Aslan stood over his father's body in cold, calculated silence, looking down at him with his face expressionless.
Kemal Russo, the Turkey mafia don, The Sultan Of The Underworld, was dead, killed with a clean shot through the head, killed in front of his men.
Ironic.
He had always said it would be a big dishonor if his men were to witness his death. He thought himself as immoral, untouchable. But it seems the untouchable has been touched.
His blood was pooling into the creaks of the marble floor. His skull had cracked open at the point of impact, dark red seeping into his silver hair. His eyes—once cold, once commanding, more feared—stared blankly at the ceiling. There was no dominance left in them. No presence. No power. No legacy.
Aslan should feel something, shouldn't he? Pain? Sorrow? Anger? But he felt nothing of the sort. Not rage. No pain. All he felt was annoyance. Annoyance because his father was dead and he was now the new capo of Istanbul's world of crime. There wouldn't be a coronation, no will read, no paper signed. As the dead don's heir, he was already the new capo as soon as his father drew his last breath. He now wore a crown of blood and expectations.
He inhaled a deep breath and raised his head, looking at the faces of the men. His, now. Still. Silent. Waiting. He now led them, commanded them. He was the capo now—but only if he proved himself first.
"Your capo is dead!" he shouted, looking from one face to another. All the men remained silent. None moved, none blinked, and no one dared meet his gaze. "Istanbul now has a new capo! But there will be no celebration when my father's killer is out there."
It was an assassination. Someone was paid to take out the capo and they did it clean. A professional job. Clean. Precise. Ruthless. They didn't even leave a single trace. If they hadn't made themselves his enemy, Aslan would have loved to have them in his cartel.
But there was no working with the enemy. There shall be only blood. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.
Aslan lowered his voice now, but it carried through the hall, razor–sharp. "The former capo would not be buried until his killer is found. We will not rest. We will not falter until the killer is found and we show them that The Black Veil are not weak. We were given that name for a reason."
A beat of silence passed.
"And we will remind them why The Black Veil is feared."
***
Kemal's death made headlines, just as Aslan had predicted. It was on every newspaper, new channel, the internet.
It was everywhere.
And Aslan was right beside him.
"Kemal Russo, dead. Killed with a gun to his head. One dark lord has fallen, and another is about to rise. Will his son be as vicious as his father?"
Aslan scoffed, the sound humorless, squeezing the newspaper and throwing it into the trash can. He leaned back on his chair, massaging his temple, his eyes closed.
"Will his son be as vicious as his father?"
He scoffed again. "Fucking idiots."
But hidden behind his scoffs and irritation, was the same question. Would he be as vicious as his father? Did he want to? But what he wanted didn't matter. What mattered was he now carried his father's empire—now his—and he will continue the legacy.
That was what he was born to do.
He wasn't born because his parents loved each other and they wanted to have a child they could love. No, his father had found a woman suitable to stick his dick inside and Aslan was made. He didn't even keep the woman around for Aslan to know this mother.
So he was born for a purpose. And he was going to fulfill that purpose. His needs and wants, his desires and passions didn't matter.
A knock pulled Aslan from his head and he ordered them in without opening his eyes.
"Capo," Cassian acknowledged, standing with his hand behind his back, his chin straight.
Aslan opened his eyes slowly and regarded Cassian. "Any news?"
Cassian was his newly appointed right-hand man, his assistant. His father had his, and Aslan was supposed to make Kieran his right-hand man once his father was dead. But Kieran was his father's man, not Aslan's.
Aslan needed his own men, appointed by him. People he could trust to watch his back. Kieran was a great man, but he was his father's man. He had loyalty for the former capo, not Aslan.
Kieran hadn't been so thrilled when Aslan had announced his decision, but he had taken the news like a made man and left with dignity.
"We have a name," Cassian informed.
Aslan was on his feet in an instant, his back rigid, his pulse quickening. It has barely been three days and his men already had a name. If there was one thing Kemal did right it was how he built his empire, like a military.
"Tell me."
"Kade Lennox."
Aslan was stunned shut for a moment, but he quickly recovered.
Kade Lennox.
Of course it would be him. The job was executed perfectly, flawlessly, and the assisan didn't even leave a single trace.
Kade Lennox, the legendary assassin, the most wanted man across multiple countries. A name whispered like a curse in the underworld. Capos and dons would kill each other to have someone like that under their thumb. But Lennox was a one-man soldier. He worked for no man but himself.
"Location?" Aslan asked, already moving. He crossed the room, pulled aside a painting, and pushed a brick.
The walls shifted, revealing a rack of weapons. Rows of polished steels, guns. Aslan armed himself quickly, methodically, his fingers moving from memory, muscles reflex, while Cassian recited the address.
"I'm going alone," he said once he was well-loaded.
Cassian's well-guarded expression faltered and he took a step forward but quickly caught himself, standing straight. "Capo…" He cleared his throat. "Leave this to us, and we'll bring you the assassin, dead or alive. However you wish."
Aslan walked back to his desk and slid his jacket over his holster. "My decision is finally, Cassian."
Even though he is the capo, he would still need to prove that he is worthy to sit on the throne. His allies and enemies would be watching, waiting. If they saw a weakness, they would strike without second thoughts.
Everybody wanted The Black Vile gone. They were a big threat to the world, and the world would stop at nothing to see them go.
Aslan didn't want this empire, he didn't want this life. He wanted nothing to do with it. But once again, the things he wanted didn't matter. This was his life, his purpose.
So as long as he lived, he was going to make sure this empire remained standing, remained thriving, remained feared. He was going to show his allies and enemies that he was a Russo.
And he would start by showing the world he was not scared to take out his father's killer himself.