The air in the library was heavy, smelling of old leather, fine bourbon, and the quiet despair of a man who had long since surrendered to his own cage.

The final test of Sebastian’s rule came a week later. The Midwest Syndicate Council—the heads of the five major families—demanded a meeting at the downtown Grand Hotel to address the power vacuum left by Moretti.

They expected the old, wheelchair-bound Lombardi. They planned to vote him out, dividing his territory.

Claire helped Sebastian dress. She adjusted his tie, brushing the lapels of his charcoal suit.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked.

Sebastian checked his reflection. He looked like a king. "I've been ready for twenty years."

When the doors to the boardroom opened, the five bosses turned, wearing smug expressions. Those expressions vanished instantly.

Sebastian Lombardi didn't roll into the room. He walked.

Every step was slow, deliberate, and heavy, leaning on his cane. Gabriel flanked him, radiating menace. But all eyes were on Sebastian. He walked to the head of the table, pulled out the high-backed leather chair, and sat down with terrifying grace.

"Gentlemen," Sebastian said, his deep baritone echoing in the dead silence of the room. "I hear there are questions about my... fitness to lead."