The room is a cathedral built for criminals. A crescent-shaped platform raised six feet looms at the far end, backed by a black wall of carved volcanic glass. A table curves in a wide circle around it, each seat marked by a colored skull. Twelve chairs with black velvet seats surround it, but tonight, only ten are occupied.
The moment our feet cross the threshold, voices cut off. Heads turn. Masks hide faces, but not power.
A thin man with a gold mask leans forward, pointing at the empty seats. "Where are the O'Malleys?"
A woman in a white mask snaps, "Did you not get the exception memo?"
Kirill doesn't bother with pleasantries. He rises out of his seat, announcing, "As stated, Sean and Brax have been suspended from clan operations and are fulfilling those duties."
Murmurs ripple through the room like a disturbed pond.
The gold mask tilts. "Suspended? If the O'Malley line loses its roles, the balance fractures."
Kirill's voice is calm enough to be lethal. "Exactly. You should be praying their seats remain intact. The Underworld does not survive if one of its strongest pillars falls."
A broad-shouldered man wearing a purple mask scoffs. "Unless that pillar was already rotten."
Fiona moves a fraction forward, but Kirill lifts a hand and stops her. He scans the room slowly, letting the tension thicken until it's hard to breathe. Then he speaks again, and every word burns with anger. "We have traitors in our world. Who has information for me?" His gaze sweeps the tables.
The room turns cold.
"Someone funded it. Someone sanctioned the beheading of a royal bloodline. Someone believed my wife and I could be dragged onto a platform and butchered for their ambition," Kirill seethes.
Silence continues to mix with tension.
Kirill plants both hands on the table. "I want the names of everyone involved, from the hands that held the knives to the mouths that issued the command, to the money that funded it."
The woman in white shakes her head. "We investigated. The traitors were apprehended. The matter no longer exists."
Kirill lets out a laugh that has no warmth in it. "You think I believe that a coup stops with two pawns and a ritual stage?"
The purple mask leans back. "We have no additional evidence. No communications. No transfers. Nothing beyond what the O'Malleys already uncovered."
"Then you're lying, or you're incompetent. Which is it?" Kirill snarls.
Voices rise around the circle, full of excuses, deflections, and no answers. Each family rep insists they had no knowledge, no hand, no role in the attempted coup.
Kirill's restraint frays visibly. His fists clench. His shoulders go rigid. The frost in his tone turns to fire. "You either give me names, or I start taking them."
Another round of tension mounts.
Kirill finally slams the session closed. The air is thicker than when we walked in. We file out through the bunker the same way we entered, but his sharp, angry exterior never fades.
By the time we reach the elevator, I wonder why I wanted a seat so badly. Besides Kirill, Fiona, and Zara, there's no clear alliance. Everyone's an enemy. The Royal Council only represents more powerful people playing dangerous games.
And like always in the Underworld, the truth stays hidden in the dark, wrapped in masks and lies.
24
Brax
The cursor blinks on the last line of red code, the kind that eats through firewalls like acid andstill leaves you with nothing but a dead screen and a warning you can't unsee. I stare at it anyway, knuckles tight around my mouse, jaw locked so hard my molars protest.
Access denied.
You shouldn't be here.
Leave now.
