Chapter 27 Turf War
After Eric finished all the necessary paperwork for Anna such as verification, oath signing, identity logging, and the boring administrative nonsense, she officially became a recognized member of the Blade Clan. Technically, she was under my branch of the clan, and because I knew she probably had nothing in her pockets, I ordered that she be given an advanced bonus immediately. Knowing her personality already, I could tell she probably needed to buy something important—maybe clothes, maybe toiletries, maybe snacks, who knew but it was better she didn’t start her job broke.
Right now, she was wearing the official maid uniform usually worn by the maids in this estate. And the very first thing I told her, without any hesitation was to cook me a nice meal.
Eric looked happier about that than she did.
I invited him to join me, mostly because I knew he’d sulk outside the dining room door if I didn’t. Now here we were, seated in the dining room of my apartment, the same place I had barely used before Anna walked into my life. The room had always been spotless, but lifeless. Now, though, it felt warmer, more alive, the air swirling with the most intoxicating aroma.
Eric sat directly across from me, gripping his cutleries like a starving prisoner. He’d wrapped a napkin around his neck so tightly, as though he was about to operate heavy machinery rather than eat dinner. His eyes were wide, unblinking, focused entirely on the kitchen doorway.
And he was salivating.
I sighed and shook my head.
Even Wheezy, who sat curled comfortably on my lap, had been stretching his neck and twitching his nose toward the kitchen for the past thirty minutes. Every few seconds he let out a soft, satisfied purr, clearly enjoying the aroma that was drifting through the apartment like some enchanted cooking spell.
Finally, Anna pushed the kitchen door open and stepped out carrying a large tray. The scent intensified immediately. Eric straightened like a soldier hearing boot camp orders. Wheezy stood up on my lap, his paws pressed into my stomach. And as she approached us, I couldn’t deny it, I was impressed.
She served our plates with elegance, moving with surprising grace for someone who used to kick down doors on CIA missions. On the plates was an exquisite dish—Black Truffle Risotto topped with gold-leaf shavings and seared foie gras. A true rich-people dish. The creamy rice had a shine that promised flavor, and the delicate steam rising from it made the air hot and savory. The foie gras glistened on top, seared to perfection, and the thin gold leaf at the edges caught the light like tiny sparks.
It looked like something a five-star restaurant would charge hundreds of dollars for.
The moment the plates hit the table, Eric didn’t wait for permission. He dug in like a man whose soul depended on food. I calmly picked up my fork and tasted the first bite. It was warm. Rich. Silky. Perfectly seasoned. The fragrance of black truffle melted on my tongue with an almost sinful depth.
Anna stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do until I told her, “Sit and eat with us. You cooked it.”
She blinked, then nodded and took the seat beside me, serving herself a portion.
Even Wheezy started meowing insistently, tapping my arm with his paw as though trying to remind me I had a responsibility as a cat owner. With a sigh, I scooped a tiny amount, barely enough for a sniff and offered it to him.
He devoured it.
Eric, on the other hand… finished his food within minutes. Not minutes—seconds. One moment he was chewing like a polite human being, and the next moment his plate was empty. Clean.
Then he looked up and realized we were all staring at him.
He froze.
Anna raised an eyebrow. I stared blankly. Even Wheezy paused mid-lick.
Eric swallowed. “I… uh… I apologize, boss,” he said, his face turning red. “I got carried away.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I don’t blame you. The food is too sweet.”
Anna smiled as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Don’t flatter me,” she said. “I only learned culinary skills because of an undercover mission. They needed someone who could pass as a high-class chef.”
I snorted. “Who knows… maybe you’re on an undercover mission right now.”
For two seconds the room was silent, then Anna abruptly pointed at me, widened her eyes dramatically, and said, “Boom! You’re under arrest.”
Everyone burst into laughter.
Even Wheezy meowed as if he understood the joke, which somehow made the laughter even louder. The dining room suddenly felt like a real home instead of a polished, cold space for formal meals.
The warmth of it almost made me forget the stress that had been building all week.
But reality always returns.
After we finished eating, Eric helped Anna clear the table while I leaned back and rubbed Wheezy’s head absentmindedly. But my mind wasn’t settled. It couldn’t be. By the time I excused myself from the dining room and returned to my office, the weight of responsibility slammed back into my skull.
My phone had been buzzing nonstop.
Every call from a prominent clan member carried the same message: attacks. Hit after hit. Assaults across multiple turfs. Properties vandalized. Men beaten. Some were hospitalized. Some territories were threatened. And the problem wasn’t even logical, some of these groups weren’t fighting for turf. Some weren’t rival Mafia groups. Some weren’t even criminals with business motives.
Some people were simply attacking us… out of spite.
Out of jealousy.
I ran my hands through my hair and exhaled heavily. The clan was under fire, and pressure was building from all directions.