Chapter One hundred and Seventeen: The Wolf at the Table

Lucien entered without knocking. without announcement.

The doors to the old council room were built to intimidate, dark oak, twice the width of a man, but they swung open on his push, groaning across marble. The room beyond smelled of stale cigar smoke and the faint, iron tang of old blood sunk deep into wood grain.

Sunlight poured through tall, dust frosted windows, slicing the space into bands of light and shadow. It illuminated the long mahogany table in the center, the polished surface gleaming like still water.

Eight men sat there. Waiting. Watching.

He knew every man here. Knew their debts, their grudges, their ambitions. Knew which ones were willing to slit a throat for coin, and which ones would slit it just to feel the warm rush between their fingers.

Julio moved in behind Lucien and took his place at the wall just over his right shoulder, silent, solid, the way a right hand should be. He never sat. Never relaxed. His presence was a quiet reminder that Lucien didn’t walk into