District Managers 3

THUD! THUD!

"I said STOP!" the old man bashed his cane in the table. Getting the attention of all the members, making them pay attention to him. "Think it through! We have two attacks now. They were executed at the same time."

"A distraction…" someone muttered.

"Correct… and how the hell did anybody know the location of Ronan's hideout."

"The only ones who knew the location are in this room…" the big woman said menacingly. The tension in the room rose another notch. Suspicious glances were exchanged between them, silently contemplating who was the leak.

"Unless Ronan did it himself…" the tension broke when someone muttered from the far end of the table.

The room stiffened. The possibilities and speculations are endless.

"No way!" the bald man said. "He wouldn't torch his own assets."

"You sure about that?" said the hoodie woman, her voice low and dangerous. "He's been quiet. Real quiet and no word from him for a couple of months now."

"Maybe he's been planning all of this to happen. Wanting it all back for himself!" the man with glasses spoke out of spite.

"But he wouldn't burn everything he has. That place was stacked! He needs more resources now than ever."

"What if someone forced his hand?" the scar face muttered. "What if he's been working against us this whole damn time!? After he was replaced…"

He froze mid-sentence. And so did the room.

The word 'replace' hung in the air like a shot fired in a quiet street. Echoing in their minds.

No on spoke, but everyone was thinking. A possibility none of them say out loud until now… the one thing that's clearly been circling like vultures above them.

Then, slowly, the tone of the room shifted.

Someone chuckled in the corner. Just once was enough for everybody to stop.

Then the man leaned back in his seat, smirking.

He was the one who didn't participate in the whole meeting and was relaxed the whole time, he crossed his arms and said the obvious. "Well, if Ronan's out of the picture…"

The woman in the hoodie narrowed her eyes. "And the new 'boss' hasn't said a damn word…"

There was a beat of silence. The air suddenly felt heavier.

They all started glancing at each other. Not with worry, but with calculation hidden in their sockets.

"Funny, ain't it?" said the bald man. "We've been running districts, doing the dirty work… but if there's no top dog…"

He didn't finish as he didn't need to. That unspoken opportunity hung in the air like blood on a blade.

Then a voice cut through the tension, smooth, confident, and venomous as it gets.

"Maybe it's time we stop pretending we're just managers."

All eyes turned.

Dante stepped forward from the shadows at the back of the room.

His cold stare bore on everyone, his sharp suit made him look more cunning than usual. Even after finding out that his father was missing and currently in suspicion, no emotion can be seen on his face, only hunger.

"We've been leashed long enough," he said, eyes flicking across the table. "And if the old man's really done… I see no reason we should stay in our little corners."

He gave a slow smile.

"I say it's time we take what's ours."

No one spoke. But no one looked away either, affirming all of their little dirty thoughts.

The power vacuum had begun to suck them in. And everyone in that room was ready to kill for the top.

...

"Alright," Dante said, placing both hands on the table, his voice sharp and clear. "We can't just sit here barking at each other like stray dogs. Ronan's gone. That means we move. We push hard into the territory of Vespers. Start bleeding their side first. They've been shaky for months."

"We can't ignore the Strata's," someone cut in. "They've been tightening their grip near the docks. We've lost two blocks already."

"They're just poking. If we show weakness, they'll take more." Dante snapped his fingers at one of the other managers. "Get your runners to push back in Pierview. If their little boys want a fight, we'll give them one."

A gruff voice near the end of the table spoke up, "And what about the shipment coming in through Hollow Lane? That's still Strata's route. If we show up too strong, they'll think we're the ones that hit their kid."

"Good," Dante smirked. "Let them think. We need chaos. It'll blur the truth."

Someone scoffed. "You want war with both the Vespers and the Strata? That's suicide."

"Then sit down and wait to be eaten," Dante barked. "Or act like you have a spine."

"Hey kid, you think we don't know what you're doing?" The big woman smirked. "You're not even one of the managers and you're trying to take over now… Look at you… think you're him now?"

A silence followed.

Dante's face turned red with anger. His plan has been working, try to take control as much as possible in the meeting with chaos all around.

He was only allowed in the room because he was the son of Ronan, the vice leader and he was to listen only in a dark corner. He had to take advantage now or never get a chance like this again.

But before he could say anything.

Click… Click… Click…

A slow sound of leather shoes echoed against the old flooring.

All heads turned toward the corner near the windows.

They had been shut earlier. Now, one stood open, just enough for the wind to slip through, howling into the room like an omen.

A shape emerged from the far end of the room, where the light didn't reach.

A silhouette, perfectly still, cloaked in shadow. The edges of his coat swayed gently as if untouched by the air around them. His presence hit like a cold slap to the neck.

"You're all awfully noisy tonight."

His voice was eerily quiet and calm. But somehow, it was louder than anything that was said before.

Every manager froze.

Even Dante straightened, but said nothing in the end. He knew what was coming…

The figure stepped forward just enough that a hint of his face caught the edge of the light, A shockingly young face with unmoving pale eyes. Calm like still water but deadly like the depths beneath it.

"No need to fight over Ronan's bones," he said.

Everyone held their breath.

"He's not dead… yet."

A pause.

"He was captured."

Murmurs exploded across the room.

"Captured… by who?"

"How?!"

"Why would he let himself…"

The figure raised a single hand.

Signaling them to stay silent.

"He's in the hands of Vincent's people. They hit him. They hit that disgusting building in the south at the same time. Good thing they burned it to the ground."

"And we're just finding this out now?!" someone hissed, bravely asked the question.

"I allowed it," the man said flatly.

Gasps and mutters rose, only to die quickly under his gaze.

"You should all be grateful. I wanted to see what you would do when your leash snapped." The young man said with a smirk.

A few of the managers looked away. The others could only clench their jaws.

He walked closer to the table, quiet as a ghost. "Some of you want to climb. Others want to run. Some of you thought this was your chance to be king."

His eyes landed on Dante.

But Dante didn't flinch. Not yet at least.

The man's voice softened, almost amused. "But there's only one seat at the top."

A long silence followed. And then he spoke again, sharper this time.

"Prepare your districts. We retaliate within the week. But not recklessly. I will give the order when it's time. Until then…"

He stopped at the head of the table.

Then a wave of killing intent exploded from him, it was silent but crushingly overwhelming… like the room itself turned hostile.

Every pair of eyes widened in shock, fear and submission.

"…Stay in your place!"

The true leader of the Mad Hounds had arrived and the air itself bent around his presence.