Kiel settled into the high-backed leather chair. It wasn't a restful motion; it was a commander assuming his post. The mahogany desk felt solid and immense before him, a barrier between the boy he had been and the Ghost he had to be. Brian, taking his cue, sank into the deep, burgundy leather couch in the corner, his posture attentive, ready to strategize.
For a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the laptop and the faint whisper of the climate control. The mural of the lion-phoenix watched over them, a silent jury.
Kiel broke the silence, his voice calm but direct. "Eighty loyal men are a foundation. But a foundation can be buried if the walls aren't strong enough. We need to build, Brian. Systematically."
Brian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Where do we start?"
"With the men we have," Kiel said, steepling his fingers. "They're brave, but bravery without discipline is just noise. I want you to design and implement a training regimen. For everyone."
Brian nodded slowly, his mind already working. "What's the focus? We're not an army."
"We're not," Kiel agreed. "We're something else. So the training will be, too. I want three core areas." He held up a gloved finger. "One: stealth and infiltration. How to move unseen, how to listen, how to blend. Not every fight is a fistfight." A second finger joined the first. "Two: close-quarters combat. Efficient, brutal, and fast. No flashy moves. Everything should end in ten seconds or less." A third finger. "And three: loyalty. I don't mean speeches. I mean testing their resolve. Simulate captures. Apply pressure. We need to know who breaks and who holds, before we're in a real situation."
Brian let out a low whistle, impressed by the cold, practical logic. "That's... intense. But you're right. We can't have weak links." He made a mental note. "I'll have a draft plan by dawn."
"Good," Kiel said. "Next. Our image. The world saw my father's men as lions; proud, loud, obvious. We cannot be that." He gestured to his own all-black attire. "We are ghosts. From now on, the standard attire for any official operation is a black suit. Simple. Formal. Intimidating. It creates a uniform identity. It makes us look like one single, unstoppable entity, not just a gang of thugs."
A slow smile spread across Brian's face. "I like it. It sends a message without saying a word. It'll also make it harder for their lookouts to pick us out in a crowd until it's too late. We'll just be... men in black suits."
"Exactly," Kiel said. "Now, the most important tool: communication." He tapped the laptop. "We can't rely on burner phones that can be traced or tapped. We need a secure network. Encrypted messaging that deletes itself. Scrambled radio channels for field operations. I want our communications to be a ghost, like us, there one second, gone the next, leaving no trace."
Brian's expression turned serious. "That's high-level tech. Expensive. But non-negotiable. I know a guy, a hacker my father used to trust. He's off the grid. I can reach out. If we're going to be outnumbered, our advantage has to be intelligence and coordination."
"Make it happen," Kiel stated. "Which brings me to the last point. Manpower. Eighty men is a start, but the Vipers and Jackals have hundreds. We need to grow. Carefully."
"How do we recruit ghosts?" Brian asked, intrigued. "We can't exactly put up a help-wanted sign."
"We don't recruit brawlers," Kiel explained, his gaze drifting to the chessboard. "We find the disillusioned. The competent ones trapped in the lower ranks of the Riviera Vipers gang or the Crimson Jackals who are tired of being disrespected. We find the small business owners being crushed by their protection rackets. We don't offer them money; we offer them a purpose. A chance to be part of something new, something that actually protects this town."
Brian absorbed this, seeing the broader strategy. "So we're not just building an army; we're building a shadow government. Winning hearts and minds, even in the underworld."
Kiel gave a single, sharp nod. "Now, for our first official move. The Rivera brothers were a message to traitors. Now, we send a message to Salvatore himself."
Both men fell silent, the weight of the moment settling in. This was the first real move of the game.
"What are you thinking?" Brian finally asked.
Kiel's eyes narrowed, focusing on a point on the large map, a Viper-controlled warehouse by the docks, different from the Riveras'. "Salvatore would be celebrating tomorrow night. He feels secure. He's stockpiling a new shipment of illegal firearms in the old fish-packing plant. He thinks no one would be bold enough to touch it so soon after... after the war."
Brian's eyes widened. "You want to hit his arms depot? Kiel, that's a fortress. He'll have it heavily guarded."
"I don't want the weapons," Kiel said, a cold smile finally touching his lips. It was a terrifying sight. "I want the ledger. The one that details the serial numbers, the buyers, his entire distribution network. His head of security, Marco, is a creature of habit. He keeps a physical copy in a safe in the foreman's office. He thinks it's safer off a network."
"How do you know that?" Brian breathed, stunned.
"I listened," Kiel said simply. "When my father spoke. He knew Marco's weaknesses. The man is arrogant. He doesn't believe in digital backups for his most sensitive data."
He looked at Brian, his plan fully formed.
"On the night of his party, while Salvatore toasts his victory, you and I will pay a visit. We don't go in through the front. We go over the roof, through the skylight. We are in and out in five minutes. We take the ledger, and we leave a single calling card."
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, thick card. It was plain black, with the Nunca-Caer lion-phoenix insignia embossed in a stark, silver foil. On the back, it was blank.
"We leave this on his desk," Kiel said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let him find it. Let him know we were there, in his most secure place, and he never saw us. Let him feel the first chill of the ghost."
Brian looked from the card to Kiel's resolute face, a fierce pride burning in his chest. The boy was gone. In his place was a strategist, a general of the shadows.
"It's a hell of a first move," Brian said, a grim smile finally matching his cousin's.
"He'll go insane," Brian said, a slow grin spreading. "He'll tear the city apart looking for us."
Kiel's gaze was cold and steady. "Let him try. He'll be grabbing at smoke."
"Let's go get his ledger."
In the quiet of the war room, the plan was set. The phantom army was being forged, one detail at a time, and its first strike would be one the Riviera Vipers would never see coming.