1: A Warm Welcome
Anthorne’s POV
It pained me to know I had to get used to wearing suits. Human gave them more credits than they deserved. I could count over a hundred outfits that were better than a tailored jacket and a stiff tie. But one had to wear it for formality’s sake.
And like everything else in my life, this would be another thing to quickly adjust to.
I stood outside the boardroom door, hands shoved deep in my pockets, staring blankly at the polished wood. A guard inside pulled it open, no doubt on my grandfather’s silent cue.
Every head in the room turned to the door—me—as I stepped in, immediately tasting the tension radiating off the four walls of the room, so tight it could’ve choked someone. I’d never been in this boardroom, never even been in this company. It was my first time. My grandfather had made it his mission to push me away from the world’s eyes, hidden me in a solo house in the middle of nowhere near the mountains when I was young, where I was trained and told what and what not to do. I couldn’t really blame the old man, my father was taken away from him when I was three. And he didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.
Only a handful of people on this planet knew about me.
But that was about to change.
He thought it was the right time.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this day coming, though. My entire life had been pointing to this moment. Every lesson, every lecture, every bruise I earned in training had been leading up to the day he’d decide to pull me out of the shadows and shove me into the spotlight.
“That is my grandson, the one I’m talking about.” Grandfather’s voice broke the silence, earning a gasp and a few coughs from the men seated around the polished mahogany boardroom table, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of the overhead lights. The table was expansive, designed for business meetings, flanked by leather chairs, each one upholstered in deep black leather, equipped with plush cushioning, providing comfort to the powerful men who occupied them.
The boardroom itself was a study in opulence; the walls were lined with rich wood panelling, and tasteful artwork filled the space. A floor-to-ceiling window on the right side of Grandfather framed a stunning view of the bustling city below, where cars moved like ants and people hurried along the sidewalks, oblivious to the power plays occurring above them. Tall buildings loomed around us, their glass facades reflecting the sun’s rays.
“He is the one I’m talking about. Come have a seat, child.”
I should take my hands out of my pockets as a sign of respect, but I would have done that if I had any respect for the men around the table, including my grandfather. He ran his palm over his grey scruff, the tips of his moustache slick and sharp.
My walk was slow and casual, not meeting anyone’s gaze since more than half of them were still staring at me. Lowering myself on the seat closest to the left side of him, I undid the buttons of my jacket and leaned back. There were eight of them, eight nearly grey-old men sitting with my grandfather and I, every one of them thirsty for the seat my grandfather currently occupied.
“You didn’t tell us you had a grandson. This is not acceptable,” one of them stood up, his palms flat on the table. He was across from me, three feet to the left.
“How do we know he’s not a fake?” another one asked, and murmurs of disapproval erupted.
Grandfather placed both elbows on the table. “He’s my grandson. We’ve had our bloods tested and the result will be shared to you soon. I value your opinions very much and I want you to know you can trust him, and that’s why I’m running a test for you to see. He’s my blood. He’s the next in line.” His tone was dripping with finality, but definitely, some assholes protested nonetheless.
“This is very wrong, Dhaka. You know how things are here and yet you’re bringing a young boy to join?” His pause was to spare me a glance. “He doesn’t look like he knows anything.”
“I said to trust him,” grandfather gritted, and I adjusted the black sleeve peeking out from beneath my jacket.
“We’re going to let a boy be our supplier now?” a much calmer voice asked. “I don’t think the bosses and our business partners would be too pleased to hear this.”
“He’s more than just a boy.”
I didn’t have the strong urge to speak. But if I did, I would ask them why they kept on saying ‘young’ and ‘boy.’ I was neither of those, and that belittling attitude of theirs was beginning to tease my nerve.
“We’re not accepting this. You can’t just bring a boy out of the blue and call him your grandson. Not only that, he’s the next in line? You know how important you are in this trade. Does this make sense to any of you?”
I imagined them shake their heads in disapproval as I fixed my eyes on the faint marks on the table.
“You shouldn’t have called a meeting for this,” someone said and stood up. “I have other important things to attend to, and rest assured, I’ll be reporting this to the higher-ups for their opinion—”
“The meeting isn’t over.” Those words left my mouth involuntarily. I lifted my gaze to see him standing a step out of his seat. “You haven’t been dismissed.”
All eyes settled on me. But my focus was on the standing man. There were two standing men now—the first one was still finding it hard to glue his ass back on his chair.
“This meeting is over—”
My hand went back, sliding out the gun tucked in the waistband of my trousers. “Sit, Alfreton.” I pointed the gun at him lazily.
His eyes widened a little, definitely half-wondering how I knew his name. I knew more than just his name, I knew every goddamn man around this table, and also those they referred to as ‘boss’ and ‘higher-ups.’ I had classes in the mountains, and it was mostly about them. I studied about them like they were my idols during my teenage years, and at one point, I thought they were.
“My grandfather gets to decide when this over. Take a step back and sit.”
His eyes darkened, irritated that he had to listen to me. “You have a lot to learn. You don’t pull out a gun at a table like this, young—”
“I know. But no one will remember that when you’re on the floor, bleeding to death from your head.”
