The dismissal is deliberate. A power play designed to put her in her place.
Rage flares hot behind my ribs, but I swallow it. Lock it down. There will be time to address this later. Time to make my uncle understand exactly how things work now.
I turn to Lily. Kiss her forehead softly, my lips lingering against her skin for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then I murmur quietly, just for her, "Why don't you start getting lunch ready?"
Relief floods her expression immediately. Her shoulders drop fractionally. She nods, grateful for the escape, for permission to leave this room and the tension suffocating it.
I watch her go, her footsteps quick and light as she disappears into the kitchen.
I know cooking is her happy place. Where she feels safe and in control. And right now, she needs that sanctuary. Needs to be away from this room and what's coming.
Because what's coming won't be pretty.
I lead Driton toward the office. Artan and Erion fall into step behind us, their footfalls heavy and deliberate on the hardwood floor.
We're nearly at the door when Driton stops abruptly. Turns on his heel. His voice cuts through the air like ice. "This should be family only."
I can feel Erion's anger spike immediately. Can sense the tension coiling through his body, muscles bunching beneath his skin, hands curling into fists. He's half a second from exploding, from saying something that will make this situation infinitely worse.
I speak before he can. My voice is firm. Final. Leaving no room for negotiation or argument. "They are family. This is the new way of the Krasniqi clan in Chicago."
The words land like stones dropped into still water. Ripples spreading outward, touching everything.
Silence.
My uncle's jaw tightens. A muscle jumps beneath the weathered skin of his cheek. His eyes narrow fractionally, calculation happening behind them at lightning speed. But he doesn't argue. Doesn't push back. Just makes a sound of disapproval deep in his throat and continues toward the office.
It's a small victory. But a significant one.
I just redrew the power map in front of a council representative. Publicly elevated Erion and Artan to positions of authority that transcend blood. Signaled clearly that I'm done with inherited hierarchy and outdated traditions that no longer serve us.
We enter the office. I move behind my desk, the massive piece of furniture serving as both shield and throne. Artan positions himself to my right, just behind me, close enough to intervene if necessary. Erion turns his back to the room entirely, choosing instead to look out the window at the Chicago skyline spread below us like a kingdom waiting to be claimed.
Driton sits in the chair opposite my desk with deliberate slowness. Crosses one leg over the other. Adjusts his cufflinks with meticulous precision. Making me wait. Asserting dominance through calculated delay.
I let him have the performance.
When he's finally settled, I take the lead. "What's so important that you had to come all the way from New York? I thought the council was satisfied with my leadership."
My uncle stares long and hard at me. Testing to see if I'll look away first, if I'll show weakness or uncertainty.
My father trained me well. Beat the fear out of me young. Replaced it with cold calculation and the understanding that showing weakness is the same as dying.
I don't scare easily.
"I thought so too," Driton says finally. His voice is measured. Reasonable. The tone of a disappointed father rather than an angry superior. Which makes it infinitely more dangerous. "I thought the reckless, impulsive Luan was in the past. The youngman who acted without thinking, who let emotion guide his decisions."
He pauses. Lets the implication settle into the air between us.
"But recent events have brought back doubt."
Another pause. Longer this time. Heavier.
"The message you left for the Irish. Exploding their warehouse. Excessive. Provocative." His fingers tap once against the armrest, a rhythmic punctuation. "Leaving the body of a trusted Krasniqi soldier at the steps of your father's house. Dramatic. Unnecessary."
His eyes flick to Erion's back, contempt clear in the curl of his lip. "Associating with less interesting men. Men without proper lineage or standing."
Erion scoffs but doesn't turn around. The sound is dark. Amused. Dangerous.
