Page 24 of King of Praise
I check my phone again. Zeke should be here any moment. The timing is deliberate—let the others arrive first, settle into their seats, feel the weight of anticipation. It’s a calculated move, asserting dominance through patience rather than force.
Conversations buzz at low volume around the tables. I catch fragments of discussion—territory disputes, profit margins, concerns about police attention. The usual business of crime, conducted in hushed tones beneath fluorescent lights.
A sudden hush falls as Zeke enters. He moves with practiced confidence, his presence commanding attention without obvious effort. I take my position behind him, watching reactions as he greets each family representative by name.
“Where’s Sebastian?” Francesca asks, her tone casual but firm.
“Occupied with personal matters.” Zeke’s smile suggests more than his words. Everyone knows Seb’s reputation with women.
The lie slides out as smooth as silk. Better they think Seb distracted by pleasure than know we’re keeping him in reserve as insurance against betrayal. Just like Eli, he’s watching security feeds from an undisclosed location, ready to mobilize if things go sideways.
Always have a backup plan. Always be ready for the worst.
Old lessons learned in New York’s unforgiving streets. Lessons that have kept Zeke alive through years of similar negotiations when he was under Nicolo’s thumb.
Zeke takes his seat at what could be considered the head of the circle, though the arrangement deliberately avoids obvious hierarchy. I remain standing, positioning myself where I can observe everyone while maintaining quick access to potential threats.
“Thank you all for coming.” Zeke’s voice carries authority earned through years of strategic leadership. “I know these are uncertain times. That’s precisely why we’re here.”
He outlines the situation with characteristic precision. Nicolo’s growing interest in Columbus operations. The power vacuum left by recent changes in leadership. Zeke’s recent shift in focus away from making an honest living to taking a stand for Columbus’s safety. The benefits of unified response rather than individual vulnerability.
Zeke doesn’t mention our former vigilante efforts against Nicolo. No one knows the true extent of our involvement in his disruption of activities or the takedown of Columbus’s leadership. It needs to stay that way.
I watch reactions carefully as he speaks. Sofia Russo leans forward, clearly intrigued by possibilities for expansion. Her father seems barely aware, while Nick’s expressionshifts between calculation and resentment. Connor Gallagher maintains stoic neutrality, but his fingers drum restlessly against the table edge.
It’s Francesca who concerns me most. Her earlier assurances of cooperation seem forgotten as skepticism clouds her features. It makes me wonder if Nicolo has gotten to her. When Zeke mentions profit-sharing arrangements, her perfectly manicured nails tap against the table surface. It’s a tell I’ve learned to recognize as growing agitation.
“This all sounds very progressive,” she interrupts smoothly. “But let’s be honest about what’s really happening here. Recent events have eliminated certain operations in Columbus. Operations that happened to compete with your interests.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Tommy shifts beside her, his hand moving subtly toward his jacket. I tense, ready to intervene if necessary.
Zeke maintains admirable calm. “Every action taken was done to protect my family and in service of cleaning up Columbus. Making it sustainable, profitable for everyone involved.”
“Profitable for some more than others, it seems.” Francesca’s smile turns sharp. “Or should we discuss the specifics of who benefited most from recent changes in leadership?”
The accusation hangs heavy in the air. Several security personnel adjust their stances, hands drifting closer to weapons. I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Tommy’s fingers brush his jacket lapel, reaching for what I know is a concealed firearm.
I move without conscious thought, muscle memory and training taking over. Three quick steps bring me behind Tommy. My hand closes around his wrist before he can fully draw, applying precise pressure to nerve points. Not enoughto cause real damage, but sufficient to make his fingers spasm involuntarily.
The warehouse falls silent. Every eye fixes on our tableau. Tommy is frozen mid-reach, my grip immobilizing him, and Francesca’s expression is caught between anger and calculation. Time stretches like taffy, potential violence crackling in the air.
“The terms of this meeting were clear.” My voice remains deliberately calm, though I don’t release pressure on Tommy’s wrist. “No weapons drawn unless all parties are threatened.”
Tommy’s muscles coil beneath my grip. For a moment, I think he’ll try to break free. A mistake that would force me to demonstrate exactly why Zeke keeps me as his enforcer. But then Francesca laughs, the sound startling but genuine in the tense atmosphere.
“Impressive reflexes, Micah.” She claps her hands together once, sharp as a gunshot. “Tommy, darling, do behave yourself. We’re all friends here.”
I release him gradually, ready to react if he makes another move. But Tommy pulls back, adjusting his jacket with what attempts to be dignity. While the crisis is averted, the underlying current of potential violence remains.
The meeting resumes, but the dynamic has shifted subtly. Where before I was background muscle, now I’m drawn directly into negotiations. Family representatives address questions to me as much as Zeke, seeking my input on security arrangements and territory agreements.
It’s a dangerous balance—maintaining authority without overstepping, demonstrating strength while avoiding provocation. One wrong word could still spark conflict. But this is familiar ground, the careful dance of power and respect that has defined my professional life.
But even as I engage in negotiations, part of my mind drifts to Naomi. How different this world is from her dreamsof opening a bakery, of creating something positive rather than managing necessary evils. The contrast between her gentle nature and the violence inherent in my life seems suddenly stark.
A question from Victor Russo pulls me back to the present. We discuss specifics of territory boundaries, profit percentages, and lines of communication. The details matter less than the precedent being set. We need cooperation rather than competition, unity in the face of external threats.
Hours pass in careful negotiation. By the time final agreements are drafted, night has fallen outside the warehouse windows. Security teams coordinate departures, ensuring no accidental conflicts erupt in the parking lot. As each family representative leaves, I catalog details that might prove relevant later.
