"Conrad." The door to my office opened with a creak as Nate invited himself in. The familiar sound of the hinges gave me a moment's warning before his voice followed, a mix of exasperation and resignation.

"Conrad? Has it been a year already? Last time I checked, you still had a month to go," I reminded him, leaning back in my chair. I couldn't resist smirking as I recalled our bet—a foolish wager on his part, really. After losing to me in a boxing match, Nate had to call me "Prince" for a year. It was a lighthearted challenge, born from our competitive nature and perhaps a few too many drinks.

I raised an eyebrow at him, expecting the usual banter. My pen clinked softly as I placed it on the desk that had claimed my attention moments before. But Nate didn't reciprocate the playfulness. Instead, he stood there, a furrow forming between his brows and phone in his hand.

"Devin's gone." I immediately sobered up when I heard my old friend's name, stretching out my arm for the phone. The door clicked as Nate closed it and hastily slipped the device into my palm.

"Speak."

"He's gone Conrad," I recognized Wade's voice immediately, the Circle's advisor, the most trusted man in the syndicate. My hand clenched into fist and I took a deep breath to calm myself down.

"When?"

"Yesterday. He had a fight with Paige. She almost killed him. It was a big one, for real this time." I sighed, rubbing my temples and slowly rocking in my chair. Why would he disappear in the middle of a gang war? Something wasn't adding up.

"I'll talk to her."

"Good luck with that. But I don't think it's going to help." Wade groans in frustration. "Anyways, you do know you need to fill in for him right?"

The weight of Wade's words settled heavily on my shoulders. Devin, our leader and the glue that held our syndicate together, had vanished at the worst possible time. With rival clans circling like vultures, this was the last thing we needed. Without him, we were vulnerable.

"I don't need to be reminded." My voice colder than I had intended it to be.

"Alright then. Be safe." I heard a click as I handed the phone back to Nate. My finger tapped on the wooden desk as I considered my options. I needed to salvage the situation somehow and fast. It wouldn't be long until our foes get wind of this information.

"Call for a meeting. I want to meet the boys before the party."

"Roger," As Nate turned to leave, I caught his arm.

"And Nate... find Paige. I need to talk to her personally."

He gave a curt nod and left, the door closing behind him with a decisive click. I stared at the empty chair across from me, the enormity of the situation settling in. Devin's disappearance was more than just a personal crisis; it was a threat to everything we'd built.

Four years ago, the air in our territory was thick with the scent of loss. The night the Syndicate struck, everything changed. Our clan, once a formidable force, suffered devastating casualties. Families were torn apart, dreams shattered. At the heart of this chaos was Dominic Rossi, the man who had risen to become the most feared mafia leader in the country. He wasn't just another criminal; he was a tyrant who sought to rule with an iron fist, swallowing up clan after clan, leaving only despair in his wake.

In the aftermath, Devin's father, Wayne Hudson, a man of resolve and vision, called for a meeting that would alter the course of our lives. He gathered the remaining leaders of six clans- Cahills, Dawsons, Nixons, Blaines, Russells and us, the Maxwells. Together, our fathers forged an alliance known as "the Circle." It was a pact born from necessity; a fragile union formed to reclaim our strength. We fought back against Dominic, reclaiming lost territories and protecting our families from further harm.

But peace was always a delicate illusion. Recently, whispers of Dominic's resurgence filled the streets like smoke—threatening our businesses, our territories, our very existence. We were at the dawn of what would become the biggest gang war in history.

I sat in my dimly lit office and glanced at the antique clock on the wall; one of the few things I had retained from when it was my father's office. My phone buzzed with a reminder about my parents' anniversary party. I sighed, thinking of Thea, and the promise I had made to pick her up.

Taking a deep breath, I dialed the number for the limousine service. "I need a limo sent to Thea's place. The best you've got, with top-notch service."

Hanging up, I typed out a quick message to Thea: "Hey, I'm really sorry, something urgent came up at work. I can't pick you up myself, but I've sent a limo for you. It'll take you to the party in style. Please understand."

As I hit send, a pang of guilt tugged at my heart. I hoped she would understand, even as I feared the look of disappointment in her eyes.

