After Surviving a Bribe-Free $40 Million Syndicate Brake-Sabotage Ambush, a Rebuilding Mafia Boss Faces His Traitorous Protégé Step-Brother and an African Grey Parrot in a Unanimous Battle for Rede...
Julian stood before the syndicate elders, his posture radiating a smug confidence that made my stomach churn. He gestured dramatically with one hand while the other rested lightly on the brass cage. The African Grey parrot inside, named ‘Shadow,’ ruffled its slate-grey feathers.
“My esteemed colleagues,” Julian announced, his voice echoing slightly in the grand boardroom. “It is clear that Leo, after his… unfortunate incident, is no longer fit to guide our enterprise.”
He swept a gaze around the table, meeting each elder’s eyes with a practiced sincerity. A tremor ran through me, a raw frustration I worked hard to keep hidden.
“His mind is clouded. He sees enemies where there are none,” Julian continued, his voice dripping with feigned concern. “He blames phantom saboteurs for what was clearly a tragic accident.”
The parrot, which had been silent until now, suddenly shifted on its perch. It cocked its head, its bright orange eyes fixed on Julian.
Then, a voice cut through the room.
“Yeah, midnight, Sal. That’s the one.”
It was Julian’s voice, unmistakable. The sound wasn’t quite natural, a little too precise, too flat. My gaze snapped to the parrot.
Julian froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He chuckled, a quick, nervous sound. “Ah, Shadow, always mimicking.”
But the parrot wasn’t done. Its head bobbed rhythmically, its mimicry eerily perfect.
“Cut the lines. Make it look like an accident. Forty million reasons to disappear.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. They were Julian’s voice, his cadence, the exact words I’d imagined someone saying to destroy my life. A sharp intake of breath came from across the table. One of the elders, old Mr. Mancini, leaned forward, his face a mask of disbelief.
Julian’s face, usually so composed, went pale. He yanked the cage closer to him, almost hiding the bird behind his back.
“Nonsense!” he blurted out, his voice now strained, losing its earlier polish. “Just a bird repeating sounds it heard on the TV, perhaps?”
The parrot squawked, a harsh, guttural sound, then repeated, “Forty million reasons.”
My eyes locked onto Julian’s. The room grew silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of the parrot’s beak against the cage bars. The pretense had shattered. Julian’s bravado had evaporated, replaced by raw, unadulterated fear.
The syndicate elders exchanged bewildered glances. This wasn’t the theatrical humiliation Julian had planned. This was something else entirely. Something colder, darker.
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