Later that night, Zayden walked into a private meeting room.
But this wasn't a sit-down with his team.
This was a meeting with the underworld's elite.
Zayden—actually, Hazard King— settled in at the head of a table in a reinforced room with no windows. A mask covered his face, totally black and pretty intimidating.
His voice came out distorted and robotic, unrecognizable.
Around the table, five other figures sat, all masked and anonymous.
On screens on the walls, a dozen more faces appeared via video call, also masked and unknown.
This was how the mafia operated.
No one knew anyone's real identity. Not even Hazard King.
Especially not Hazard King.
He was a legend, a myth. The king of the underworld. The guy who had more turf, more cash, and more power than anyone else in the crime world.
And tomorrow night, he was going to war.
"You all know why you're here," Hazard King said, his altered voice echoing in the room.
