The rain beat violently against the windows of the conference tower, but inside the room, it was dead silent.
Not a whisper. Not a breath too loud.
Across a long table of blackened oak, lined with cuffs of chrome, sat three generations of one of the oldest mafia families in the region — all of them trembling. The eldest among them, a grizzled man in his sixties, struggled to meet the eyes of the one seated across from him. He wasn't the only one. Everyone else kept their eyes lowered, as though doing otherwise would invite wrath.
At the head of the table sat Lucian Thorne.
Tall, impeccably dressed in black, and silent, Lucian exuded cold authority with every breath. He wasn't speaking. He didn't need to. His gaze alone was enough to squeeze the air from their lungs.
The Thorne name had been feared for decades, but Lucian had redefined it. He wasn't just an Alpha. He was the Alpha — the one who had annihilated a syndicate with a single night raid, wiped out a betrayal within hours, and never raised his voice once while doing it. His reputation made grown men pray they'd never meet him in person.
Today, they'd run out of luck.
The patriarch across from him cleared his throat, voice hoarse. "Mr. Thorne… we—we're willing to make concessions. A—a majority cut of the mountain routes, with—"
Lucian raised a single finger.
The man shut his mouth instantly.
Lucian turned his head slightly. Jaxon Reed, his right-hand Beta, stepped forward, silently sliding a folder across the table. Black leather, engraved with the Thorne crest.
"Twenty percent," Lucian said, finally. His voice was low, measured. With a single command, the air shifted.
"T-twenty percent?" the eldest man gasped. "That—"
Lucian's eyes moved in his direction, bored, but there was something dangerous simmering under the surface. The kind of threat that made men choose silence over dignity.
"Twenty," Lucian repeated. "You take it, and your family lives to see next winter. You refuse…" He raised an eyebrow. "Well."
It wasn't said, but everyone heard it — you make yourself my enemy.
Lucian leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the silver ring on his thumb. It was the only accessory on him besides his watch. Simple, practical, deadly. Much like the man himself.
After a tense beat, the patriarch nodded vigorously.
"We accept. W-we accept the terms."
Lucian offered no reaction. He simply stood, prompting Jaxon to speak in his stead.
"The terms will be delivered via encrypted contract within the hour," Jaxon announced. "You'll sign them by the end of the day. And send your men home. All of them."
The patriarch looked confused, but didn't dare to speak.
"Lucian doesn't want to see them," Jaxon added, as though reading his mind. "That should be… self-explanatory."
The family began shuffling out as fast as dignity would allow, heads low, breaths held like hostages. A few still dared glance back — only to catch Lucian's cold profile as he watched the rain outside. A king in a fortress, uninterested in their exit.
As the final footsteps faded, Jaxon finally broke into a smirk.
"Didn't even bother to beg this time," he muttered. "Getting too used to surrender, I guess."
Lucian didn't respond immediately. He dragged his thumb across the ring once more, exhaling slowly.
"Fear makes people obedient," he said at last. "But it also makes them stupid."
Jaxon tilted his head. "They'll step out of line eventually?"
"They always do." Lucian turned to him, grey eyes sharp. "That's why you take away their options before they realize they had any."
Jaxon let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to cross you."
"That would require having reason to," Lucian replied dryly.
They both knew he was right — Jaxon was loyal to the bone. Had been since the two met at fourteen, scrapping over territory and learning how deep the world's claws could sink. If Lucian was a blade, Jaxon was the hand that wielded it with precision.
Jaxon opened his tablet and glanced at the time.
"You've got an event tonight," he reminded. "Engagement dinner. Your mother requested you wear the black suit with the silver tie. Apparently it looks 'less threatening.'"
Lucian scoffed, the closest thing to amusement he had displayed in hours. "That seems false."
"No argument here," Jaxon grinned. "But, well, the whole city's expecting it. Big alliance. The Arden family, right? Their Omega heir."
Lucian turned away, irritation manifesting subtly in the angle of his jaw. "An arrangement," he said curtly. "Nothing more."
"You think they'll go through with it?"
"It's politics," Lucian replied. "They don't have a choice."
"Sure," Jaxon said. "But you do."
Lucian paused. That was bold — too bold — but Jaxon was the only one who could say it and live. Even so, the air tightened for a second before easing.
Lucian continued walking, down the hall of glass and steel. His reflection glided beside him, a dark phantom against the backdrop of storm clouds and city lights. This headquarters — his kingdom — reflected both his dominance and his distance.
"I don't care about the matching," Lucian stated, voice level. "It solves problems. That's its purpose."
"Convenient," Jaxon hummed. "Pity for the Omega though."
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly, but it wasn't anger — it was something more like calculation.
"Do you pity people who get the chance to step into power?"
"Only when their legs break on the way," Jaxon smirked.
The silence stretched, but neither seemed uncomfortable with it. In the Thorne syndicate, quiet was a weapon too.
They reached the elevator. As it closed, Jaxon's tablet buzzed.
He skimmed, froze, then startled softly.
"...Sir?"
Lucian glanced over.
Jaxon swallowed, eyes flicking between the screen and the Alpha. "There's been a… change."
Lucian didn't react at first. He never did. His stillness was its own form of dread.
"Speak," he commanded.
Jaxon took in one slow breath.
"Sir," he said, voice dropping with the weight of the words. "The Omega is refusing the marriage."
The elevator's descent felt endless. Lucian blinked once. Once was enough for those who knew him.
Around them, the world shifted imperceptibly.
He had been prepared for warfare, silence, politics — but not this.
The storm raged harder against the windows.
And for the first time in a long time, Lucian Thorne felt something that didn't resemble control.
It resembled challenge.