Chapter 16

A lot happened after Mexico.

The moment I was done with Javier Morales, I was on the next flight back to California.

Satisfied I’d cracked the mystery behind my failed consignment, yes. But the revelation itself sat like poison in my gut.

Dante Gambino.

The old bastard hadn’t sabotaged me for money. He hadn’t wanted my routes. He hadn’t considered me a threat.

He did it because of my father.

To men like Dante, I wasn’t Rodrigo Valdino. I was Hermes Valdino’s son. Collateral damage. A tool. A convenient weakness to exploit.

That was what pissed me off. Not the lost money. Not the damaged routes.

The disrespect.

Everything I built belonged to me. The coastal routes. The partnerships across Europe. The business relationships stretching through Portugal, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Nigeria, and Colombia. California. All mine.

Yet every time these old men looked at me, all they saw was my father’s son.

Javier swore loyalty in exchange for relocating his family out of Dante’s reach. Business. Nothing more. In this world, people didn’t survive on kindness. They survived on usefulness.

I moved him to Texas. He’d be my eyes and ears moving forward. The man knew people. Knew ports. Knew routes. And he owed me his life.

The High Table Council meeting arrived sooner than expected. Days slid by. Business stabilized. My Russian partners remained loyal. Portugal stayed profitable. The African investments performed. California remained mine.

I called my father a few days before.

“I sorted out the issue.”

A pause. Then: “Who’s responsible?”

“You’ll find out at the meeting.”

Longer silence. His voice dropped. “Rodrigo. Don’t fucking ruin this for me. If it’s the one thing I ever ask you to do — “

“Don’t worry.” I smirked. “See you soon.”

I ended the call.

Two hours of preparation, then I was headed to the council estate. The manor sat deep within heavily wooded grounds. Hidden. Protected. Cameras. Bodyguards. Armored vehicles. Enough security to start a small war.

I stepped out into the cool evening air. My bodyguard followed at pace. The manor stood like a monument to excess — massive, old, built from other people’s misfortunes. I walked through the entrance hall and approached the chamber doors.

They opened.

Every conversation died. Every head turned.

I entered.

The nine most powerful men in the room sat around an absurdly long dining table in dim light, the scent of cigars and expensive cologne hanging thick. Don Hermes Valdino — California. Don Dante Gambino — Sicily. Don Viktor Sokolov — Russia’s logistics empire. Kenji Takamura — Japan’s private security. Alejandro Ruiz — Cuba’s hospitality networks. Arman Petrosyan — Armenia’s transport corridors. Miguel Ferreira — Portugal’s maritime operations. Hassan Al-Farouq — Dubai’s real estate. Jean-Luc Moreau — France’s luxury distribution.

The vacant presidential seat sat empty at the head. Waiting. Watching.

I took my seat beside my father. Made a mental note to switch seats permanently.

Don Leonardo — acting chairman since Corleone’s death — stood. “Gentlemen. Tonight we continue deliberation on the next president. The nominees will state their intentions.”

One by one they spoke. Promises. Achievements. Vision. The same self-congratulatory nonsense every powerful man loved hearing himself say.

Then only two remained. My father. And Dante.

Hermes stood. Spoke about unity. Peace. Cooperation. Mutual prosperity. People nodded. People listened.

When he finished, Dante rose and smiled.

“Beautiful speech, Hermes.” His accent dragged across every word. “Truly inspiring. One might think you’ve already won.”

The room tensed.

“But if we’re choosing a leader, shouldn’t we evaluate his entire legacy?” His eyes shifted to me. “What does it say about a man whose own son failed so spectacularly? Customs intervention? Exposure? If he couldn’t prepare his successor, how can he lead all of us?”

My hands curled into fists.

“I found the person responsible.”

The room fell silent. Every eye landed on me. Even Dante stopped smiling.

“I found the man who informed authorities about my shipment. Someone paid him to sabotage me.” I stood, distributing documents around the table. Bank transfers. Account records. “The account used for payment belongs to Sunset Holdings LLC.”

Every head turned toward Dante.

He looked at the papers. Then at me. Then he started laughing. Clapped. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Bravo. Honestly, bravo.” His eyes gleamed. “How long did it take you?”

Leonardo slammed his hand on the table. “So it’s true.”

Dante shrugged. “Doesn’t get truer than that.”

Leonardo exhaled. “By authority granted under the council charter, you are removed from presidential consideration effective immediately.”

Dante stood. Straightened his jacket. Looked at my father. “Congratulations, Hermes.”

Then his gaze shifted to me. Held there. No words. None needed.

The message was clear. This wasn’t over.

He left. The meeting continued. Votes. Discussions. Politics.

I didn’t care. I’d achieved what I came for.

I walked out of the manor, irritation still crawling under my skin. Even after exposing Dante. Even after clearing my name. I knew how these men would remember tonight. Not Rodrigo. Hermes’s son. The kid who finally got one right.

I hated it.

By the time I reached my car, I was already thinking about something else. Something significantly more pleasant.

I got in the back seat. The engine started.

A moment later, my driver glanced into the mirror. “Don. The boy from Esteban. He’s been picked up.”

My attention sharpened.

“He’s on his way to the house.”

For the first time all night, I felt myself relax.

The mere thought of it made me hard as fuck.

After dealing with politicians, liars, and power-hungry old men — I needed a distraction.

And I knew exactly which one was waiting for me.