Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Mason’s eyes moved from one don to the next, lingering briefly on each—Irish, Chinese, German—before finally locking onto Akim. The Russian sat across from him, exuding the same arrogance that had grated on Mason for years. He took a slow drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily upward before setting it down in the ashtray. He unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back in the chair at the head of the dining room table. The smoke, the tension, this life—they’d kill him faster than any bullet, but at this point, it didn’t matter.

“So, you just show up at my place without an invitation?” Mason’s voice was calm as he locked his gaze on Akim. “Did you forget all the reasons why the collective never meets outside the common ground?”

Akim didn’t flinch, his cold eyes narrowing. “Enrico De Lauro is in mafia territory. That violates our terms,” he said, cutting straight to the point. Mason grunted, the response he’d expected. “I’m owed my pound of flesh, and the collective is here to ensure I get it, godfather.”

Mason’s smirk was a cold. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, locking his fingers together as he stared down the Russian. “And what about your blatant disrespect for my authority?” His tone was sharp, every word chosen with care. “You call a meeting outside the underground, especially when we should be lying low after that skirmish with Octavia’s task force, and you come into my territory to run your mouth?”

Akim’s arrogance was nothing new, but the fact that the other dons were nodding along to his nonsense was infuriating. Mason scanned their faces, each one a mix of caution and thinly veiled contempt. It was obvious Akim was trying to position himself as the leader of the collective, but the man didn’t have the brains or the grit for it. And these fools were backing him? They were either too stupid or too desperate to realize they were being played.

“At this point,” Mason continued, “it’s irrelevant what you think you’re owed, Akim. I won’t tolerate reckless insubordination. Rules exist for a reason. When you disregard them, you unleash chaos in a collective I’ve fought to maintain order in.”

Akim leaned forward, his deep brown eyes ablaze with fury. “Were we not required to follow your ground rules here, you’d be dead for speaking to me like this, M.” He spat the words like venom. “I am not some hapless foot soldier you can beat into submission. If I didn’t think you were going to try and screw me over, I wouldn’t be here. A deal is a deal, and I’m giving you the opportunity to honour your end of it. Bring me Enrico!”

Mason’s only response was a low, thoughtful hum, his gaze shifting to the other dons. It was a calculated move, and Mason could see through it with ease. Akim wanted to lead the collective, but he was too blind to see he was nothing more than a pawn—a convenient scapegoat to rally behind, only to be discarded once his usefulness had run its course.

“And if I don’t?” Mason’s voice was a challenge, laced with a cold indifference that made the room seem even smaller, more suffocating.

Akim’s lips curled into a sneer. “Then I’ll take what’s mine by force. And when this collective falls apart, everyone will know it was because of you.”

Akim Ivanov was out of options. No muscle to back him up, no gun to save his skin—just empty bravado in a room where bravado wasn’t worth a damn. The other dons were watching him, expectant, but there was a nervous edge in their eyes, the same edge that came from knowing they’d overplayed their hand. Mason had made sure they left their weapons and soldiers outside, stripping them of any real power they might have brought with them. All that was left were criminals barking orders without teeth.

A sudden burst of gunfire erupted outside, followed by muffled shouts. Akim sat up, his posture rigid, a flash of fear in his eyes.

Mason leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Nothing to worry about,” he said, the calm in his voice almost taunting. “Just a few nuisances being dealt with. Uninvited guests getting what they deserve. You see, the liberties you enjoy as dons of the collective don’t extend to anyone who steps foot on Castelli territory unannounced.”

“That’s not—”

“Sit down and shut up!” Mason’s voice snapped through the room like a whip, cutting Akim off mid-sentence. The Russian had barely begun to rise from his chair, but the command was enough to freeze him in place. “Seems you’ve forgotten your place, Akim. You think you can lead the collective just because you’ve made a few deals, bought off some judges? Pathetic.”

“M—” Akim tried again, but Mason cut him off, his tone sharp as broken glass.

“I said sit!” Mason’s eyes bore into him, daring him to defy the order. Akim’s bravado faltered, and he sank back into his chair, his face taut with anger.

Mason stood slowly, unbuttoning his jacket with deliberate care before hanging it over the back of his chair. The atmosphere in the room thickened as he did so, a predator shedding its civilized guise. “This is between you and me, Akim,” he said, his voice a low growl. “The rest of you, get the fuck out of my compound. And let this be the last time any of you step foot on my property without permission. Don’t ever call a meeting without my go-ahead again.”

The other dons began to rise, their expressions a mix of resentment and caution. Mason watched them with cold detachment. “Oh, and one more thing—good to know where your loyalties lie. I’ll remember this.”

Jeon Cho, trying to salvage some dignity, spoke up. “Our only goal was to enforce the terms of an agreement, M. To act as an unbiased third party, as the collective does.”

Mason’s fists clenched at the feigned innocence in Cho’s tone. His patience was wearing thin, and the urge to tear them apart was barely kept in check. “Is it the collective’s way to take idiotic risks? Did you suddenly forget the proper channels for requesting a meeting, or is this just another power play that you backed? Save your bullshit for someone else, Cho. Now, get out before I decide you’re worth less alive.”

The room emptied quickly, leaving Mason alone with Akim

Akim’s voice, low and seething, broke the silence. “No one made you boss, M. You’re just an underling, and this is starting to get on my nerves.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in the deep green of his gaze. “You’re right. No one handed me this title. I became godfather because I got my hands dirty—made all five families understand exactly what would happen if they didn’t fall in line with the collective. You didn’t have the guts or the brains to challenge me then, and you sure as hell don’t now.” Mason took a step closer, his voice cold as steel. “You want Enrico? You want to be the god of the collective? Here’s your chance, Akim. It’s just you and me.” He flashed a predatory smile. “Get up!” he barked.

