The name was unfamiliar. No one from the Donovan clan documented with initials. They didn't even send representatives. For the time that the clan was in its prime, Cormac Donovan had been the voice and the hand.
Now someone else had written in his place. This was certainly becoming even more interesting.
Sulien leaned back and studied the letters. XL.
His mind ran through names trying to piece two and two together. Xander? Xavier? None of them were associated with Donovan territory. And "L"...? What did it stand for?
"Grimm," Sulien called out without raising his voice.
Immediately, the door creaked open. Grimm never left Sulien's side fully, he always hovered, ready for the next order.
"Look into this," Suilen said, sliding the piece of paper across. "Alias XL. They're connected to the Donovan clan. Look for offshore records, shell companies, disappearances, all from the past three years."
Grimm involuntarily frowned at the mention of the Donovan clan, did Sulien really mean that Donovan clan?
Twenty years ago, the Donovan clan had been a name no one dared to even utter. And Cormac Donovan was the man who built an empire on the ruins of six others. He even once had an entire warehouse torched — just because someone tried to bribe his lieutenant.
They called him The Ghostfather.
He adopted only that title, had no heir — until recently. Rumours had it that a new hand has been making moves but no one had ever seen this person. They gave him the name, ghost heir.
Grimm looked down at the piece of paper. "We've never encountered that name. No records. At least not from their side. Is there anything specific?"
"No. That's the problem."
Grimm took the paper from the table and scanned it. It was indeed from the Donovan clan. Where did Sulien get this from? He didn't remember delivering it to his boss.
"It could be a misdirection," Grimm added. He flipped the paper over, searching for any clues. There was nothing.
"Or something new," Sulien said quietly. He looked out towards the huge windows, rain had started to pour again, softly tapping against the glass. Sulien sat back, index finger resting against his lips. For once, there was a flicker of curiosity.
He didn't know who XL was.
And that bothered him.
"Either way," he finished, "I want eyes on them. Whoever they are."
Grimm nodded and slipped out.
***
The room was quiet—too quiet for the caliber of men seated within it.
At the long, iron-forged table sat five of the most dangerous men in Northern England, their suits tailored and clinging to their skin perfectly. The walls of the large room held a silence that weighed on the men seated.
At the head of the table sat a man known only by whispers and titles. Cormac Donovan, the Ghostfather. A silver-haired man and a face lined with time and countless wars that have both been won and lost. He exuded the kind of presence that made lesser men tremble without a word. His wooden cane leaned beside his chair— it was more symbolic than functional as Cormac didn't need help standing.
To his left, a man leaned back, his scarred fingers drumming on the table, showing signs of a little impatience. "You should know that they're expecting blood," he said. "Every clan will be watching. The gala is an opportunity, I tell you" The man's Irish accent rang out in the big room.
"That's too risky," another chimed in—his tone calmer, older. "We don't need to show ourselves just yet"
The two men sat still, glaring at each other. They were obviously in opposition but all they could do was lay out their opinions. The final say, after all, belonged to the Ghostfather.
Cormac let out a low hum as if he had been thinking for a long time, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "Let the others wave their flags and bare their teeth. We will remain as we are. We've survived years under the shadows without parading ourselves like fools."
There was a brief silence after Cormac had spoke. It was as if they were letting his words settle deep inside them.
Then, from the far end of the table, a shadowed figure finally spoke.
"I'll go alone."
The voice was smooth—neither too deep nor soft. It sounded soothing, measured and quiet but with an edge beneath it like a sharpened blade sheathed in velvet.
Heads turned to look at the person who had just spoken.
He sat with one elbow nonchalantly resting against the table, fingers absently threading through thick hair, something he did unconsciously when he was in deep thought. Like a habit. But nothing else about him moved.
The man was notoriously known as XL.
No one in the room referred to him by any other name.
Not because they didn't know.
But because in this business, names were power. They were leverage. And XL wasn't to be spoken of lightly.
One of the older men exhaled, studying him. "Alone means exposure. We still don't know how deep the Vexleys are embedded in Hydemoor security."
"If I go with a trail of 'guards' behind me, they'll think we're afraid," XL replied calmly. "Or worse—desperate."
"Are you speaking of the negotiation?" Cormac asked, eyes piercing at XL.
XL didn't answer, he only nodded, leaning back into his chair.
"You think this Sulien Vexley will buy what we're offering?" The Irish man asked, his voice a little mocking.
"If he's smart, he won't refuse."
Cormac's lip twitched, almost like a smile. "You're confident."
XL looked at him without hesitation. "Only about what I can control."
"And if things go sideways?"
XL paused, then shrugged slightly like he couldn't be bothered. "Then they go sideways."
There was another beat of silence. XL might seem irrational and way too nonchalant, but everyone could agree on one thing: he always got the job done. He was a figure who had climbed his way up over the years and had earned his respect from everyone. He was second only to the ghost father.
Cormac leaned forward, resting both hands on the cane's curved head. The air thick with tension.
"You're certain this is necessary?"
"Yes, sir." XL's reply was quick.
The old man studied him, eyes pale and clouded, but still sharp beneath his slight wrinkles of age.
Then he nodded.
"I trust your judgment. You've never given me a reason not to."
XL inclined his head respectfully, saying nothing.
Another man at the table cleared his throat, interrupting the silence that followed. "Then… should we reconsider attending the gala as a show of strength, maybe not as loud and flashy but to show that we're still operating?"
Cormac waved the notion away with a flick of his hand. "Let the peacocks play their game. There's no time to waste on those fancy show parties."
There were no further objections. The Donovan clan would not be attending the show of power at the gala.
And just like that, the matter was closed.
As the others stood and began gathering their files, murmuring plans and exit strategies, XL remained seated. Slowly, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat.
From it, he drew a small square of lavender fabric.
A handkerchief. The initials XL stitched elegantly into one corner.
He looked down at the fabric, his thumb tracing along the soft edges. He folded it as the room emptied, straightening the creases of the fabric.
In front of him, Cormac sat, staring at the fire that burned low at the far right of the room. He lay his cane beside him and let his eyes drift back to XL.
"You'll do fine," he said quietly, his eyes softening a little.
XL tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.
"Yes… sir."
Then he rose, his coat whispering behind him as he stepped into the darkened corridor, alone.