Chapter 18 - The Breaking of the Rebellion
It happened in less than a second.
The moment Arthur Vance's hand dove toward his holster, the ambient peace in the Grand Syndicate Hall shattered. But Cyrus didn't attack in a blind, savage frenzy. Years of chaotic cage fighting were gone, replaced by the instinct to protect his anchor.
With a low, thunderous growl that vibrated through the marble floor, the massive German Shepherd launched himself forward. He didn't leap toward Vance's throat; instead, he slammed his heavy, muscular frame directly into the edge of the mahogany table, jolting it violently upward.
*CRASH!*
The heavy table slammed into Vance’s chest, pinning him against his chair and knocking the concealed firearm flying out of his grip. The gun skittered across the polished marble floor, coming to a halt near Victor’s combat boots.
Before Vance could recover, Victor and the estate enforcers had already closed the distance, their weapons drawn and leveled at Vance’s loyalists, who instinctively reached for their own sidearms but froze as dozens of red laser sights painted their chests.
"Drop your weapons!" Victor’s voice roared like thunder. "Anyone moves, and you don't leave this room!"
Vance struggled frantically against the heavy mahogany table pinning his torso, gasping for air, his face purple with rage and panic. He looked around the room, desperately expecting his co-conspirators to back him up. But not a single capo moved. Every single man at the horseshoe table sat frozen in absolute terror and awe, watching the silent efficiency of Julian Hart’s enforcers—and the terrifying, controlled precision of the dog that had just neutralized a coup in three seconds flat.
Julian walked slowly around the table, stopping directly in front of the pinned, gasping rebel leader. He looked down at Vance with cold, absolute indifference—the look a king gives a peasant who tried to steal the crown with a wooden spoon.
"You wanted a vote of no confidence, Arthur," Julian said quietly, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "Let's take a vote right now. All in favor of Arthur Vance remaining a part of this syndicate... raise your hand."
Absolute, deafening silence filled the hall. Not a single hand went up. Not a single capo even breathed too loudly.
Julian turned his gaze toward Dominic, the veteran enforcer from the eastern docks who had questioned him the day before. Dominic met Julian’s eyes, swallowed hard, and gave a slow, respectful nod. One by one, every regional boss in the room nodded in silent, absolute submission.
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"The vote is unanimous," Julian murmured, looking back down at Vance. He signaled to Victor with a flick of his wrist. "Take him out of my sight. Strip him of his territories, his assets, and his title. If he ever steps foot in this city again, feed him to the river."
"Yes, Boss," Victor said grimly, hauling the struggling Vance up by his collar and dragging him toward the heavy oak doors as the defeated rebel cursed and thrashed in vain.
