Chapter 7 - THEFALL OF THE USURPERVictor backed up until the back of his knees hit the edge of the private elevator doors. He clawed frantically at the call button, but Miller had locked the system down from the bunker. The buttons flashed a mocking, solid red.
"Marcus... wait," Victor stammered, holding his hands up defensively, sweat pouring down his pale face. "We’re family! It was just business! The syndicate was getting stagnant, you know it was! The Valeri cartel offered us billions—we could have ruled the entire coast together!"
Marcus stopped right in front of him. He didn't yell. He didn't smile. He simply reached out, grabbed Victor by the lapels of his expensive designer suit, and hauled him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"You didn't want to modernize the syndicate, Victor," Marcus whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "You wanted to sell our streets to monsters who prey on children. You broke the one rule that keeps men from becoming beasts."
Victor swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward the edge of the stage where Sovereign was standing, panting slightly, his amber eyes locked directly on Victor’s throat.
"What... what are you going to do with me?" Victor whimpered.
Marcus turned his head slightly, looking down at Iris, who had walked up the stage steps behind them. She was wiping a smear of engine grease off her cheek with the back of her sleeve, looking completely unbothered by the carnage surrounding them.
"What do you think, Iris?" Marcus asked quietly. "He wanted my seat. He wants the city."
Iris stepped up to the edge of the platform, looking down at the scattered, groaning henchmen and the fleeing politicians outside the shattered ballroom doors.
"He doesn't get a seat," Iris said coldly, tossing a heavy pair of steel zip-ties onto the floor between Victor’s feet. "He gets a pair of cuffs and a one-way ticket to a federal supermax cell where nobody will ever hear his name again. Let the cops have him. We have a city to clean up."
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Marcus looked back down at Victor, a grim satisfaction settling into his eyes. Prison was worse than death for a man like Victor—a man who lived for vanity, luxury, and control. Stripping him of his freedom, his money, and his legacy was the ultimate execution.
"You heard the lady," Marcus said, kicking the zip-ties closer to Victor's feet. "Tie yourself up, cousin. The authorities will be here in three minutes."
