Mason's phone buzzed. Again. Like a damn wasp that wouldn't quit.He squared up, pulling on Leo's blue-blood swagger like a tailored suit. Time to play make-believe with mommy dearest."Mother." Mason infused his voice with practiced warmth. "What a pleasant surprise.""Pleasant? Is that what we're calling it now?" Helena King's voice dripped acid-sweet sarcasm. "Six months of you playin' ghost on me, and now what – you expect me to be all sunshine and roses? Maybe I oughta ring you up every hour on the hour, yeah? Give ya a taste of what *pleasant disturbance* really feels like, sugar."Mason winced. "Listen, Ma—""Oh spare me the escuses, darling." Helena cut through his words. "Don't think I forgot the annual King Foundation Charity Luncheon darling. Saturday when the clock strikes noon. All the big shots and their dames'll be there, dressed to the nines." A pause pregnant with meaning. "Memory still working, or did that ghost too?"Mason's insides did a free-fall. Another test of

Mason adjusted his silk tie in the mirror, studying the reflection like a general inspecting troops. The hand-tailored Brioni suit - charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes - draped his frame like liquid money. A blood-red pocket square added the perfect dash of menace."Looking sharp, boss." Eve lounged in the doorway of his private suite, already dressed to kill in a black Versace number that hugged curves like a second skin. "Though I still say you're making a mistake leaving me behind."Mason's smirked, watching her reflection. His mind drifted to their first job together - the way she'd slit a traitor's throat without getting a drop on her designer heels. "What's wrong, piccola morte? Afraid I can't handle myself without my guardian angel?""What can I say?" Eve slunk into the room, stalking closer on stiletto heels that could double as weapons. "Seven of Chicago's finest scumbags in one place? That's better than Christmas." Her fingers twitched, probably imagining all the throats b

Mason's laugh caught them all off guard – genuine amusement bubbling up from some deep well. "You know what's funny? "All this fancy talk about order, tradition and respect - makes my teeth hurt." His gaze locked onto Ramirez like a sniper's scope. "But y'all missed something real important.""Then enlighten us." Santos leaned forward in his wheelchair."Why now?" Mason's voice carried through the dusty air. "Why this meeting? Why these accusations?" His gaze swept the table. "You want to talk about unusual patterns? Let's talk about timing."Ramirez's drumming finger went still. "¿Qué estás diciendo, Mason? Meaning exactly?""Three major operations hit in one night. Precision strikes, inside information." Mason's smile was winter frost. "Almost like someone knew exactly where to hurt you. Which means either your security's worth shit, or...""Or?" The Calabrese twins moved in perfect mirror-image, both tilting forward like wolves catching a scent."Or someone's been feeding informati

Mason stood with deliberate boldness.Not rushed. Not nervous. Just the slow, deadly grace of a predator who knew exactly when to strike."You're right about one thing, Ramirez. Times do change." His hands stayed visible, but every boss at that table knew how fast those empty hands could turn deadly. "But some things?" A ghost smile touched his lips. "Some things are carved in stone. Like what happens to people who try to steal from a King."The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting sharp shadows across the assembled faces of Chicago's underworld royalty. Mason noted how the light caught the silver at Ramirez's temples, how it gleamed off Tommy Chen's dragon tattoos. All these little details. All these perfect target points."Is that threat?" Petrov's voice rumbled like distant thunder."Nah." Mason kept his voice soft, gentle even. Like talking to a spooked animal before the slaughter. "It's a promise. See, while you've all been real busy moving pieces around my board,

While Mason's gone, Chicago's finest criminals sat like statues in their chairs, marinating in the stench of defeat and Cuban cigars gone cold.Tommy Chen's cigarette snapped between his fingers, tobacco spilling across imported crystal. "Some show today. Better than pay-per-view." He dabbed sweat from his neck. "Next time maybe we bring dancing bears too, make it complete entertainment.""¡Me cago en la leche!" Ramirez's fist found mahogany, making ice cubes dance in abandoned scotch. "This ain't over. We still got muscle, territory-""Muscle? Territory?" The Calabrese twins exchanged identical looks of disbelief. Marco Calabrese's designer suit couldn't hide the tremor in his hands. "You see those feeds?""Every operation," Antonio picked up. "Every rathole-""-every dirty dollar-""-spread out like a buffet for the feds."Santos wheeled back, wincing. His chest still burned where those training rounds had tagged him. The memory of red dots dancing across his torso made his hands sh