Bound to the calloway's heir

Zane Calloway.  The first time I learned that loyalty meant nothing without power, I was twenty-five years old. It had taken my father's death to open my eyes to the cruelty of the world I lived in, and despite my years of being a tech-savvy investment guy, it didn't stick until the night that served as a turning point in my life. We were at the abandoned bunker downtown, one that reeked of intense perspiration, oozing a stench that lingered for hours, but I barely noticed. My focus was on the plump-looking man fidgeting in front of us. The subject of my lesson. His round-shaped face had been badly beaten with thick purple tones all over, his cracked bloody lip and swollen eyes with watery bags. Black blood seeped from both his nostrils, flowing down his chin to his neck. He held his groin with his hands, the spot where Damien and I had kicked him to the ground. He stood there, wheezing air through what remained of his lips, his breaths visibly labored. He wouldn't last much longer on that side of the ground. "Up!" I barked the words, and he hastily got on his knees, shivering hard with his hands tucked between his knees. A defeated pose. I squeezed the handle of the Calloway-customized chisel tightly with the tip pointed to his forehead, hoping I didn't look half as much as I was shaking inside. All I had ever done up until that night was crunch financial numbers and plot graphs, yet as a true Calloway heir, I had to put up a bold front, especially with my friends watching closely. My actions that night were a determinant of what the rest of our lives would be. I wasn't going to blow the chance. "Please.... let me go. I promise to disappear. I will be discreet, and no word of this will come out. "Please." The trembling man pleaded softly, his voice bringing me back to the task at hand. I could feel his saliva spittle on my wrist. He had closed his eyes in dread, but it had to be done. "Please..." he rasped. "I–I don't know what came over me. I never intended to be a snitch." Lies I crouched in front of him, tilting my head as I studied the pathetic excuse of a man who had helped destroy my father. Not just my father but the entire Calloway dynasty. Everything he had worked hard to acquire was on the line. "You didn't know?" My voice was controlled despite how distasteful I was feeling at that moment. "You didn't know that you sold him out? You ratted him out, the one man who has helped put food on your table for years! He had your family on his priority list." The man's throat bobbed. "I had no choice." "Oh, you fool. There is always a choice. My father had chosen loyalty. And look what it had cost him, you bastard, his fucking life. His empire." My shoulder tensed, a sharp ache radiated from my spine as I forced myself to stand tall. I had learned on my father's dying bed that emotion was weakness. That mercy was a privilege I could no longer afford. "We do not have all evening, Zane. Let's get this over with!" Damien yelled at me, his impatience clearly visible in his tone. "Zane." Ethan's voice cut through the thick silence that followed. "We need to get out of here." I barely heard him. My fingers curled around the handle of the knife in my pocket. Its weight felt light against my fury. The anger at seeing my old man, who was an enigma of strength, reduced to nothing, filled me with rage. When my father died, I promised I would burn down every man responsible. It didn't take me another twenty-five years to understand what was at stake, and the switch from being a law-abiding citizen to a criminal had taken just a few days fueled with revenge. I had to look after my father's empire. It was what he would have wanted me to do. Armed with my friends' skills, we started with our rival's downlines, cutting off their supply chains, bleeding them dry in the market, and sending warnings about their operations. But now, I was done warning the assholes. I was ending every one of them, beginning with the one before me. He started it. He had to go first. The man must have sensed the switch in my expression because he started shaking his head frantically. "No, no, please, I beg you, Mr. Calloway, have mercy." "You brought this upon yourself. You should have thought of that before becoming a rat." In one smooth motion, I withdrew my knife. The blade caught the dim light as I moved. My fingers tightened around the chisel, the cold metal biting into my palm. For a heartbeat, I hesitated, the man's plea echoing in my ears. Then, with a swift, deliberate motion, I drew the blade across his throat. It felt easier than I had imagined while training for the moment. It felt good. I grinned with his blood splashed over the gray shirt I wore, giving it a stain that would never wash off, even with the most potent bleach. A gurgled gasp was the only sound he was able to make as his blood spilled out from the cut. Then silence. I exhaled, relishing the satisfying moment as I wiped off the blood stain on my chisel on his shirt, enjoying the thrill of starting the revenge act. I have always been told that the first kill was always the hardest, but this one felt good, perhaps because he deserved it. By that single act, I crossed the line from being just another investment business owner to being the head of the most powerful criminal cartel in Los Angeles. Behind me, no one spoke. Not Liam, not Ethan, not Noah or Damien. We had made our choice long before the night. We had recited the lines, and it kept echoing in my head as we cleaned up the mess of what had become of the snitch. Before that night was over, I learned another lesson, one my father would have taught me if he hadn't been killed. Power is a delicate thing. Too much of it made men reckless. Too little made them desperate, yet I preferred to be in control regardless. "Well done Zane," Liam said. I just lifted my head, nodded at him, as he said, "How about we hit Lounge to celebrate this?" "Right away?" I asked, glancing over at the spot he had dropped. I turned back to Liam. "What better way than to get this out of our memory than the liquor and the ladies?" Liam said, grinning brightly at me. I shrugged slowly as I ignited the engine. Liam was right, perhaps some bottles of whiskey would help me live with the reality of killing a man. We would drink until they ran out of bottles, burying our heads in the bosoms of random blondes. By morning, every last man responsible for my father's death would be gone. That was the order. And by the time we were done, the Atlas Group was going to be untouchable because we would seize control of their businesses, their power, their entire goddamn empire. Tapping the wheels as I eased the car into the chilly night, I knew what the news headline would be the next day, and it would be nothing related to my supposedly law-abiding billionaire investment company, the Atlas Group.