His Crimson Obsession

Chapter thirteen — Table of wolves

Nigel’s POV

Palacito: Meeting Room

The air in the room was thick with cigar smoke and unspoken threats. Inside were men who hated each other as much as they hated me.

I sat at the head of the long oak table, fingers drumming slowly against the wood. Around me, the gangs filled their seats — North, South, East, West. Every gang leader with blood on their hands and greed in their veins sat around my table. Some came to negotiate. Some came to test me. All came because they knew I couldn’t be ignored.

Their voices clashed, a mix of accents — Mexican, Italian, American. I let them bark at each other for a while. Dogs fight before they remember who holds the leash.

The North boss, Salvatore Vitale, leaned forward, his gold chain flashing under the dim light.

“You think you’re untouchable, Caruso. But blood spills easy. One bullet — your empire crumbles.” Always the sly bastard, this one.

The South boss, Cruz Delgado, smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“If it was that easy, he’d already be a body in the ground. Don’t bark unless you can bite, Salvatore.”

“Bite?” Salvatore sneered. “I’d carve his heart out myself if half this room wasn’t already sucking his dick.”

The East boss, Luca Moretti, a thin man with hawk-like eyes, cut in, his voice slick as oil.

“Enough. None of us came here for a d**k-measuring contest. We came because the lines are bleeding. Territories are shifting. Businesses are overlapping. Crews are stepping on each other’s toes.”

I let the silence stretch, drumming my fingers once on the table. Every eye flicked to me.

“You talk like chaos is a bad thing,” I said, my voice soft, almost lazy— but heavy enough to make the air feel thick.

“But chaos… is mine to command. You don’t want war? Then stay in your lanes. You want peace? You bring it through me. Gentlemen…”

I let my gaze travel slowly around the table, locking eyes with each boss one by one.

“Like it or not, you already answer to me.”

Cruz let out a short, low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Can’t say I like him,” he muttered. “But hell, the man’s not wrong.”

The West boss, Dominic Kane, cleared his throat, shifting in his chair.

“All right, Caruso,” he said carefully. “What do you suggest we do without turning this sit-down into a bloodbath?”

I leaned forward, slow and deliberate, letting my words hang like smoke.

“All foreign shipments,” I said, “run through the Sanco docks from now on. Prices go up—high risk, high reward. I sign off on every shipment, every crate, every truck. Nothing crosses my territory without my blessing. You want to keep your business alive, you follow my routes. This way, we stop wasting good products and soldiers on turf wars, and everybody gets a bigger piece of the pie.”

Salvatore slammed his fist against the table, rage flashing in his dark eyes.

“Like hell we will!” he spat. “You just want to run everything through Sanco so you can tighten your grip on the underground ports. You think we’re blind? Not a chance. I refuse.”

Dominic shook his head.

“That’s asking for trouble, Caruso. One raid at Sanco, and we all lose our s**t. I object too.”

Murmurs rippled around the table like a storm.

I stood, my chair scraping against the floor—sharp, loud.

“You think you got a choice,” I said, my voice quiet but ice-cold. “But this isn’t a debate. You either dance to my tune… or you get the kiss of death.”

The room went silent.

Salvatore clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ticked, but he nodded, beaten.

The meeting ended. One by one, the bosses filed out, muttering under their breath — not agreement, not argument, just silence. They wouldn’t dare challenge me here.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” Vato smirked beside me. “Salvatore’s really pushing his luck. Bastard thinks he’s got the votes to play king. Surprised you only gave him a warning.”

A small smile played on the corner of my lip. “I just let him have his moments. The show I enjoy most is that of puppets who think they can play master. Their downfall is excruciatingly satisfying to watch.”

It really was entertaining to watch him play make-believe king, gathering allies who knew where their true loyalty lays. They fed into his fantasy of being king, but they all knew I was the real king.

“Poor bast—” Vato was cut off by a voice.

“Hello, Nigel? How did the meeting go?”

My father’s voice.

I turned slowly, my jaw clenching. His face was older, weathered, but those same eyes burned into me—like he had the right.

I laughed, sharp and hollow.

“I don’t remember when we ever had a father-son relationship, that we casually throw pleasantries around.”

He flinched— just slightly. Good. Let him carry that wound until his deathbed. I brushed past him without waiting for a response.

Office:

My office was quiet, dim—the kind of silence I needed after that circus. But the peace didn’t last.

She was there.

Selena.

Leaning against my desk like a centerpiece, her green dress hugged every curve too intentionally, the low neckline showing me too much cleavage, the thigh slit high, perfume thick enough to choke on. She was putting on a performance— every curve, every flick of her hair was intentional.

“Nigel,” she purred, lips parting in a practiced smile. “I know you missed me.”

I stared at her, expressionless.

“Move before I set both you and that desk on fire.”

Her laugh was soft and fake.

“Still cruel as ever. I like that.” She leaned forward, giving me a full view of her breasts. “Don’t act like you don’t want me here. You’ve always wanted me.”

The door creaked open before I could answer.

Lora strolled in, casual as ever, tossing her hair and smirking the second she saw Selena.

“Oh, this is priceless,” she said, hands on her hips. “Selena, darling, I didn’t know desperation had a dress code.”

Selena’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up, Lora.”

“Shut up?” Lora raised a brow. “That’s it? Come on, give me something creative. Maybe: Go away, Lora, you’re ruining my attempt at looking like a discount escort.’”

She circled the desk, eyeing Selena like she was a bug under glass.

“Green’s a bold choice. Shame it’s doing all the heavy lifting.”

Selena’s face burned. “You’re pathetic.”

“And yet,” Lora tilted her head, grinning, “still not half as pathetic as throwing yourself at a man who won’t even look at you.”

I almost smirked. Almost.

I stayed silent, watching Lora claw open Selena.

Selena snapped, her voice sharp.

“At least I’m not a bored little leech who feeds off other people’s lives. Does your sad little existence get more exciting when you annoy me, Lora?”

“Oh, honey,” Lora said sweetly. “Watching you humiliate yourself is my entertainment. And look at you— you’re putting on quite the show.”

Selena turned toward me, ignoring Lora, her mask slipping.

“Is this what it’s about? That waitress? That nobody pouring coffee for minimum wage? Tell me, Nigel, since when are gutter girls your type? What does Gabriella have that I don’t?”

The room went still. Her jealousy was suffocating.

I stood, slow and deliberate, towering over her.

“Careful,” I said, voice low, lethal. “You don’t get to look into my life. You don’t get to touch it. If you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll put you in the ground myself. Do you understand me?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, forcing a shaky smile.

“You wouldn’t.”

I leaned in close, my voice a whisper.

“Try me.”

I snapped my fingers, and a guard appeared.

“Escort her out. She’s done here.”

Selena grabbed her clutch, trying to leave with dignity she didn’t have. At the door, she turned, eyes glittering with venom.

“Funny,” she said softly, “you think she can hold your attention forever? We’ll see how long a girl like that survives in our world.”

And she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt heavier than her perfume.

Lora crossed her arms.

“As much of a b***h Selena is, you know she’s capable of hurting your little pet.”

I shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“She’s not my pet. She’s no one’s pet.”

Lora raised her hands in surrender.

I dropped into my chair, reaching for the bottle of bourbon.

“And Selena wasn’t stupid enough to challenge me head-on. If she even tries—God help her.”