Chapter 5 - The Gathering of the Wolves
Four days later, the rain was pouring over downtown Nashville in heavy, blinding sheets.
Inside the private top-floor dining room of the historic Hermitage Hotel, four men sat around a long oak table laden with expensive steaks, aged scotch, and thick cigar smoke.
These were the four captains of Middle Tennessee: Dominic Rossi, Eli Vance, Frank Mercer, and Charles Burke.
"It’s done," Dominic said, puffing on his cigar, leaning back in his leather chair with an arrogant grin. "The feds seized the Ashworth estate on Monday. Julian is either dead in a ditch somewhere in the hills or hiding like a rat in Kentucky. The territory is ours."
"What about the shipment from Memphis?" Eli asked, swirling his glass of scotch. "Julian’s men at the docks are refusing to unload the containers without a signed order from Ashworth."
"They'll unload," Frank sneered, cutting a piece of steak. "Or we'll throw them into the river. Julian’s time is over. He got soft. Letting that maid and her bastard kid run around the estate like family... the man lost his edge."
The heavy oak doors of the dining room suddenly swung open.
The four captains turned, expecting the hotel waiter with more wine.
Instead, a sixty-pound Belgian Malinois walked silently into the dining room.
His thick coat was wet from the rain. His dark eyes swept the room with calm, terrifying intelligence. He didn't bark. He didn't growl. He simply walked to the center of the Persian rug, sat down, and stared directly at Dominic Rossi.
The four men went dead silent. The cigars dropped from their fingers.
"What... what the hell?" Eli stammered, his face turning pale as paper. "That’s... that’s Julian's dog."
A tall figure stepped through the doorway behind Rex.
Julian was dressed in a dark, impeccably tailored three-piece suit. His dark coat was brushed clean, his leather shoes polished to a mirror shine, and his hair combed back smoothly. He carried no visible weapon, but behind him stood Marcus and ten heavy-set men carrying tactical shotguns, quietly locking the double doors of the dining room from the inside.
Julian walked slowly toward the head of the table, his footsteps clicking softly against the hardwood floor.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Julian said smoothly, his voice pleasant, calm, and utterly chilling. "I believe you were discussing my estate?"
Dominic Rossi scrambled back in his chair, his hand flying toward his jacket holster.
CLICK.
Before Dominic’s hand could reach his lapel, Marcus racked the slide of his shotgun, pointing the black barrel directly at Dominic’s forehead.
"I wouldn't do that, Dominic," Julian said mildly, pulling out the heavy leather armchair at the head of the table and taking a seat. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, folding his long fingers together. "You see, while you gentlemen were drinking my thirty-year-old scotch and celebrating my death, I was busy."
Julian pulled a thick manila folder from inside his coat and tossed it onto the center of the dining table.
"What is that?" Frank Mercer whispered, his hands shaking on the table.
"That is a complete financial ledger detailing your secret offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands," Julian explained calmly. "Along with recorded wiretaps of your conversations with the U.S. Attorney’s office over the past six months. It turns out Mateo wasn't the only one talking to the feds."
The four captains looked at each other in pure, unadulterated terror.
"Julian... listen to us," Eli begged, his voice trembling. "It was Dominic’s idea! He told us you were going to retire and hand the business over to the Miami cartel! We were just trying to protect our families!"
"Silence," Julian said softly.
The room instantly fell dead quiet. Even the sound of the rain outside seemed to fade into the background.
"You called me soft, Frank," Julian said, his cold gray eyes locking onto Frank Mercer. "You said I lost my edge because I let a widow and her child into my home."
Frank swallowed hard, unable to speak.
"You are wrong," Julian said, leaning forward, his eyes burning with a dark, lethal intensity. "Protecting those who cannot protect themselves is not weakness, Frank. It is the only reason a man builds power in the first place. A man who uses his power only to feed his own greed—like you four—is not a leader. He is a parasite."
Julian stood up slowly, buttoning his tailored jacket.
"Marcus," Julian commanded.
"Yes, boss?"
"Take their guns, their phones, and their keys," Julian ordered calmly. "Strip them of their ranks, seize their assets, and hand them directly to the federal task force outside. Let them spend the next thirty years explaining their tax evasion to a federal judge."
Dominic Rossi fell to his knees on the rug. "Julian! Please! Have mercy! We’ve known your family for twenty years!"
Julian stopped near the door, turning his head to look down at the kneeling man.
"I am having mercy, Dominic," Julian whispered. "Six months ago, I would have buried you beneath the docks. But tonight... I have a family to get back to."
May you like
Julian gestured to Rex. "Come, boy."
The Malinois stood up smoothly, trotting to Julian's side as they walked out of the Hermitage Hotel into the warm, fresh evening rain of Nashville.
