Chapter 5 - The Absolute Power And The New Hotel Owner
The atmosphere inside the Grand Plaza ballroom had shifted from elegant celebration to a suffocating hostage situation without a single weapon being drawn. The wealthy guests, who mere minutes ago were sipping vintage champagne and mocking the working class, now stood completely paralyzed by fear. The name 'Sylvester Stallone' echoed in their minds. It was a name associated with unsolved disappearances, hostile corporate takeovers executed at gunpoint, and an absolute, terrifying grip on the city's power structure.
Vivienne Cross stood shivering amidst the ruined white roses and shattered porcelain. The crimson gown that had been her armor now felt like a target painted on her back. She looked frantically around the room for her husband, Charles, but he had quietly backed away, melting into the crowd, too terrified to stand by his wife’s side.
Sylvester Stallone slowly looked around the stunned room. His fair, weathered face betrayed no emotion, but his piercing eyes memorized every face, every reaction. He was a king returning to a rebellious court.
At the entrances to the ballroom, the heavy brass doors were suddenly pulled shut. The subtle click of the locks echoed loudly in the quiet space. Ten men in identical dark suits stepped out from the shadows of the service corridors and the balcony stairs. They did not draw weapons, but their military posture and cold expressions made it abundantly clear that no one was leaving. They stood at absolute attention, waiting for a single command from their boss.
"Thomas," Sylvester said, his deep American accent cutting through the terror of the room as he addressed the Hotel Manager.
"Yes, Mr. Stallone?" the Manager replied instantly, his white-gloved hands still locked behind his back in a show of complete deference.
"There seems to be a misunderstanding regarding the management of this property," Sylvester said coldly, his gaze locking onto Vivienne’s terrified, pale face. "This woman claimed she would buy the hotel tomorrow."
"A foolish statement, sir," the Manager said quickly, refusing to even look at Vivienne.
Sylvester took a slow, deliberate step closer to Vivienne. She flinched, instinctively raising her hands to protect her already stinging, red cheek. But Sylvester didn't raise his hand again. He simply stared down at her, letting his sheer presence crush what little defiance she had left.
"Now tell them who this hotel belongs to," Sylvester commanded the Manager softly.
The Hotel Manager turned to face the crowd of elite guests. He cleared his throat, his voice projecting across the grand ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Manager announced, his tone formal and rigid. "For the past five years, the Grand Plaza Hotel has been the exclusive, private property of the Stallone Syndicate. Every brick, every chandelier, and every employee belongs to Mr. Sylvester Stallone. You are standing in his house."
A low murmur of absolute dread washed over the crowd. The billionaires and politicians realized they had been holding their secret meetings, their illicit affairs, and their private galas inside a fortress owned by the mafia. Every secret they had whispered in these halls was likely recorded and cataloged by the man standing before them.
Vivienne’s face immediately turned pale, a sickly white that contrasted violently with her crimson dress. The champagne bottle she had used to humiliate him felt like a death sentence she had eagerly signed herself.
"You own it," Vivienne choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn't know. Mr. Stallone, I swear to you, I didn't know."
"Ignorance is not a defense, Vivienne," Sylvester said, addressing her by her first name for the first time. The familiarity was far more terrifying than a threat. "You demanded I know my place."
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"Please," she begged, tears finally welling in her eyes, smudging her expensive makeup. "I was drinking. I was trying to show off for my friends. It was a stupid, arrogant mistake."
"You told me to wait outside," Sylvester continued, his voice dangerously even. He gestured to the locked doors where his men stood guard. "But I prefer the indoors. It seems you are the one who is no longer welcome in my house."
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