Oliver's POV
I drummed my fingers against the polished table, scanning the faces of the five family representatives gathered in this isolated meeting room. Torres sat at the head of the table, his meticulously trimmed beard twitching slightly as he outlined Marcus Murphy's European business territories.
"Gentlemen, our alliance has flourished under Mr. Murphy's leadership," Torres declared, his voice echoing off the navy blue walls of our Atlantic coastline hideaway. "The question now is how we proceed given recent... uncertainties."
A chill slithered down my spine. These "uncertainties" were carefully chosen words to describe Marcus's supposed death. Only Torres and I knew the truth.
The conference room door crashed open with such force that the crystal glasses on the sidebar rattled. Doyle strode in, flanked by armed men with semiautomatic weapons trained on us.
My blood froze when three of our supposed allies immediately stood and crossed to Doyle's side.
