[Don–greed]!!

  The cloaked envoys were led through polished halls into the dining room, their steps wary, vigilant, and practiced; they moved like predators who knew when to show teeth. The tallest among them took the head opposite the long table; two others flanked him like sentries. Candlelight played across expensive wood and colder faces.

  Before they could settle, the double doors swung open and the air itself dropped.

  “It’s been a while, Dragon envoy of the eastern hemisphere.”

  The voice folded the room into silence. He did not hurry. He simply stepped in, and the sound of his boots swallowed the murmurs. When he took his seat it was like a boulder settling into a river—massive, immovable. Even in a suit tailored for lesser men, his shoulders filled the chair; his presence made their words small.

  [Name:James Salvatore moretti]

  [Don of the Moretti-mafia family]

  [One of the seven Deadly sin families].

  Those at his side rose without a signal, a ripple of fear and respect following their motion. The Dragon envoys received no such courtesy. Their chairs felt suddenly too light beneath them; practiced phrases tasted blunt on their tongues.

  The envoy who had been speaking forced the opening he’d rehearsed back home—but the Don cut him off without looking up.

  “Save me the report.” His voice was low and measured, like coin. “What’s different this time? What does the empire want from us now?..”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The difference now,” the envoy managed, words quick and brittle, “is that the hidden rebellion is moving. We believe the incident in Singapore—”

  “Stop.” The Don’s fingers pressed into the tabletop and the room folded into a silence deeper than any speech. “Names and places mean nothing until you tell me what it costs me. Make it brief.”

  “We’ve had attacks,” the envoy rushed on. “Afghanistan—two hundred and ten covert soldiers sent in to retrieve an asset. All dead. The asset vanished. South Africa—an ally spy murdered. Canada—a power plant collapse. Disappearances, sabotage, killings across the globe. It’s coordinated, we believe the rebels are behind it and we believe that they might be on this island this very moment….”

  He let the list hang between them like a bad smell. The Don’s expression did not change, but the air shifted around him.

  “Tch.” He exhaled once, sharp. “So what. Should that scare me?” He spoke to the table more than to the envoy. Then, softer, almost to himself: “Those rebel bastards are relics. Ghosts of a bygone era.”

  The envoy’s shoulders tightened. “They stole the blood-jade pendant.”

  A slow, deliberate laugh—half amusement, half hunger—escaped the Don. “And?” He stretched the syllable like a warning. “What use would an old trinket be now? Like those rebels, those relics are thoughts of the past—ghosts who shouldn’t be meddling in the present, should stay buried!!.”

  “The families don’t see it as a trinket.” Another envoy spoke, clipped and weighed by covenants. “The Legacy of the Black Sovereign is an equation unsolved. The Twelve can’t risk unforeseen consequences if such a relic activates during the hunt. They want the relic before the hunt—if possible.”

  The Don tapped the wood twice; the table answered like a gavel. “Stop hiding in the bushes and cut to the chase,” he said. His aura shivered faintly, a ripple of menace.

  “The Twelve want you and the Seven Sin families to stand down from this hunt,” the envoy said calmly.

  For an instant the mansion seemed to shudder—contained bloodlust burst like a wave that shook foundations—then the oppressive air snapped into an eerie stillness.

  “And if I refuse?” the Don asked, curious rather than confrontational; menace tightened every jaw.

  “Would you side with one of the other families?” he added, leaning forward so the envoys felt the crush of his size and burst of aura.

  The third envoy smiled thinly. “That remains to be seen. But, Don—” he rose , shrugging off the pressure like a coat, “like it or not, we intend to get the relic, preferably before the hunt. But I do hope we don’t cross paths with each other in the Valley of Death.”

  The Don’s grin was slow, a baring of subtle teeth. “What of the rebel?” he asked, already knowing the cadence.

  “We’ll kill him on sight, we’ll trust you not interfere on that matter as well..,” the envoy replied, clean and practiced. The other two rose, bowed a hair, and left as their feet carried them out on rails.

  When the doors closed the Don sat for a long beat. The echo of their footsteps lingered in the hall. His hand hovered where a pendant might rest, if it were worth his notice. He let the silence be the answer.

  ‘’Interesting!!’’

  End of chapter 20.