My phone rang distracting me from the beautiful woman in my thoughts. Spencer Dawson. "We've got a problem," he said, his voice strained and urgent. In the background, I could hear a cacophony of shouts and the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

"I'm on my way," I replied, my heart pounding as I saw the location he sent me. I grabbed my gun and raced to the address—a warehouse we used for storing our weapons.

When I arrived in about twenty minutes time, chaos greeted me. Another gang was in the midst of a violent raid, attempting to make off with our stash. The same stash that Randy had threatened to sell off.

I ducked behind a stack of crates, surveying the scene. Our guys were pinned down, taking cover wherever they could find it. The rival gang was better equipped than I expected, their automatic weapons spitting fire across the dimly lit warehouse.

Spencer spotted me and waved frantically from behind an overturned forklift. I took a deep breath, then sprinted to his position, bullets whizzing past me.

"What's the plan?" I shouted over the din, my back pressed against the cold metal of the forklift.

"We're outgunned and outnumbered," he said grimly. "But if we can get to the armory in the back, we might stand a chance."

I nodded, peeking out to assess the situation. The armory was at the far end of the warehouse, a daunting distance under the circumstances.

"Cover me," I told Spencer. "I'll make a run for it."

He nodded, then started firing in controlled bursts, drawing the attackers' attention. I waited for a lull, then bolted from our cover, weaving through the maze of crates and machinery. Shots rang out behind me, but I kept moving, adrenaline propelling me forward.

Reaching the armory door, I fumbled with the lock, my hands slick with sweat. Finally, it clicked open, and I slipped inside, grabbing as many weapons and as much ammunition as I could carry.

"Got it!" I shouted into my radio. "Bringing the cavalry."

With renewed determination, I retraced my steps, unloading on the rival gang with newfound firepower. Our guys rallied, the tide of the battle shifting as we fought back with everything we had.

It was only a matter of time until they retreated, but we managed to catch one of their guys before they did. "Lock him up," I ordered, "I have unfinished business with him." Two of our men dragged away the bleeding man.

I turned to Spencer, who was now standing with his arms crossed, deep in thought.

"Something's not sitting right," he said, his jaw clenched. "These guys... they're new."

"I could tell. There are things that need to be discussed."

Spencer gave me a sharp nod and a pat on the back. "Not here. The boys will join us in another hour anyway. I'll meet you there."

I nodded and sighed, looking at the gory aftermath.

"And clean up. Can't have you looking like a rag for the party," Spencer said, trying to lighten the mood.

I watched him walk away, then turned to the mess before me. Blood and bullet casings littered the floor, the stench of gunpowder still heavy in the air. I took a deep breath, then motioned to a few of the guys to start cleaning up.

Once the immediate chaos was under control, I made a pit stop at my office before heading home. I glanced at my appearance on the tinted window of my car. The clothes were covered in mud and dust, one of the sleeves torn on the side. I sighed, my mother would have my head if she saw me like this. Especially on her special day.

I made a quick call to Thea, ensuring she got in the limousine safely.

I reached the estate with minutes to spare. I noticed cars lined up along the driveway and guests arriving for the party. The festive atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the chaos I had just left behind. Before I could make my way inside, Nate approached me, a serious look on his face.

"Everyone's waiting for you in the office," he said.

I nodded, glancing briefly at the gathering guests. "I'll be right there."

I made my way through the house, the sounds of laughter and music fading as I approached the office. The mood shifted immediately as I entered the room, where the members of the Circle were already seated, their expressions grim.

Spencer Dawson
Miles Nixon
Trevor Russell
Ryan Cahill

In another world, we would've been each other's competition, trying to take one another out to reach the top.

"We've got a lead," Spencer began without preamble. "Our prisoner talked."

I took a seat, motioning for him to continue.

"The new syndicate calls themselves 'The Black Talons.' Their leader is someone named Marco Santini. They're looking to make a name for themselves by taking over established territories and resources."

Ryan chimed in, "They've been hitting smaller operations to build up their arsenal and manpower. Today's attack was a bold move, but it confirms they're serious."

I leaned forward, processing the information. "Do we know where they're based?"

Spencer shook his head. "Not yet, but our guy mentioned a warehouse near the docks. It's a start."

