little Kid
782 Words
“Let’s start the meeting, shall we?” I said, keeping my voice cool.
“Who are you, little kid?” Mikhail Volkov sneered from across the table.
“Little kid?” I echoed, letting my gaze sharpen as I stared him down. “I’m Damien Blackthorn. Current CEO of Blackthorn Enterprises. And your new leader.”
I let that hang in the air for a second. Let the weight of it drop on them like a stone.
“And you must be… Miguel Volkov?” I added, deliberately.
“It’s Mikhail Volkov,” he snapped.
Liang Shen chuckled under his breath, and Mikhail shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. The laugh died just as quickly as it came.
“Instead of wasting time arguing over name pronunciations,” I continued smoothly, “let’s get to business.”
I let my eyes move around the room, taking in every expression. Testing the temperature.
“About your money. I know you’ve all been waiting to launder it. You can send it this week.”
“All of us?” Rafe Kingston asked, arching a brow.
“Yes, all of you. Any problem with that?”
“Usually, your father handled two. Three at most,” Victor Langford said. He wasn’t trying to challenge me. Just curious. Still, it was a test.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “All your money will be clean before the week’s over. As long as you don’t go above the usual amounts.”
Victor raised an eyebrow. “How are you planning to do that?”
“I’m an accountant,” I said. “And don’t worry about how I’m going to do it. My methods don’t matter. All that matters is that your money’s clean. And it will be.”
“You’re rushing things,” Diego Montoya chimed in. “We should take it slow. If you mess up, it’s us that burns.”
“I’ve been doing accounting for eleven years,” I said, my voice flattening. “I’ve been cleaning money for seven. I don’t make mistakes.”
Montoya opened his mouth again—but I didn’t give him the chance.
“Did you guys argue with my father like this?” I asked.
That shut them up fast. You could hear a pin drop.
I let the silence stretch, then leaned back in my chair.
“Any other issues anyone wants to bring up?”
Nothing.
I was about to call it when Volkov opened his damn mouth again.
“I heard you let go of some idiots who attacked one of our shipments.”
“Yes?”
“That’s not how business is done. You let them go this time—they’ll come back. They always do.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said, standing. “If that’s all… the meeting’s ended.”
I walked out without waiting for a response. Sloane followed without a word, just like always.
I didn’t look back.
They stayed behind after I left. I knew they would.
“What do you think of the kid?” Rafe asked as he lit a cigarette.
“He’s too soft,” Volkov muttered.
“He’s got a big pair of shoes to fill,” Liang Shen said, more thoughtful than the others. “Let’s wait and see if he succeeds or falls. All I’ll say is—the boy’s bold.”
Across town, a different kind of meeting was taking place.
A dimly lit warehouse. Cold concrete. The smell of oil and blood in the air.
Elias Vanguard was pacing, his boots echoing off the floor.
“Alastair Blackthorn is dead,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And I hear his son is a princess.”
He grinned, full of sharp teeth and ambition.
“This is our chance. We destroy Blackthorn, we take over. There won’t be a better time.”
“I’ve got word of a shipment coming in tomorrow,” Gideon said from the corner, loading rounds into a magazine. “We hit the port. Their defenses are low. They won’t expect it. They think no one would dare.”
Elias nodded slowly.
“It’s time for Vanguard to rule London. The reign of the Blackthorns is over.”
They huddled around blueprints and weapons, checking every detail.
When the plan was laid out, Elias walked between the men they’d gathered—killers, loyalists, dogs of war—inspecting the gear, the discipline, the energy.
Then he smiled.
“Blackthorn won’t know what hit them,” he said.
And he laughed.
That ugly, cold laugh that sounded like something dead was trying to come alive again.
- Writer
