Chapter 18 - The InvitationThree days later, the private jet carrying Vincent Shaw touched down on the tarmac of the private airstrip overlooking the Pacific coastline.
Vincent stepped out of the cabin into the crisp autumn air, smoothing the lapels of his immaculate Italian wool suit. He wore a diamond-studded Rolex on his wrist and carried himself with the smug, untouchable swagger of a man who believed he had successfully played both sides of a criminal empire and won.
A sleek black limousine waited at the edge of the runway, its tinted rear door held open by one of Declan’s elite enforcers.
"Welcome back to the estate, Mr. Shaw," the enforcer said smoothly, his face entirely impassive.
"It’s good to be back," Vincent smiled, sliding into the plush leather interior of the limo. "Tell Declan I’m glad to see he finally cleared out the dead weight in the organization. The European division has never been more profitable."
The ride to the estate was short. As the limo swept through the grand wrought-iron gates and pulled up to the sweeping cobblestone courtyard of the main manor, Vincent stepped out, taking in the magnificent stone architecture with a greedy, evaluating gleam in his eyes. He assumed the summit was about expanding his territory, perhaps handing over even greater operational control of the international shipping lanes.
The heavy oak doors swung open. Standing in the grand foyer wasn't just Declan—it was Aaron, Mia, and Captain Vance, standing in a semi-circle around the perimeter of the hall like statues carved from granite.
Vincent stopped in his tracks, his confident smile faltering for a fraction of a second as he took in the chilling atmosphere of the room.
"Declan! Aaron!" Vincent forced a jovial laugh, spreading his arms wide as he stepped across the threshold. "What is this? A family reunion? You look like you’re ready for a funeral."
"We are," Declan said, his voice cutting through the cavernous space like a frozen blade.
Vincent’s arms dropped slowly to his sides. His eyes darted nervously between Declan, Aaron, and the silent enforcers blocking every exit. "What... what are you talking about?"
Aaron stepped forward, holding a small micro-cassette recorder in his hand. He pressed play.
Through the tiny speaker, the tinny, undeniable sound of Vincent’s voice echoed off the marble walls from a recording dated four years ago: “Make sure the terminal logs show Aaron’s credentials. Once Declan signs the execution order, we split the six million and take over the European division permanently.”
Color drained completely from Vincent’s face. His knees buckled slightly, his expensive suit suddenly feeling like a lead weight.
"That... that’s a forgery," Vincent stammered, stepping backward until his back hit the heavy oak door. "That’s an AI-generated fabrication! You can't trust—"
"Quiet, Vincent," Declan commanded, stepping forward until he stood mere inches away from his cousin. The sheer, overwhelming presence of the mafia boss forced Vincent to shrink back against the wood. "You tried to destroy my family. You stole my brother’s life for four years. And then you had the arrogance to walk back into my house wearing a smile."
"Declan, please!" Vincent choked out, panic finally breaking through his facade as he slid down the door onto the marble floor. "We’re family! We share the same blood!"
"Blood is the only reason you’re still breathing right now," Declan said coldly.
May you like
He signaled to two enforcers standing near the service entrance. "Take him down to the lower holding facility. Strip him of his titles, his accounts, his assets, and his passports. Then put him on a cargo freighter headed for the middle of the Atlantic with a single suitcase and fifty dollars in his pocket. Let him find out what it means to start over with nothing."
As the enforcers dragged the screaming, thrashing man out of the foyer, the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him with a final, echoing crash.
