Chapter 3 - The Godfather's Ultimatum
By eight o'clock the following morning, the storm had cleared, leaving behind a crisp, ice-cold sunlight over the Blackwood Estate.
In the grand dining room downstairs, long mahogany tables were covered in white linen, but the atmosphere was far from peaceful.
Sitting at the far end of the room was Dominic Hale—the ruthlessly powerful patriarch of the Hale Syndicate and Vivienne’s father. Dressed in an expensive Italian suit, his hair slicked back with silver grease, Dominic sat surrounded by four armed bodyguards, his face twisted into a mask of pure, white-hot fury.
Beside him sat Vivienne, her eyes red and swollen from crying all night, her arms crossed tight against her chest as she glared at the double doors.
The doors opened, and Ronan walked into the room.
He had showered and changed into a dark charcoal suit, his damp dark hair combed back smoothly. He looked entirely rested, calm, and utterly unbothered by the crisis brewing in his dining room.
Following two steps behind him was Ivy.
She was no longer wearing a servant's uniform. Ronan had instructed his personal tailor to bring up a dress from the estate’s private vaults—a stunning dark green velvet dress that draped gracefully over her full curves, accentuating her small waist and soft bustline. Her dark hair fell in neat waves down her back, and though her shoulder was bandaged beneath the velvet, her posture was poised and proud.
When Dominic Hale saw Ivy walking beside Ronan, he slammed his heavy hand onto the mahogany table, making the fine china rattle.
"What is the meaning of this insolence, Ronan?!" Dominic roared, standing up so fast his chair scraped violently against the floor. "You call me to an emergency meeting at dawn, you break an alliance that took two years to negotiate, and then you bring this... this domestic servant to sit at the table of bosses?!"
Vivienne sneered at Ivy. "Look at her, Dad! She’s wearing clothes meant for high society! She thinks she’s a lady now just because Ronan gave her a bandage!"
Ronan pulled out the grand armchair at the head of the table. He didn't offer it to himself; he looked at Ivy and gestured for her to sit down.
Ivy hesitated for a brief second, feeling the burning eyes of the Hale guards on her, but she caught Ronan’s encouraging nod. She stepped forward, smoothing her green velvet dress, and sat gracefully in the head chair.
Ronan stood beside her, resting one heavy hand on the back of her leather chair, casting a long, terrifying shadow over the table.
"Speak carefully, Dominic," Ronan said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "You are speaking to the woman who saved your daughter from committing a murder in my ballroom last night."
"Murder?!" Vivienne shrieked. "I gave a servant a few lashes for insubordination!"
"You struck a woman with a steel-tipped riding crop until she bled through her clothes," Ronan snapped, his eyes flashing like black lightning toward Vivienne. "If Ivy hadn't stepped in to absorb those strikes, that nineteen-year-old girl would have suffered a fractured skull. Under Syndicate law, killing an unarmed civilian worker on neutral ground carries an immediate death sentence."
Dominic Hale’s eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle flicker of unease passing through his hard features. He knew Syndicate law better than anyone. He turned his glare onto Ronan.
"You’re grasping at straws, Blackwood," Dominic growled, leaning across the table. "You used my daughter to secure your northern shipping lines, and now that the council vote is near, you’re looking for an excuse to kick the Hale family to the curb! You think you can humiliate my bloodline over a fat maid?!"
Before Dominic could finish his sentence, Ronan moved.
In a split second, Ronan pulled a sleek, silver silenced pistol from his shoulder holster, aimed it across the table, and fired three rounds in rapid succession.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The bullets shattered the crystal water glasses sitting inches from Dominic’s fingers, spraying sharp shards of glass and cold water across his expensive suit.
Dominic’s four bodyguards instantly reached for their weapons, but before their fingers could touch leather, the balcony doors and side entrances burst open. Twelve Blackwood enforcers, led by Matteo, stepped into the room with tactical rifles raised, red laser sights painting the chests of every Hale guard in the room.
Vivienne let out a terrified scream, dropping beneath the table to hide.
Dominic sat frozen, his hand dripping with cold water, looking down the barrel of Ronan’s gun.
"Say another word about her weight, her status, or her worth," Ronan said, his hand completely steady as he held the pistol, "and the next three rounds go between your eyes, Dominic."
Ivy’s heart thundered against her ribs. She looked up at Ronan. Standing beside her, he looked like an ancient king defending his territory—uncompromising, lethal, and fiercely protective.
Dominic swallowed hard, his face turning pale as he slowly raised his hands in surrender. "You're crazy, Ronan. You're burning down a fifty-million-dollar alliance for a girl who cleans your floors."
"I am removing trash from my house," Ronan corrected coolly, lowering his weapon slightly. "Here are my terms, Dominic. The Hale family will transfer forty percent of the northern dock leases to the Blackwood Syndicate by noon today as compensation for the assault committed on my estate."
"Forty percent?!" Dominic gasped. "That’s extortion!"
"The alternative," Ronan continued, sliding his weapon back into his holster, "is total war. By one o'clock, I will release the unedited security footage of your daughter's assault to every news outlet and police precinct in the state. Let's see how long your political allies back you when they see Vivienne whipping an innocent worker on tape."
Dominic stared at Ronan in absolute horror. He knew he was trapped. The public backlash alone would destroy his political aspirations, and a war with the Blackwood Syndicate would wipe his family off the map.
Dominic looked down at his daughter, who was sobbing under the table, then looked back at Ronan and Ivy.
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"You'll get the leases," Dominic spat out through gritted teeth, his voice shaking with pure hatred. "But mark my words, Blackwood... the other Syndicate bosses won't accept this. When the High Council meets on Friday, they will tear you apart for choosing a maid over a bloodline."
"Let them try," Ronan said coldly. "Now get out of my house."
