Chapter 3: The Gathering
The city was too quiet.
Jordan Reign sat in the back of a black bulletproof SUV, her fingers tapping against the steel handle of her knife with rhythmless irritation. The night moved outside in blurs—streetlights, shadows, silence. Marcus drove in the front seat, keeping his eyes straight, his mouth shut.
That was the rule when she was in this mood.
A car followed behind them, and another one ahead. Armed escorts. Just in case the Elders had something unexpected planned.
Jordan didn't trust meetings that weren't on her terms.
"They said the meeting would be private," Marcus said finally, watching her in the mirror.
Jordan didn't look at him. "It better be."
"The compound is under lockdown. No outsiders. No soldiers. Only family heads and the council."
She scoffed.
"Family heads," she repeated with venom. "Cowards who let girls like me do the killing while they sit in velvet chairs."
"They're still the ones who gave you your title."
"No," Jordan corrected. "I took the title. They just signed the paperwork after the bodies dropped."
Marcus said nothing after that.
He knew better.
---
They reached the outskirts of the city—a place no map marked. Just a quiet, dusty road that led to an old, walled estate hidden behind electric gates and tall, rusted lanterns. It used to be a vineyard.
Now it was the place where fate was decided.
Jordan stepped out of the SUV and lit a cigarette. She didn't speak. Her men flanked her, staying five steps behind like always.
A guard in white gloves approached, bowing slightly. "Boss Reign. The Elders await you."
"Let them wait longer," she muttered, blowing out smoke.
But she moved.
The guard led her through iron doors and down a long hallway lined with dark portraits—paintings of men long dead, some of whom had tried to kill her once upon a time. Now their eyes hung on walls, and their blood had fed her rise.
At the end of the hall, a large chamber opened like a mouth.
Twelve men sat in a crescent of carved chairs. A round table stood at the center, empty but for a single black envelope.
The Elders.
Old. Wealthy. Calm. Dressed in suits worth more than most lives. Some nodded in her direction. Others didn't bother.
Jordan didn't bow. She never did.
"Reign," said the oldest among them. His name was Elder Mako, and his voice sounded like stone grinding against stone. "You came late."
"I came at all," she said. "Be grateful."
He ignored the bite in her tone. "Sit."
"I'll stand."
The Elders exchanged glances.
Elder Mako steepled his fingers. "We've heard troubling things. Your gang has spilled too much blood. Violence draws attention."
Jordan rolled her eyes. "I'm a mafia boss. What should I be spilling—wine?"
Another Elder, thinner and sharper, spoke up. "The Vultures are moving again. North and East. You're not enough to stop them."
"I've been stopping them," she said. "With every dead scout they send."
"And how long until they send armies?"
"I'll bury them too."
They didn't laugh.
Elder Mako leaned forward. "There's another way. One that will cost fewer lives."
Jordan crossed her arms. "Spit it out."
The room grew still.
Then Elder Mako said the words that made her chest tighten.
"A marriage alliance."
Jordan's expression didn't change, but her body did—she straightened just slightly. Cold steel filled her voice.
"You called me here… to pimp me out?"
"No. To protect you," Elder Mako said. "To protect the entire Southern Syndicate."
Another Elder added, "It's a symbolic gesture. You marry into peace. Their son marries into power. We keep the Vultures at bay."
Jordan let the silence hang before she spoke.
"Who is the sacrificial lamb?"
Elder Mako handed her a file.
She opened it slowly.
A photograph slid out—neatly clipped to a profile sheet.
Name: Elias Dane. Occupation: Teacher. Affiliation: Unknown.
A plain face. Soft smile. Clean background.
Too clean.
"A schoolteacher?" she scoffed. "Is this a joke?"
"He's important to the North. Related by blood to their old boss. He has their trust."
Jordan looked at the photo again. The man had soft eyes. Weak eyes. The kind she could break with a look.
And that made her suspicious.
"Why would someone like him agree to marry someone like me?" she asked.
Elder Mako shrugged. "He has his reasons. You'll meet him tomorrow. The deal is already being drawn. If you refuse—"
She raised a hand to silence him. "If I refuse, you'll strip my seat. I know."
She stepped away from the table, file still in hand.
"I'll meet him," she said slowly. "Nothing more."
"And the marriage?" Elder Mako asked.
Jordan glanced back over her shoulder, eyes sharp.
"If he's a rat, I'll gut him. If he's a pawn, I'll crush him. But if he's useful..."
She smiled coldly. "Maybe I'll play along."
Then she turned and walked out, leaving the Elders to wonder which Jordan they were really dealing with—
The boss.
The killer.
Or the one they couldn't control.
END OF CHAPTER 3