Mufasa

"You're early today, Sire," Margot Lewinsky, the sixty-year-old, witty bar owner whistles the minute I push open the door, the little bell above it ringing out, making the few patrons who sat chatting at the wooden tables turn their heads. I inhale the welcoming mix of beer and hot croissants, my eyes glowing, letting them know I'm not one to be messed with. They resume their chatter as Margot leads me towards my favorite table, then swivels around on her heels, en-route to the kitchen to get my usual.

When she returns, she hisses lowly into my left ear. "There's something huge I've been meaning to tell you. Please don't take it lightly," she pleads, setting down the tray of fresh bread and beer on the table. "No other ear must hear of it. Please. My life is on the line here."

I exhale, my forehead beginning to pull together into a frown. Margot hardly sounds worried like this, so whatever it is she wants to divulge, must really be serious indeed. "Someone trying to test me, huh?" I ask, helping myself to a slice of bread. I chew slowly and pick up the jar of maple syrup on the tray, then proceed to spread it generously on the piece I'm holding, just the way I like it.

When I notice the way her eyes dilate, half-open, half-closed, I cock my head to the side in curiosity. "Have you been drinking again? You don't look so well. Did George trouble you again?"

She shakes her head quickly, glancing around in fright. "No, it's not George. Listen to me, Mufasa. This is not a joke."

"You've got my ears," I sigh. "Spill."

Margot is one of the few people who truly mean well for me. She's more like a mother to me. One I hold very dear, and I hate to see her worried like this. "Who's colluding against me this time?"

At least once every month, Margot warns me to be careful, but none of her previous warnings were tinged with so much urgency like this. She's fiercely loyal to the Rhys Family, which is a huge bonus for me as I find her a useful tool in gauging how the general public view my father's administration. But lately, with my father's health deteriorating rapidly, and my days to become the new leader of the Rhys Syndicate drawing dangerously closer, I have more pressing problems to take care of than a bunch of never-do-wells conspiring a hit-and-run episode, or a robbery.

"Cesaro again. He's not playing around this time, Mufasa."

I frown. "He's been awfully quiet ever since he got out of jail, Margot. I have people keeping tabs on him. They would have reported to me if they suspected he's up to something suspicious."

"No, no, it's not the way you think," she says, rolling her eyes. "I don't know how he does it, but he has your men fooled. Big time. He comes around here by nine every night, together with three other men and they sit at the table over there..." She points at a table at the farthest end, hidden conspicuously by a short wall close to the counter. "They speak in codes most of the time, but your name is always on their lips, even if it's a whisper. I always hear it. They don't know I'm loyal to you. They don't even know we're close at all. So, whenever I serve them, they don't stop talking."

"So did you by any chance hear of the specific plans they made?" I ask, wiping a bead of sweat off my left brow.

Margot nods sharply, excitement dancing in her eyes. "Yes! I heard him tell his men that the best time to take you down is at midnight, while you sleep. I think you have to tighten security..."

"Okay, noted. But how exactly does he plan in doing that? Will it be disguised as a robbery attempt? Or will they straight on launch an attack?" I take another bite of soft bread, holding her gaze. "It's not that I don't believe you, Margot. I just need more details, so I can plan on the next course of action."

She bites her bottom lip, forehead crinkling with sweat. It gets so hot here most mid-afternoons. "Well, I don't know exactly how. But, Sire, you can't take this lightly. You're the true heir to the Rhys Syndicate, and pesky nobodies like Cesaro should know their place. He's in no position to scheme, as he's not related to you in any form. I don't know what exactly he has against you, but it's time you put a stop to it."

I shrug. "My hands are tied. I can't do anything groundbreaking unless he makes the first move. So far, all I've heard is talk."

"He's tried messing with you head on before, and ended up in jail. His attack this time would be something out of the ordinary, I'm positive. You're a powerful man, Valentino. You can shut him up forever if you want."

I lift one brow. "Would you have me murder him?"

"Well..." She trails off, looking around us frantically to make sure no one is looking our way. "I didn't imply that exactly..."

"So what are you saying? Because unless I have him killed, he's just going to keep coming here every evening to scheme with his boys. I can't carry him everywhere I go. I can't lock him up in his house. Not when our paths haven't crossed ever since he got out of jail."

She guffawed. "Mufasa, come on. You can actually lock him up if you want. In fact, that might be the best option."

I study her, taking in the tired bags underneath her eyes, and her crinkled forehead. These past few months has really dealt a harsh one on her — her good-for-nothing husband causing her to work more hours so she could be away from him and his alcohol abuse. It's a miracle how she still manages to keep this place up and running. "I appreciate this, Mag. I will never forget your loyalty."

