When we reach the casino floor, the crowd parts like water around a blade.
I shove the impostor onto the central dais—where the holo-saint usually blesses gamblers and sinners. Tonight, the saint flickers and glitches, as if the Nun itself can’t decide what story to tell.
I turn to the main cameras.
I broadcast.
Every captain watching from every node, every safe room, every street feed—they get the signal, because Kaijen comms still answer to me.
Renn’s voice cracks in my ear. “Boss, you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure,” I say.
I hold up the death certificate fragment and the succession memo.
“This,” I announce, voice carrying, “is proof.”
The casino is dead silent now. Even the slot machines seem to quiet, their little chiming songs choked off.
I slam the papers onto the dais in front of the impostor.
“Tell them,” I growl.
He shakes, mask hissing louder. “Lonari?—”
“Tell them,” I repeat, and my voice drops into something that makes even seasoned killers flinch.
The impostor looks out over the crowd—captains, soldiers, civilians frozen mid-breath.
His eyes glisten.
“They—” he whispers.
“Louder,” I demand.
He swallows hard and speaks into the broadcast mic.
“I’m not Kel,” he says, voice trembling. “The real Godfather Kel was assassinated. The Nine installed me. They controlled tribute. They demanded the Kaijen family become a destabilization tool. They… they threatened civilians. They implanted detonators. They?—”
A wave of sound surges through the casino—gasps, curses, angry shouts.
Loyalty lines snap audibly.
Some captains go pale.
Some look furious.
Some look relieved, like they’ve been waiting for permission to admit the rot.
I grab the impostor’s authority symbols—the ring, the sash, the crest pin—and rip them off in one brutal motion.
“Authority stripped,” I say coldly. “He doesn’t speak for Kaijen.”
Then I turn, scanning the balconies.
“Captains,” I call. “You swear to me, to the family, and to civilians—or you flee. There’s no third option.”
For a beat, the world holds its breath.
