Chapter 11: Aftershocks & Iron Rules 

The ink on the new bi-hemispheric alliance treaties had barely dried when the first major test of the dual regime arrived in the grand boardroom of the Cruz Syndicate headquarters.

Representatives from the old-school cartels of South America and the traditional syndicates of Eastern Europe gathered around the massive mahogany table to negotiate the terms of the new underworld order.

Most of the crime lords sat in cautious, respectful silence, acutely aware that the combined forces of the Cruz empire and the remnants of the military networks answered only to two men.

However, Don Corvo, a veteran Italian mob boss who had controlled the maritime ports of the southern coast for decades, refused to accept the shifting paradigm of power.

His hostile, old-fashioned gaze shifted back and forth between Rafe and Kaelen, brimming with centuries-old prejudice regarding sub-genders and rigid social hierarchies.

"We understand that Don Cruz has found himself a... comfortable companion," Corvo began, his gravelly voice dripping with patronizing condescension as he leaned back in his leather chair.

"But let us not forget the fundamental laws of our world," Corvo continued, casting a sharp, dismissive glance at the former general sitting at the head of the table. "An Omega, no matter how skilled with a firearm, has no business sitting at the table where empires are partitioned."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the boardroom as the air turned thick with sudden tension.

Rafe did not even blink, nor did he shift his posture; instead, he calmly reached for a crystal decanter and began pouring amber whiskey into a clean glass with absolute nonchalance.

Kaelen didn't raise his voice or show a single trace of anger, his ice-blue eyes fixing a dead, terrifying stare upon the aging mob boss.

"It seems Don Corvo is under the impression that the rules written by dead men still apply to the living," Kaelen said, his voice smooth, cold, and dangerously low.

"I am simply stating reality, boy," Corvo scoffed, slamming his palm onto the mahogany surface in an arrogant display of false dominance. "You are just a trophy brought in from a failed laboratory project, tolerated only because—"

Before Corvo could finish his sentence, Kaelen moved with a blinding, inhuman speed that defied human ocular tracking.

In less than three seconds, Kaelen snatched a heavy silver-plated steak fork from the table and drove it downward with brutal, calculated force.

The sharp tines pierced cleanly through the flesh of Corvo’s right hand, pinning it fast to the thick red wood of the conference table in a geyser of sudden blood.

Corvo let out a piercing shriek of absolute agony, his face turning pale as he tried in vain to pull his trapped hand free from the heavy cutlery.

The other syndicate leaders leaped back from their chairs in blind terror, reaching for their holstered weapons before freezing under the lethal gaze of the guards stationed at the doors.

"Let this serve as your first and last lesson regarding reality in this city, Corvo," Kaelen murmured, leaning forward with his elbows resting casually on the table.

"The only thing keeping you breathing right now is my lack of appetite for unnecessary paperwork," Kaelen added, his voice dripping with freezing authority.

Rafe casually swirled the whiskey in his glass, completely unbothered by the blood pooling near his papers, treating the violent spectacle as mere background noise.

"Listen closely to the general, gentlemen," Rafe finally spoke, his deep, velvety voice cutting through the terror in the room like a blade.

"The rules of this city are no longer written by tradition, but by the two of us," Rafe declared, his amber-gold eyes scanning the pale faces of the assembled crime lords.

Corvo groaned in pain against the table, his arrogance completely shattered as he realized the deadly mistake of underestimating the man by Rafe's side.

"Now that we have established the new etiquette for our board meetings," Rafe continued smoothly, ignoring the bleeding hand a few inches from his drink, "let us move on to the second item on our agenda."

"The establishment of a joint transnational defense network and technology grid to monitor any unauthorized genetic research across both hemispheres," Rafe stated, outlining the grand architecture of their future security apparatus.

No one dared to interrupt or object to the proposal, every single boss in the room nodding in immediate, terrified agreement.

Kaelen pulled a white linen napkin from the holder, calmly wiping the faint traces of blood from his fingers while Corvo was dragged away by two guards for medical triage.

The boardroom returned to an eerie, obedient quiet as the remaining syndicate leaders quickly signed the clauses of the new treaty without another word of protest.

When the meeting was finally adjourned and the room emptied out, leaving only the two rulers behind, Rafe stood up from his seat at the head of the table.

He walked around the polished mahogany surface, stopping right beside Kaelen’s chair with a slow, appreciative smile playing on his lips.

Rafe picked up a crystal glass filled with properly warmed whiskey and held it gently to Kaelen’s lips, his amber eyes shining with absolute devotion.

"Did you have fun today, General?" Rafe asked softly, a low note of amusement in his voice.

Kaelen took a slow sip of the whiskey, his ice-blue eyes meeting Rafe's gaze with an intense, matching fire as a rare, sardonic smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Next time, remind me to use a sharper fork, Cruz," Kaelen replied, pulling the mafioso down by his collar into a deep, possessive kiss.