Chapter 4: The Funeral and the Feast

The rain poured in sheets, drenching the city in a relentless downpour. It was as if the heavens themselves mourned for the man being lowered into the earth.

Amandla stood at the front of the funeral procession, her black veil shielding her face, though nothing could hide the sharp edge of her gaze. Around her, men and women whispered, their hushed voices carried by the wind. They spoke of her father's legacy, of the empire he built, and, most of all, of what would come next.

Noah stood to her right, his presence solid, unwavering. His suit was crisp despite the rain, his hands clasped in front of him as he watched the casket descend. He was always watching, always calculating.

Across the cemetery, other players lurked in the shadows—distant family, rival families, allies who had yet to choose a side. The funeral was more than a farewell. It was a declaration.

Amandla was ready.

The Gathering of Wolves

The wake was held at the family estate, a sprawling mansion perched on the outskirts of the city. The great hall, with its high ceilings and gold chandeliers, was filled with the scent of aged whiskey, cigar smoke, and simmering tension.

Men in tailored suits and women in black silk milled about, whispering in corners, shaking hands that might one day hold knives. Amandla moved through them like a ghost, collecting murmured condolences and veiled threats alike.

"The city won't be the same without him," said a man with silver hair and a predatory smile.

"No," Amandla agreed, her voice smooth. "It won't."

She didn't offer anything more. Let them wonder. Let them question.

At the far end of the room, Noah leaned against the bar, watching her. She met his gaze, and he lifted his glass slightly—a silent toast, an acknowledgment.

But not everyone was so discreet.

An older man, Matteo Cavalli, stepped forward, his face lined with age and power. He had been one of her father's most trusted allies, but trust in this world was a fragile thing.

"You're young," he said, swirling his glass. "This world is not kind to the young."

Amandla tilted her head. "Neither am I."

A slow smile crept across Matteo's lips. "Your father would have liked that answer."

"But what about you?" she asked. "Do you?"

Matteo studied her for a long moment before nodding. "We'll see."

He walked away, leaving her with more questions than answers.

A Blood-Stained Invitation

Hours later, when the guests had gone and the night had settled, Amandla and Noah sat in her father's study, a place filled with the ghosts of the past. The mahogany desk still bore the scratches from where her father had once slammed his fists in anger. The shelves were lined with books, each hiding secrets within their pages.

On the desk, an envelope rested, thick and expensive. Amandla picked it up, her fingers running over the embossed crest.

"It's from the Council," Noah said. "They want a meeting."

The Council—an unseen force that governed the underworld, keeping order among the chaos.

Amandla exhaled. "They want to know if I'm strong enough."

Noah nodded. "Are you?"

She met his gaze, the weight of her father's empire settling on her shoulders.

"I guess we're about to find out."

End of Chapter 4.