His throat bobbed, his eyes falling on the men one after the other, searching for a back up or a saviour. They were quiet, glancing away when his eyes met theirs. They all fucking knew I wasn’t joking; my tone gave away that much. And he knew, too. But he was just stubborn.
“If I were you, I would sit.” My grandfather’s voice cut through the deafening silence. “I wouldn’t judge him by his looks either. Sit, Alfreton. I don’t want to see blood today.”
If I did take over this business, the first person on my death list would be Alfreton. I tilted my head, soaking in his eyes as he reduced me to shit with them.
He sat.
I shifted my gaze to the other one, and he didn’t need to be told. He cleared his throat loudly and slowly sat down. Deciding to put the gun where everyone could see, I placed it on the table.
Grandfather gave everyone a moment to process before he spoke. “Everything will continue to go as normal. My grandson will gradually slip into his role so you won’t really notice the change. About the higher-ups, I’ll set a meeting with them, and they’ll be informed by myself.”
“It is not as easy as that, Dhaka.” It was that calm voice. The calm sea amongst the turbulence brewing in the vocals of the other men. I looked towards the direction of the voice, its owner bald, head reflecting the overhead lights. He was Dentine. A former military officer who almost received a death penalty for a crime he committed eleven years ago. He had the same cold, scary calmness I saw in the pictures of him from the book I studied long ago. The same book I studied them all from, the one that was personally printed out for me to learn—word for word.
“You have nothing to worry about, Dentine. We have something, a solution, planned out already.” Grandfather leaned back in his chair, his voice calm, confident. “You all have nothing to…”
I stopped listening, my gaze caught by the thin red line tracing across his chest. It was almost imperceptible, a faint beam that moved upward, pausing just at his temple. Steady. Unwavering.
I knew.
I knew what it was.
I knew what it fucking was.
Shit.
Without thinking, I shot my arm out, pushing at his shoulder, desperate to get him out of the line of fire. He’d never make it on his own if I shouted; he was too old, too slow. But the second my fingers brushed his navy suit, everything went red—blood sprayed across my face, hot and metallic.
The world blurred for a heartbeat, the room spinning as Grandfather’s body lurched sideways, his weight collapsing into my own palm. He sat there, frozen, staring blankly forward, his soulless eyes wide with shock. The neat hole punched through his skull dripped a steady stream, blood pouring down his face and collar in rivulets, pooling beneath him.
Around us, the men scrambled, chairs screeching as they threw themselves under the table, some with pale faces, others cursing as they shielded their heads. Panic filled the room, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The shooter might already have their sights on me next, but that didn’t matter. I could only stare, my chest heaving, at the lifeless body of the man who had been alive mere seconds ago.
Forcing my gaze from the brutal hole in his head, I traced the shattered line in the glass that the bullet had penetrated. The shot could only have come from a rooftop, judging by the angle—downward, precise. My jaw clenched. There were plenty of vantage points around us, rooftops of skyscrapers mirroring the one we were in.
My eyes snagged on a hotel rooftop several metres to the left, but it was too far to make out anything—or anyone. Slowly, I drew my gaze back to the men around the table, scanning their faces. Sweat glistened, and mumbled curses slipped through clenched teeth. Every head ducked below the table. Every head, save one.
Dentine.
I narrowed my eyes, instinct tightening my chest. The fear on his face looked right, but it was too well-placed, too rehearsed. Dentine wasn’t hiding, wasn’t crumpling like the others. No, his mask of worry was as thin as paper. I could see it—the practiced calm, the detached focus. Anyone else would have thought his walls were too well-built to be rattled by the sight of a dead man or the sound of a gunshot, but no, I knew better. He had something to do with it.
That bastard had something to do with this.
I took a long breath, my grandfather’s blood sliding down my face as my focus shifted back to him. If I let go, he’d slump to the ground in a heap, so I stood, carefully propping him back in his chair. I took one last look at him, steadying his shoulders, before sliding my hand over his eyes, closing them—smearing crimson across his skin.
Drawing a deep breath, I turned to face the men. The killer hadn’t aimed at me or anyone else in the room. The hit was meant for my grandfather alone, and someone in this room had ordered it. If they’d known he’d be introducing me today, they’d have added me to the list.
I’d be dead.
Hell. What a charming welcome. Message received.
“My grandfather has passed away,” I said, the words tasting strange, bitter on my tongue. I’d always wanted to say that, to declare him dead—maybe even to have killed him myself. But someone beat me to it, one lucky asshole had. “As you now know, I’ll be taking over. I’ll reach out to each of you in three days’ time. The test result and information will be dispersed by then.”
Dentine’s gaze bored into me, suddenly hard and watchful, but I ignored him. I didn’t need him to see how certain I was—ninety-one percent certain—that he was behind this. I picked up my gun, my hand painted in my grandfather’s blood, the blood of the man who had made me kill more than thirty people, including the chef I was close to feeling something for, the woman I was close to calling a mother. I didn’t think I’d see this day this soon.
With one final glance at his body, I turned and strolled towards the door. I’d thought I would hate being here, that I’d despise taking his place. But, perhaps, it was already proving entertaining on the first day.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
They wanted to play.
They were about to find out just how sickly dirty I could play.
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