I watched Roberto's expression shift from controlled aggression to genuine surprise. A faction within his family operating without authorisation, then. Interesting. Family discord created exploitable fractures.
“I authorised no hit,” Roberto insisted, his eyes darting to his lieutenants, particularly the older man on his right who shifted uncomfortably under scrutiny. “My nephew sometimes acts... impetuously.”
“Impetuosity has consequences,” I replied, nodding to Dominic, who placed a small rosewood box on the conference table. The box had been custom-made for such occasions, lined with silk to properly display its gruesome contents.
Roberto hesitated before reaching for it, tension bleeding from his posture as he recognised the signalling of traditional communication methods. Among our kind, such boxes could contain many messages: a severed finger representing a warning, an ear suggesting surveillance had been detected, a tongue condemning betrayal through words.
His façade of confidence shattered as he opened the box, then physically recoiled—inside rested a severed finger wearing his nephew's distinctive university ring. Fresh enough that blood still seeped into the silk cushioning.
“Michael is still alive,” I explained calmly as Roberto struggled to compose himself. “He awaits your retrieval at the location Viktor will provide. Consider this restrained response a professional courtesy extended out of respect for our historical relationship. Further violations will receive less measured attention.”
The blood drained from Roberto's face, not from the gore—we had all seen worse—but from the implications. I had taken his nephew, the challenger to his authority, and converted him from threat to liability in one surgical move. By returning Michael maimed but alive, I forced Roberto to either execute his own flesh and blood for the unauthorised hit, or demonstrate weakness by allowing the transgression without consequences.
“This matter is concluded,” I continued into the stunned silence. “Wilson's betrayal balanced against your nephew's unauthorised aggression. The territorial boundaries remain as previously established, with the following adjustment.” I slid a map across the table. “The Southwark distribution point transfersto Calloway control as compensation for operational disruption.”
Roberto's hand trembled slightly as he inspected the map, recognising the substantial concession demanded. The Southwark point represented fifteen percent of his London distribution network, a crippling loss balanced against his nephew's life.
“Agreed,” he conceded after a moment, years of calculated self-preservation overriding pride. “With the condition that this resolution is final and complete. No further action against my family or organisation regarding these incidents.”
I allowed a thin smile. “Provided similar restraint is observed by all members of your organisation moving forward.”
The remaining negotiations proceeded with subdued efficiency, Roberto's earlier aggression replaced by pragmatic damage control. His lieutenants maintained tense silence, undoubtedly calculating the power shift this encounter represented. By the meeting's conclusion, the Vegas had ceded valuable territory and demonstrated weakness, while the Calloways had reinforced dominance without triggering all-out war. A satisfactory outcome by any measure.
As Roberto rose to leave, I remained seated, a final subtle reinforcement of our respective positions. “Family loyalty is admirable,” I offered as parting observation. “But control must precede loyalty to be effective. Otherwise, one finds oneself cleaning up the consequences of others' poor decisions.”
Roberto paused, something like grudging respect flickering in his eyes. “Some lessons must be learned personally to be properly understood. My nephew will remember this one.”
“If you permit him to,” I replied, the underlying question hanging between us. Would Roberto eliminate the internal threat, or preserve family at the cost of perceived strength?
After their departure, Harrison turned to me with raisedeyebrows. “Surgical. Though holding his nephew creates operational vulnerabilities until retrieval.”
“Already handled,” I assured him, rising carefully to avoid aggravating my injury. “Viktor managed extraction and containment personally. The nephew is sedated at the Docklands warehouse with minimal surveillance exposure. The exchange will occur tonight.”
Harrison nodded, satisfaction evident. “The Southwark concession is substantial. Roberto will struggle to compensate for the lost revenue stream.”
“Which increases the likelihood he'll eliminate his nephew rather than appear weak while financially compromised,” I concluded. “Internal purges will occupy the Vegas for months, giving us time to consolidate our expanded territory.”
“Your grandmother would approve of the elegance,” Harrison observed with a small smile. “Creating circumstances where your enemy eliminates his own future challenger.”
I accepted the compliment with a slight nod, though Harrison's invocation of Sophia triggered familiar suspicion. My financial director had been my grandmother's first choice to guide the family business after my parents' murder, before my grandfather selected me as heir instead. That history created perpetual undercurrents beneath our professional relationship.
“Your grandmother has arrangedinterviews with three potential physicians,” Dominic reported as we left Harrison's building. The midday sun cast harsh light across London's financial district, gleaming off glass and steel monoliths housing legitimate and shadow enterprises alike. “The first candidate is scheduled at Ravenswood for seven this evening.”
I scowled, shoulder throbbing as I slid into the Bentley. Themorning's tension had aggravated the injury, blood now visibly staining my shirt cuff. “Cancel them. I'll use the Harley Street specialist Montgomery recommends. I don't have time for interviews.”
Dominic wisely chose silence rather than arguing, focusing on navigating midday traffic with practiced skill. His quiet competence allowed me space to process the morning's developments, calculating next moves in the perpetual chess match that was London's criminal ecosystem.
My phone vibrated with updates from various operations—shipments arriving at Dover, legislative changes affecting money movement, property acquisitions proceeding through front companies. The legitimate and illegitimate faces of the Calloway empire required constant attention, each decision rippling through interconnected networks of influence and control.
Traffic slowed unexpectedly as emergency vehicles converged ahead—a multi-car accident blocking our route to the next meeting. Blue lights reflected off surrounding buildings, creating a strobing effect that triggered unwelcome memories of flames. I controlled my breathing carefully, pushing back against the creeping sensations that occasionally ambushed me despite decades of psychological discipline.
I noticed the hospital insignia on responding ambulances: London Royal. Something clicked in my tactical awareness—an opportunity to address my medical situation through institutional leverage rather than individual loyalty.
“London Royal's trauma centre has a new research wing,” I mused, recalling information from recent charity endeavours. “The Calloway Foundation provided significant funding last quarter.”
Dominic nodded, understanding the direction of my thinking. “Potential leverage for expedited medical services without Montgomery's replacement.”
My phone vibrated again, an urgent message from Viktor interrupting my planning:
