Not opulent, this wasn't meant for show. Dim lighting. Reinforced walls. One entry. One exit. This wasn't a boardroom, it was a room for strategies, for like minded people.
It was a battlefield.
Inside, three of them waited. Polished suits, postures like knives. Not the usual messengers. These were wolves in their own right, close to the Syndicate's core.
I didn't greet them.
I simply closed the door behind me and let silence stretch.
"Let's not waste time," I said smoothly, adjusting my cuffs. "If you've come to threaten me, get in line."
The eldest of the three leaned forward first. Silver hair slicked back, skin like parchment, lips drawn into a pinched line. A face carved by secrets and survival.
"We didn't come to threaten you, Mr. Wolfe," he said. "We came to remind you what's at stake."
I poured myself another drink, this time it was a three fingers of aged scotch, gold and quiet fire in the glass.
"You always send reminders dressed like undertakers?" I mused. "Or is this a promotion?"
The man to his left a thick-necked brute in bespoke didn't flinch. "You've grown reckless."
"You've grown comfortable," I replied coolly. "I'm still the man keeping your ledgers clean and your names out of headlines. Be careful how you speak in my house."
It was the youngest who broke the tension. Clean-shaven. Hungry eyes. Barely contained disdain.
"And yet the girl lives. Aria Vale. You're protecting her. Why?"
I didn't speak. Not immediately.
Instead, I set the glass down deliberately. The sound of crystal on wood was louder than the question itself. I stepped closer, just enough to make them sit back in their seats.
"She's mine," I said.
The silver-haired one narrowed his eyes. "She's a liability. She knows too much. She's already compromised one of our agents and stolen intel that..."
"She's mine," I repeated, more softly now. "And you don't get to question how I manage my property."
It wasn't the right word. It was the word that kept Aria alive at that moment.
The older man's nostrils flared. "We warned you once. The Syndicate doesn't tolerate..."
"You don't warn me." My voice cut in like a blade, cold and precise. "You deal with me. And I've been more than generous. I've given you reach, discretion, and teeth. Don't mistake my silence for surrender."
The room stilled, tension wound tight enough to snap.
That's when Bishop's signal buzzed. A single vibration. Silent. Intentional.
They were recording. I gave no reaction, I stared at them unfazed.
The silver fox shifted again. "This is your final test, Wolfe. Deliver the girl or we do it ourselves. The Board wants blood."
I took a long breath, let it burn at the edges of my lungs.
And then I smiled.
"Then you'd better pray it isn't yours."
They stood, stiff and silent, and left without so much as a glance backward.
I didn't follow. I stayed at the window for a while, the lights of the city flickering like stars drowning in fog. My reflection stared back: tailored, dangerous, still in control.
But behind the glass?
Something else was moving. War drums. The shifting of lines drawn in blood and ambition.
I reached for my phone.
To Bishop: Watch every move. Follow the silver fox. If they whisper Aria's name again, I want to hear it before they finish the sentence.
A pause.
Then a second message.
"And check the status of Vault 07. Make sure no one else gets curious."
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and straightened my jacket.
This was the game now, Monarch breathing down my neck, Aria still an open wound I refused to cauterize, and Jasper slithering between camps, playing both sides like a true parasite.
But I hadn't made it this far by being naive.
I built Wolfe Enterprise brick by brick on secrets and bones left behind by my father. I learned how to survive betrayal. I'd been raised by it.
And now...
They wanted the wolf on a leash.
They were about to learn I was never tamed to begin with.
Let the devils come, let them all come.
I'll make sure to send them all back to hell.
I was prepared for them, I was already waiting.