The mahogany doors loomed before me, heavy and imposing. I pressed my palms against the smooth wood, forcing air into my lungs. Six months since Theron's death. Six months since his blood had soaked into my clothes in that warehouse. And now I had to walk into a room full of men who'd served him and convince them to serve me instead.
The doors swung open.
Twenty-three pairs of eyes locked onto me. Twenty-three men who had built their lives on my brother's word, who had killed for him, bled for him. The conference room stretched before me like a battlefield, polished obsidian table, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows casting the space in cold morning light. Each face told the same story. Doubt.
At the head of the table sat Theron's empty chair. I'd refused to take it. That throne b