She rolls her eyes. "You know I always look out for you. You mean a lot to me, Mufasa. And besides, I've never really liked men like Cesaro. He reminds me so much of..." She trails off, her eyes filled with pain.

I raise a hand. "Please don't say his name. He's an asshole."

She exhales. "I hate the fact that I'm like an open book with you. It still hurts. A lot."

"You've got to move past the pain. He's so undeserving of you. I'm sure you've heard this many times before. You better start believing it."

"I'll keep that at the back of my mind. Enjoy your meal, Sire," she adds after a mock bow. I watch her move away to another table, her face breaking into her signature smile and wonder how any reasonable man would bring so much grief to such a jovial, kind woman. Margot deserves the whole world, and our conversation reminds me that I do need to keep a closer eye on Cesaro.

Cesaro was a conman through and through. As much as I hate to admit it, I hate the thought of rumor of him conniving. I dread it, in fact. Because it'd been incredibly hard to pin him down and send him to jail the last time. He's that sleek and nimble. I'm my father's legitimate successor. The next heir to the Rhys Syndicate, and Cesaro has always had a problem with that. He'd failed countless times to weaken Father's reign on the downtown clubs and businesses, and he's somehow gotten it into his head that my reign will finally be his breakthrough.

Bastard.

I finish my meal, tuck a couple of bucks in Margot's hand — always way more than what the meal's worth and step outside, heading for my Mercedes. Harun, my Beta and secondhand man, leans against the car with a cigarette in hand, puffing away. As I draw closer, he flicks the half-consumed cigarette down and crushes it with his foot. "That was fast," he notes. "Well fed, I suppose?"

I yawn. "Margot's a sensation. You should try her breads one day. I thought you'd finally join me in there today, in fact." He opens the door for me, and I slide into the backseat.

"I told you I was full. I had lunch before we stepped out." He shuts the door and gets into place behind the steering wheel.

"Still, you could have kept me company or something. What sort of beta lets his alpha out of sight even for a minute?" I grab the briefcase that's on the seat next to me, flick the locks and pull out a neat, organized stack of papers.

"What's with you lately? You've been so whiney, like a Cheshire cat. Got some blue balls, Muff?" I can't see his expression, thanks to the sunglasses he's wearing, but he sounds really amused.

I fight the urge to throw a jab at him. "It's not that. I just don't like eating alone as much as before. And it is as they say, misery does love company," I shrug.

"You, my dear are the furthest thing from being miserable."

"Because I come from a wealthy family? Did you forget that the rich do have problems too?"

"Yes, I do believe. But you are Mufasa Rhys. You always find your way around those problems. Always. It's one of the numerous things I admire about you."

"Not without effort and stalling..." I'm interrupted from saying anything more when my phone suddenly trills. I dig my cell from my suit jacket and peer at the caller ID, holding my breath. It's Mother. Just like I thought.

"Hello, Mother," I say coolly. "Miss me already?"

"You need to get home now, Mufasa."

I tense, the hair at the back of my neck prickling at the urgent tone of her voice. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Your father wishes to speak to you. Be fast before he goes to sleep again."

"Is it something serious?" Father is dying from lung cancer, so lately every conversation feels serious. The atmosphere is not the same. He's running out of time, but trying to see that he leaves everything as it should be before he leaves the earth. I hate how frantic it has made him. It makes me sick and anxious.

I always knew I'd be next in line. I just didn't expect it'd be too soon. There's a clear difference between watching someone else bear a whole shit load of responsibilities from a close distance, and having those responsibilities placed on your shoulders. He hasn't handed over yet, but I can feel the weight coming down on my head already. It's like a cloud. A dark, dreary, stormy cloud.

I'll be twenty-eight in a couple of months. I'm too young to run an empire so large and ruthless. As a king, you'll need to always have not only your subjects' blessings and respect, but also the men around you as well. The men around you are the real power, and you're just a figurehead — a channel through which that power gets dispensed. If they don't find you worthy enough, you can't do anything about it.

The problem is, I'm decades younger than the men who served my father. I'm afraid that my youth might be a problem for them in the long run. I won't truly know who's loyal to me and who is not until my father's six feet under.

"Yes. It's very serious. Please come home."

I swallow hard. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Mother heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Mufasa."

I can't even begin to imagine how she's truly feeling. Her marriage to father was purely arranged. A contractual agreement between their families. Her father's smaller empire was merged together with the formidable Rhys Syndicate. They hated each other at first, but as the years whizzed past, their arranged marriage turned into one filled with fierce love. So now, she wasn't just losing a husband, but also the love of her life.