Chapter 1 - A Toast to Peace
Six hours earlier, Carter Blackwood had entered the Grand Wilshire Hotel knowing someone wanted him dead.
He simply did not know which guest had come to do it.
The private dining hall occupied the top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Los Angeles, turning the streets below into rivers of white and red light. A pianist played near the bar while waiters moved silently between tables.
Carter’s men controlled every entrance.
At least, he believed they did.
Dominic Crane waited near the windows. He controlled the ports north of the city and had spent three years fighting Carter over territory, contracts, and political influence.
Tonight was supposed to end that war.
Dominic opened his arms.
“Carter. You came.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Dominic laughed and offered him a seat.
Derek Santos stood behind Carter, as he had at hundreds of meetings. Carter trusted Derek more than any person alive. They had grown up in the same neighborhood, slept on the same apartment floor when neither could afford rent, and built an empire from borrowed cars and unpaid favors.
Marcus Webb stood near the wall holding a tablet. He had worked for Carter for only two years, but he knew every financial account, property, safe house, and legal arrangement connected to the Blackwood organization.
Marcus kept looking at Derek.
Carter noticed.
He noticed everything.
Dinner began with polite words and false smiles. Dominic proposed a division of territory. Carter listened without agreeing.
When the wine arrived, Derek poured Carter’s glass personally.
That should have reassured him.
Instead, it made Marcus turn pale.
Carter lifted the glass but did not drink immediately.
Dominic raised his own.
“To peace.”
Carter watched Derek’s reflection in the window.
His oldest friend was holding his breath.
Carter drank.
The wine tasted normal.
For thirty seconds, nothing happened.
Then his smallest finger went numb.
The sensation moved across his hand and climbed toward his wrist.
Carter set the glass down.
Dominic smiled.
Carter understood everything except the reason.
Derek had not betrayed him for money. Carter had paid him more than most executives earned in a lifetime. It could not be fear. Derek had faced gunfire without blinking.
Whatever had turned him had to be personal.
Carter looked toward Marcus.
Marcus stared down at his tablet.
Not surprised.
Guilty.
Carter’s heartbeat slowed.
He leaned back and forced his face to remain calm.
Dominic began explaining how Carter’s properties would be divided after his death. Derek would inherit the southern network. Dominic would take the ports. Several judges and police officials had already been paid to ignore the transition.
“You planned everything,” Carter said.
Dominic raised his glass again. “Almost everything.”
Carter smiled.
“You forgot to check whether I came alone.”
Dominic’s expression shifted.
Carter flipped the table.
The room erupted.
He drove one shoulder into a guard, seized the man’s weapon, and fired into the chandelier. Darkness swallowed the hall as Carter forced himself toward the kitchen.
His legs weakened with every step.
He heard Derek ordering the guards to stop him.
That voice hurt more than the poison.
Carter crashed through the service exit and stumbled into the rain.
He had no destination.
Only distance.
Four blocks later, his body failed.
As he collapsed beside the dumpster, one final thought passed through his mind.
May you like
Derek had poured the wine.
But Marcus had allowed him to drink it.
