Page 3 of Prodigal

From his position on the hillside, nobody would be able to tell Gideon’s identity were they to look up and glimpse a figure standing there. It wasn’t reveal time yet. No, that would come in two days, but he was antsy. Ready to get the ball rolling.

He couldn’t wait to see those motherfuckers’ faces. Wished again that his father could be around to see all the years of hiding, of planning, finally come to fruition.

Samir stood at his side, equally silent, ever watchful and alert while the rest of the team waited in the SUVs behind them.

The Council consisted of seven members to ensure there would always be a tiebreaker. A seat never ever sat empty. Membership was inherited and members remained on it until they died. But before being officially sworn in as a member—if they didn’t have a child or family member that was fit and suitable to inherit the seat—they had to put forward a name, their choice of who they wanted to take their seat should they die or be killed. Those names were called proxies, and they were vetted extensively before being allowed into the records, because what would prevent a proxy from simply killing off a member and taking over the seat?

So far that hadn’t happened, but attempts had been made.

Gideon’s mother had been Aldo’s proxy until Gideon was born. As Aldo’s only child, Gideon had been automatically entered as his father's proxy. And then the attempts on his life began. As blood relation to The Council founder, the Winters’s seat held the most power. It was tiebreaker, final decider. And holder of the purse strings. To take out Aldo and his son meant whoever possessed that seat would have unlimited power and control.

Upon the death of a Council Member, a new member was sworn in three days after the burial. At that point, all surviving members gathered in a secure location for that task.

Gideon would be showing up then.

He couldn’t fucking wait.

Through the binoculars, his gaze landed on each member of The Council as they stood at his father’s grave, paying their respects. The Council only ever met up, all of them in one place, for funerals and important votes, like inducting a new member.

Aldo had known all of that, of course, which was why, once he’d gotten the cancer diagnosis, he and Gideon had kicked their plans into high gear. His father’s death signaled Gideon’s resurrection. But he wished his father was there at his side so they could do it together. Aldo lost his wife, and to an extent his son, as well. The old man had tried his hardest to figure out who’d been behind the destruction of his family, but he’d gotten nowhere.

In a strategic move, Aldo’s seat remained vacant. He hadn’t offered up a new proxy when Gideon “died,” which was what he was supposed to do. Therefore Gideon remained the proxy of record. But before he made his reappearance, he wanted to see who The Council would attempt to hand over his rightful position to.

Gideon would devote the rest of his life to making them pay.

The group down below began dispersing once the service was over. A fine drizzle dampened Gideon’s hair and skin, and he lowered the binoculars, gazing up at the gray skies.

“I want each member followed,” he told Samir. “Discreetly.”

“Already on it.”

Members of The Council were the most powerful people in the States. They were a criminal organization, yes, but they were people in all levels of the judicial system, appointed and removed politicians, and had their talons all the way into the White House. It’d shocked Gideon the first time he’d witnessed his father issue an order to the actual President of the United States, his jaw dropping when he’d watched the actual follow-through on TV mere hours later. It’d been nothing to his father,and that kind of power was enviable, making people do anything to obtain it.

Gideon turned away, facing the vehicles. “Let’s go.”

On the ride back to their hidden compound, he tuned out as Samir issued orders and took reports. Gideon’s inner circle was only four deep. They were the only ones he trusted near him, to see him vulnerable, to know his thoughts. He’d learned at a very young age that people couldn’t be trusted, and after being in hiding for so long, the smaller his circle, the better. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have an army out there on the streets, working for him, with him, to ensure all the strategizing, all the preparation, was fruitful.

The men who worked for him didn’t know his identity, not yet. But they would, soon enough.

Back at his place, he strode into his office, his four shadows at his side as usual. Gideon sat behind his desk and met Samir’s steady gaze.

“Everything in place?”

Samir nodded. “Just like Aldo told us, each member only has two bodyguards with them.”

That was another part of the rules of The Council—it ensured all members were on the same playing field whenever they congregated. Some members didn’t like each other, and the rule was to prevent them from starting a fucking war. But that two-man shit worked perfectly for Gideon’s purposes. While they all sat around with two men each, he’d be strolling in with his small army.

“I sent you the reports you asked for.” Marco spoke up, nodding at the iPad sitting on the desk in front of Gideon.

He picked it up and opened it, quickly browsing the reports on each member of The Council. They had so much info on them already, much of it supplied by Aldo, but these reports from Marco were recent, from the past week.

Gideon hated surprises, so he preferred up-to-the-minute intel, which helped him remain in control. He scrolled, lifting an eyebrow when something interesting caught his attention. He held up the iPad, the screen toward Marco, and tapped it with a finger. “Are we sure about this?”

Marco grinned. “Of course.”

“Then tug on that rope, huh?” Gideon spoke to Will and Kaleb. “Let’s see what falls out.” Didn’t matter how much ammunition they had, they could always use more. And even with the reach and resources The Council had, they didn’t have his team, who were so fucking stealth with their shit it was insane. They were invaluable, and he knew they were ready and willing to die for him. They’d do anything for him, and he would do the same because they’d saved him when he was isolated and inundated with nightmares, battling PTSD, and unsure of who to trust.

They continued to save him. Just like Gideon, they’d been betrayed and cast aside, forgotten about, with no family except for who they chose. He wanted to ensure their sacrifices weren’t in vain.

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