93 The Bloodstained Ledger: Loyalty, Betrayal, and Survival in the Dark Heart of Baltimore

Declan’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. The casual authority in Tommy’s voice had crossed a dangerous line—from ambitious second-in-command to open usurpation.

“A transition,” Declan repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Is that what you call treason, Tommy?”

“Treason implies there’s still a king worth serving,” Tommy replied smoothly, taking another step closer to Declan. He reached inside his suit jacket, not for a weapon, but for a folded document. “The board of directors for Vale-Hayes Logistics signed off on an emergency leadership transfer this morning. All I need is your signature, Declan, and you can retire to some nice, quiet island where your bleeding won't interrupt our cash flow.”

Norah watched from inside the dark cabinet, her breath trapped in her throat. She could see the dark stain spreading wider on Declan’s bandages. If he didn't sign, Tommy would finish him right here. If he did sign, Tommy would still kill him the moment the ink dried.

Declan looked at the paper in Tommy’s hand, then let out a low, gravelly laugh that turned into a sharp cough, speckling his lips with red.

“You think buying off a few shell-company directors makes you the boss?” Declan rasped. “You don't even know where the primary ledgers are kept, Tommy. You don't know who holds the debt.”

“I know enough,” Tommy snapped, his smooth facade slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing the desperate, power-hungry thug beneath. He stepped right up to Declan, kicking the pistol away from the wounded man's reach with the toe of his shoe. “Sign the paper, Declan. Or I save the Russo crew the trouble and put the next bullet through your skull myself.”

Declan raised his chin, defiant to the very end. “Do it then.”

Tommy’s hand dropped toward his shoulder holster, fingers wrapping around the grip of his automatic.

In the dark cabinet, Norah’s heart stopped. Her hand brushed against a heavy, steel-encased industrial oxygen tank resting beside her knee.

She didn't think. She acted.

With a surge of pure panic and adrenaline, she shoved the heavy metal tank forward, tipping it out of the cabinet with a loud, metallic crash that echoed off the tile walls like a thunderclap.