"Let's wait and watch. I have a feeling there's more than what we're being shown."

"I agree," Trevor supported my statement. "It's not easy for a gang their size to get their hands on advanced equipment. Moreover, they hit our biggest warehouse. They've got a puppeteer behind them."

The room sat in silence for a long minute before I broke it. This had just become a lot bigger than we had anticipated.

"We need to be prepared," I said, crossing my arms on the long conference table. "They'll hit us again. Increase security at all our facilities. They'll probably hit our shipments next."

As a round of affirmations went around the room, I heard Miles speak up for the first time in the meeting.

"And you're in control, why?"

I tried to contain my anger as Miles challenged me, his smug expression testing my patience. Every word he spoke felt like a needle, sharp and provoking, pushing me closer to the edge. I took a deep breath, reminding myself of the consequences if I lost control.

"Devin is MIA." I answered.

"We know," he leaned back in his chair as he spoke nonchalantly. "How does that make you the chair?"

"Miles-"

"It's Mr. Nixon or boss." He said, interrupting Wade.

"Right. Mr. Nixon. Before all of you took over, all your fathers had agreed that the Hudsons would hold the chair since they were the founders. The Maxwells, being the first to join forces, would serve as the second-in-command." Wade explained patiently.

"Interesting. I would have thought the right went to the head of the biggest clan." Miles said, standing up from his chair and buttoning his suit. "But I guess daddy's boy here wouldn't like reporting to me. Considering I'm the 'big bad bully'." He air quoted and walked to the door.

I stood up from my chair and walked towards him until we were a foot apart. I clenched my fists, feeling the heat rise in my chest. Our opposing personalities had always put us at odds. Where he was fiery and decisive, I was analytical and cautious. We had butted heads countless times, but this felt different—more personal, more volatile.

"You are a respected member of this alliance. If you are not on board with me leading this meeting, fair enough. But you cannot disrespect me in my home, on my turf."

"Funny you say that," He scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "From where I stand, you had been dismissed from the moment this meeting began with a missing member. Lucas Blaine doesn't show up, nor does he send his second-in-command, and our supposed leader doesn't seem to notice his absence. If I didn't know better, I would call this bias."

Deep down, I knew he meant well. He cared about the alliance, perhaps more than anyone else. His strategies had saved us before, yet his challenges to my authority felt like a personal affront.

"You're crossing a line Nixon," Spencer participated in the conversation. "You know the territory is under surveillance."

"Well surveillance didn't stop me, did it?" Miles argued. True, he was present at this meeting despite obstacles, given the gravity. But he was an influential man himself and on the other hand the Blaine territory was being heavily monitored. Lucas faced a critical challenge: keeping his gang in line while navigating the pressures of police surveillance. He knew that any overt action could lead to arrests, so he needed to strategize carefully. He needed to sit back on this one.

Miles' anger was justified, but so was my judgement. I paused, my eyes searching his. In that moment, I saw the frustration mirrored back at me. He didn't want to undermine me; he just wanted to protect what we had built together.

"That's enough," My tone was stern as I put an end to this exchange. The anger that had clouded Miles' judgment began to dissipate. Our differences were what made them stronger, but I had to learn to listen, to respect his input, even if it felt like a challenge to my leadership.

"I agree. Enough heart-to-heart for today." Miles said, patting Spencer on the back. "I'm not going to oppose you, Conrad. Sure, I don't agree with this nepotism taking place, but I'll find my peace with it."

In this room, amid the lingering tension, we forged a path forward—not as rivals, but as allies, each with a crucial role in their shared mission. We shook hands and I caught a glint of a smile playing at his lips. I mirrored his emotion, relieved. 

I had enjoyed this feud as much as he did.

"Well. Let's get back to this expensive party you've organized. Wouldn't want to all that money to go waste now do we?" Miles said opening the oak doors.

"And Mr. Maxwell. We'd appreciate if you cleaned up a bit." He pinched his nose between his fingers and walked out laughing to himself.

Bipolar motherfucker.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT: DIVIDED LOYALTIES
2619 words

~

Vote⭐️
Follow💗
Comment 📝
Add to your reading lists📚

~

Thank you for reading!
Have an awesome day ahead!

~

You're reading Craving The Mafia Prince.