Chapter 5: The Council’s Test

Amandla had spent her life hearing whispers about the Council—an invisible hand that controlled the balance of power in the city's underworld. They weren't a single family or organization, but a collective of the most dangerous and influential crime lords, each with their own interests and allegiances.

Now, they had summoned her.

She sat in the back of the black SUV as it wound its way through the city's labyrinthine streets. Noah sat beside her, his face unreadable. The streets outside were wet from the evening rain, neon lights casting eerie reflections in the puddles.

"This is a test," Noah said, his voice low. "They want to see if you're a threat—or a puppet."

Amandla didn't reply. She already knew.

The vehicle pulled up to an old, seemingly abandoned cathedral at the edge of town. The stone facade was worn, its towering spires reaching toward the dark sky. It had once been a place of worship, but now, it belonged to men who served only power.

The driver opened the door, and Amandla stepped out, her heels clicking against the wet pavement. Noah followed, his hand resting casually near the gun hidden beneath his coat.

Two guards flanked the massive wooden doors, their expressions cold as they pushed them open. Inside, the scent of aged wood and candle smoke filled the air. The Council did nothing without ceremony, and tonight was no different.

At the end of the long hall, beneath the cathedral's stained-glass windows, six figures sat around a grand oak table. Each represented a faction, a piece of the city's empire. Some had known her father. Others had conspired against him.

The room fell silent as she stepped forward.

Matteo Cavalli, the man she had spoken with at the wake, was the first to speak. "Amandla." His voice was smooth, but there was a razor's edge beneath it. "We weren't sure you'd come."

She met his gaze, unflinching. "And disappoint my hosts? Never."

A few of the men chuckled. Others simply watched.

"Your father was a formidable man," said a woman to Matteo's right, her dark eyes assessing. "But he's gone. And in this world, power doesn't transfer through blood alone. It must be earned."

Amandla folded her hands in front of her. "That's why I'm here."

An older man with deep scars along his jaw leaned forward. "Then let's make this simple. We have a problem, and if you're truly your father's successor, you'll handle it."

Amandla arched a brow. "What kind of problem?"

"The kind that bleeds," Matteo said.

The Hunt Begins

She and Noah left the cathedral with a name: Vincent Moreau.

A former associate of the Council, Moreau had grown too ambitious, setting up his own operation in direct defiance of their authority. The Council had tolerated it—for a time. But now, they wanted him gone.

Moreau was no fool. He knew a contract had likely been placed on his head. His whereabouts were a closely guarded secret, but Amandla didn't need to find him.

She just needed to make him come to her.

Setting the Bait

The underground casino on 43rd Street was one of Moreau's biggest operations. It was hidden beneath an old jazz club, where the rich and reckless came to lose themselves—and their money.

Amandla walked through the doors like she owned the place, her fitted black dress hugging her frame, her presence demanding attention. Noah followed a few steps behind, scanning the room for threats.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of expensive cologne. Dealers stood behind velvet-lined tables, their hands moving deftly over stacks of chips. Men in tailored suits whispered in booths, their laughter masking the business deals being made over whiskey and high stakes.

Amandla made her way to the private tables, where the real money was played. Moreau's men were here—she could feel their eyes on her.

Good.

She took a seat at the poker table, her lips curving into a slight smirk as she placed a stack of chips in front of her. "Deal me in."

The man across from her—a burly enforcer with a jagged scar across his cheek—watched her closely. "You're in the wrong place, sweetheart."

She met his gaze, unfazed. "I think I'm exactly where I need to be."

The game began, but this wasn't about cards. It was about control. With every bet, every calculated move, Amandla sent a message: I'm here. And I'm not afraid.

It wasn't long before the whispers reached Moreau.

Face to Face with the Dead Man

An hour later, as Amandla sipped her drink, a new figure entered the room.

Vincent Moreau.

He was lean, his graying hair slicked back, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a predator's precision. He had the air of a man who had survived too many battles, but even the strongest wolves eventually met their end.

Amandla didn't stand. She let him come to her.

"You must have a death wish," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Walking into my casino like this."

Amandla set her glass down. "I was hoping to talk."

Moreau chuckled. "Talk? About what?"

She leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. "About how you're already dead."

Moreau stilled. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Amandla continued, her tone casual. "The Council sent me. You know what that means."

Silence stretched between them before Moreau sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "They never did have patience for ambition."

"They don't mind ambition," Amandla said. "Just not yours."

Moreau studied her for a long moment. Then, he smiled. "You've got guts. I'll give you that."

Amandla tilted her head. "And you have two options."

Moreau smirked. "Let me guess—leave the city or die?"

"No," she said. "Just die."

The first gunshot came from Noah, who had moved silently behind Moreau's men. Chaos erupted.

Amandla didn't flinch as blood sprayed across the table. Moreau's body hit the floor, his eyes wide with shock.

Noah grabbed her arm. "We need to move."

She stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.

The message had been sent.

The Council had tested her.

And she had passed.

End of Chapter 5.