~The Dimitri name was synonymous with power in Ordridge. The Dimitri family didnât just shape Ordridge, they shaped the Triangle Countries. They were the architects of the Collective that ruled the interconnected underworlds of Berkton, Ordridge, and Zeburghâa trinity of power, crime, and influence.~
~The Triangle Countries had always been a hotbed of criminal empires, each vying for control over its own domain. But the Dimitri family saw the chaos for what it was: an opportunity. They knew that unchecked ambition would tear everything apart, so they created the Collective, an alliance that kept the balance of power in check across the Triangle. They had bound the families of Berkton, Ordridge, and Zeburgh in a pact of blood and fear that no single faction could rise above the others without consequence.~
~The rules were simple: respect the boundaries, maintain the balance, and when the time came, choose your alliances wisely. The Collective wasnât a government or a syndicate; it was a council of the most powerful crime families, operating in the shadows and making decisions that rippled through both the underworld and the political sphere.~
~At the centre of this web was the Grandfather.~
~The Grandfather was the ultimate arbiter, the judge, jury, and executioner for the Collective. Whenever disputes arose that threatened the balance between the three countries, the Grandfather would step in. His power was absolute, his decisions final. But the most terrifying thing about the Grandfather was his anonymity. No one knew his identity, even when a new one took the mantle. All they knew was that he resided in the Stouga Republicâa small, isolated island separate from the Triangle Countries. He kept a watchful eye on the underworld, ensuring the balance was maintained. The mere mention of his intervention was enough to make even the most ruthless Don reconsider their actions.~
~The Dimitriâs had not only established this system but also founded the Griffinhold Conglomerate, an oil corporation that served as the legitimate front linking the Grandfather with the collectives.~
~Now, in the study of the old OâSullivan manor, Juliana Dimitri sat behind a massive mahogany desk, fingers lightly tapping the edge of a glass of bourbon. The room smelled of leather-bound books and gardeniasâher motherâs favourite scent. The light from a single lamp cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the smirk that had become almost second nature.~
~A creak echoed from down the hall, and Juliana glanced toward the door, wondering if Eirin was awake. Then her gaze returned to the two large brown envelopes on the deskâher latest project, weeks in the making.~
~Ambition had always driven Juliana, but in the world of the Dimitriâs, it was a double-edged sword. As the only daughter of a Mafioso and now the wife of the Irish don, she had risen to the top of the Ordridge underworld. But it also painted a target on her back. The endless power struggles, the cycles of violenceâit had worn her down. But she had no choice. She had to stay, had to protect her little Eirin.~
~Juliana sighed and walked over to the large mirror on the wall. Her reflection stared back at herâginger hair perfectly styled, green eyes glittering with something unfamiliar, something she barely recognized any more.~
~She downed the last of her bourbon, the sound of glass shattering echoing from down the hall, snapping her back to the present. Everything went silent, and she froze. Then came the high-pitched scream, followed by the deafening crack of gunfire.~
~Juliana didnât hesitate. She dashed back to her desk, grabbed her .45, and slipped out of the study, heart racing as she hurried toward her daughterâs room. ~
~As she raced through the corridors of the OâSullivan manor, her heart pounded not with fear, but with the cold realization that her time might have come. It was just a little too convenient, wasnât it? Vincent and his ever-loyal lieutenants were conveniently out of town, and now, suddenly, she was under attack? Oh, how original. Whoever orchestrated this had a flair for the dramaticâor perhaps they were simply unimaginative.~
~Juliana had always known that in their world, there were only two ways out: death or disappearance. The thought of being just another victim of the endless violence she had once thrived on made her sick. After all the years sheâd spent outmanoeuvring and manipulating the power players in Ordridge, it came down to this? A midnight ambush in her own home? But in the end, even the most cunning can be outplayed.~
~But this wasnât businessâit was personal. Whoever was behind this wanted her alone, vulnerable, and cornered. They didnât want to just kill her; they wanted to send a message. And oh, what a message it would be. The last Dimitri heir, taken out in a classic, over-the-top, cliché mob hit. How utterly predictable.~
~As she moved through the manor, the sound of gunfire was closer now, each shot like a ticking clock counting down her final moments. But Juliana wasnât the type to beg or bargain. She had no illusions about her chancesâshe was a Dimitri, after all, and Dimitriâs didnât go down without a fight.~
~The familiar scent of leather and old wood now mingled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. She could almost hear her motherâs voice in her ear, chastising her for letting things get this far. âJuliana, darling, you should have known better.â Yes, well, hindsight was always 20/20.~
~When she reached her daughterâs room, she found the door ajar, the faint light spilling out into the hallway. She pushed it open slowly, gun at the ready, prepared to face whatever came next.~
~But as the door creaked open, she was met with nothing but an empty room. The bed was neatly made, the toys in their place, and the faint scent of lavender hung in the air. Eirin was gone.~
~A bitter smile twisted Julianaâs lips. So, this was how it was going to play out. A trap, carefully and precisely set by someone who knew exactly how to gut her without leaving a mark. The question was, who had the audacity? The Irish? The Russians? Maybe the Italiansâalways good at stabbing you in the back while flashing a charming smile.~
~She stepped into the room, her eyes darting around, searching for any sign of her daughter. But all she found was silence, the kind that pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, suffocating in its finality.~
~The footsteps in the hall grew louder. She listened, noting the footfall of a small group. Whoever was out there was taking their sweet time, probably savouring the moment, letting the suspense build. How thoughtful of them to add a bit of theatrical flair to her impending demise.~
~Julianaâs grip on the gun tightened. Not that it would do her much good. She knew full well that a single weapon wasnât going to be enough against whomever was coming for her. The odds were stacked, and not in her favour. But then again, when had they ever been?~
~The footsteps stopped just outside the door.~
~But as the door creaked open and shadows filled the room, she felt a strange calm wash over her. This was how it was meant to end. Not with a whimper, but with a final stand, one last defiant act against the world that would take everything from her.~
~Juliana Dimitri didnât scream. She didnât plead. She simply raised her gun, met the eyes of her killers, and pulled the trigger.~
~The first shot was hers, the last was theirs.~