Chapter 7 - The ReckoningBarrett’s bravado shattered completely. He looked around the table, but not a single capo met his eye. In the brutal underworld of the East Coast syndicate, loyalty was bought with power, and Barrett’s currency had just dropped to zero.
"Kendrick... wait," Barrett stammered, holding up his hands in a frantic plea. "We’re brothers in blood! We built this syndicate together! You can't just—"
"My father built this syndicate," Willa spoke up for the first time, her voice cutting through the room with crystal clarity.
She stood up slowly, leaning over the table to look directly into Barrett’s panicked eyes.
"You murdered my parents, you burned my home, and you stole six years of my life," Willa said, her voice steady and chillingly calm. "You thought you buried the Sterling name forever. But you forgot one simple rule of the underworld, Barrett: ghosts always come back to collect their debts."
Kendrick gave a single, imperceptible nod.
Before Barrett could reach for the pistol hidden in his waistband, two massive enforcers moved in with terrifying speed. They grabbed Barrett by the shoulders and arms, yanking him out of his chair and slamming him face-down onto the mahogany table.
"Take him down to the subterranean vault," Kendrick ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Lock him in the lower cell. No visitors, no phone calls, no food. Let him think about what it feels like to be trapped in the dark with no way out."
"No! Please! Kendrick! You can't do this!" Barrett screamed as he was dragged backward toward the heavy double doors, his heels scraping desperately against the polished floorboards.
The doors slammed shut, cutting off his frantic cries.
Silence settled over the boardroom once again, heavier and more absolute than before. The remaining twelve capos sat rigidly in their seats, staring down at their hands, collectively holding their breath as they waited to see who would be the next target of the undisputed king of New York.
Kendrick didn't look at any of them. He turned his head slowly, looking down the length of the table toward Willa.
"Well, Miss Sterling," Kendrick said softly, a dark, complex emotion flickering deep within his amber-flecked eyes. "It seems you’ve reclaimed your seat at the table sooner than expected."
Willa held his gaze, refusing to look away. The fear that had gripped her heart just twenty-four hours ago was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, blazing strength. She wasn't just a waitress anymore. She was a Sterling.
"I didn't come here for a seat, Mr. Ashford," Willa replied evenly, walking slowly around the table toward him. "I came here for justice."
May you like
Kendrick let out a low, appreciative chuckle, stepping forward to meet her halfway. "Justice is a rare commodity in our world, Katherine. Usually, we just settle for survival."
"Then let's see if we can change the rules," she whispered.