Akim remained seated, suspicion clouding his eyes. “How dumb do you think I am? You’ve got your soldiers lined up to kill me the moment I step outside.”

Mason didn’t hesitate. He reached out, snatching Akim by the shoulder and yanking him to his feet with a brutal jerk.

“Gods don’t fear death, Akim,” Mason growled, shoving the Russian to the floor. Akim scrambled back up, glaring with rage. “You came here for a pound of flesh? You’ll have to go through me first.”

The thought that irritated Mason the most was how easily this could have been resolved. He had been prepared to offer the Russians the Panera bridge in exchange for Enrico’s safety. But instead of negotiating like a rational man, Akim had let blind revenge over something that happened nearly a decade ago cloud his judgment.

As Mason advanced, Akim’s desperation became clear. He pulled out his phone, holding it up like a shield. “I wouldn’t do that, De Lauro,” he said, a twisted grin forming on his lips. “Truth is, I knew coming here without a plan would be suicide. You wouldn’t just hand Enrico over—everybody knows that. But while you were busy with your hackers and weak network, I got my hands on some pretty neat drones.”

Mason’s eyes flickered with disdain. So that was Akim’s ace—drones.

“I’ll blow us all to hell if you don’t let my people go and bring Enrico out right now,” Akim threatened, his thumb hovering over the deploy command on his phone. “Do not test me, Mason.”

Mason assessed the situation quietly. He knew Akim wasn’t bluffing, but his plan was sloppy, half-baked at best. He could take Akim down long before those drones launched, but the risk was still there.

At least Elnora was out of the line of fire. He had made sure she was far from this chaos, and that thought offered him a small measure of relief. But deep down, he regretted getting involved with her in the first place. She was smart, funny, beautiful—everything that made her a distraction he couldn’t afford. But it was too late now for him now; the die was cast.

“Then do it,” Mason said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Blow us to hell. You’re not getting Enrico. And you better really kill us, Akim. Because if this is a bluff…”

Akim’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“No. But I’d rather die than let you think you can push me into anything. Go on—deploy the drones.”

With that, Mason grabbed his cigar and returned to his seat at the head of the table, lighting it with a slow, deliberate motion. He puffed the cigar, filling the room with smoke as he locked eyes with Akim, who seethed with barely controlled rage.

Finally, Akim made a move toward the exit, but Mason’s cold voice stopped him in his tracks. “No, no. You can’t leave, Akim. Did you forget? Your only way out is through me. Outside this room, all that’s waiting for you is a hail of bullets with your name on them.”

“You bastard!” Akim spat, his face twisted in fury.

“I’ve been called worse,” Mason replied, snuffing out his cigar as he stood. “So go on, Akim. Kill us all already—because dead or alive, you’re finished.”

Akim muttered a string of curses in Russian. “Don’t push me, M!” he barked, then spat on the floor, his eyes blazing with fury.

The sudden ring of Mason’s phone broke the tension, its shrill tone echoing through the room. Akim paced, restless and jittery, as Mason casually reached into his jacket, glancing at the blocked number on the screen. He paused, considering the timing, then answered. Holding the phone to his ear, he waited in silence, his posture stiffening as the voice on the other end filled his ear.

“El?”

Her voice spilled out in a hurried stream of words. Drones. The word sliced through his thoughts like a blade. As she spoke, Mason moved to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek outside before pushing it open. A small smile tugged at his lips as he spotted the drones hovering menacingly over the compound, their sleek forms glinting in the sunlight.

His gaze shifted back to Akim, whose bravado faltered as he noticed the red dot of an optical laser aimed squarely at his forehead. The Russian’s hands shot up in surrender, panic flickering in his eyes. Mason strolled over, plucking the phone from Akim’s trembling hand.

“What are the odds?” Mason’s smile widened as he regarded the man before him.

Akim’s face twisted in a snarl. “This isn’t over.”

“Isn’t it?” Mason countered, turning away as if bored. He brought his own phone back to his ear. “Where are you?” he demanded of Elnora.

Damn it, she should’ve been miles away by now! Giorgio was supposed to have handled that.

“Stay put,” he ordered, cutting off the call abruptly. As he stalked out of the room, he shot a final warning over his shoulder. “You move, and you’re dead.”

Mason moved with purpose, his mind racing as he passed by the wreckage at the front house. Antonio and his lieutenants stood among the bodies of the fallen Russians, their faces grim. They saluted him, voices rising with reports, but Mason barely acknowledged them. His thoughts were fixed on Elnora, on the close brush with disaster she’d narrowly escaped. How had she discovered Akim’s drones? And more importantly, how had she managed to hack them? The very thought sent a chill down his spine, coupled with a fierce surge of admiration.

He took the stairs two at a time, heading not for the bedroom but down the hall, to the room he’d set up for her. Mason’s heart pounded as he reached the door, pushing it open with a forceful shove.

There she was, standing by her workstation, her expression one of apprehension and relief. She waved at him with an uneasy smile, clearly unsure of his reaction. Her anxiety was justified—he was furious. Furious at the risk she’d taken, at how close she’d come to dying. But beneath that anger was a raw, overwhelming gratitude that she was safe, that she was here with him.

“Don’t be mad,” she said softly, her voice tentative.

Mason didn’t respond with words. Instead, he crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands reaching for her as he pulled her close. He kissed her with all the intensity of the emotions swirling inside him—anger, fear, relief, and something deeper, more scary, that he couldn’t afford to name.