Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Expansion

…

Joanna POV:

I sat in the dim light of my chamber, the soft click of knitting needles filling the silence as I worked with deliberate precision. My belly, swollen with the weight of another child, now three moons along.

Beside me, Cersei fidgeted with a needle and thread, her brow furrowed in frustration as she attempted to sew. Patience was never her strong suit—my daughter's fiery spirit was far better suited to swords than delicate cloth.

As my fingers moved automatically, my thoughts wandered to my recent journey to King's Landing. Back then It had only been a moon since the city settled in the aftermath of the Lannisport purge. I could no longer delay my presence at court, though every part of me had resisted the summons. The moment I set foot in the Red Keep, I felt the weight of the king's leering gaze.

Aerys' words still echoed in my mind, venomous and sickly sweet. He had mocked me, his lascivious remarks thinly veiled under the guise of courtly jest. I had stood my ground, smiling through clenched teeth, refusing to let his vile words break my composure. I'd endured worse for the sake of my family.

But what haunted me more than the king's taunts was the purge of Lannisport. I told Tywin everything when I reunited with him in the capital, sparing no detail. The city had been bathed in blood, the streets thick with the stench of fear and death. His face remained impassive as I recounted the horrors, though I knew him well enough to sense the cold fury simmering beneath the surface.

We returned to Casterly Rock after a moon in King's Landing, and just like that, Tywin's seed in me had taken root. Three moons have passed since my return, and the signs of new life were becoming unmistakable.

I glanced over at Cersei. My little girl, now seven, had once brimmed with confidence. Now her hands trembled slightly as she sewed, the task bringing her no joy or satisfaction. A sigh escaped me as I remembered the night that had shattered her innocence.

She had woken up screaming, claiming she had seen a man with knives for fingers standing in her room. The image was so vivid in her mind—a hooded figure with blades protruding from his knuckles, watching her from the shadows of the balcony.

I comforted her that night, brushing the nightmare aside as childish fancy. Casterly Rock was impenetrable, a fortress that had stood for centuries without fear of intruders. It was impossible for anyone to scale the sheer cliffs to reach her balcony, and yet Cersei was convinced. The terror in her eyes had been real—too real to dismiss. The Lannister guards found no sign of an intruder.

Rumors of a hooded man had begun circulating throughout Lannisport, a figure who seemed to slip through the city unnoticed, leaving whispers of fear in his wake. I couldn't help but wonder if Cersei's nightmare had been born from these tales.

Cersei's needle clattered against the table, and she huffed in frustration. I smiled faintly, though my heart ached. My daughter, who excelled at reading, noble etiquette, even sparring, had no patience for the domestic tasks expected of her.

"You're getting better," I said softly, though the tangled mess of thread in her lap told a different story.

"Ugh, why do I need to do this?" Cersei said in annoyance.

"You'll think it's useless now, but in the future, you'll be happy you learned this," I said gently. After all, sewing with friends and having casual conversations was a way to gauge someone's mind, to probe their character.

Knitting, which I was doing, was also relaxing and calming. It helped me get by. Now that I was pregnant and feeling the sickness, I had been told to lessen my workload.

"Sigh, Mom…" Cersei said nervously.

"Yes, daughter?" I looked at her with a soft smile.

"Why hasn't the hooded man visited me recently?" she asked in a sad tone.

My eyes widened. What did she mean by that? Was she having nightmares again?

"Oh, my sweet girl, don't worry. He's not going to hurt you," I said, putting down my knitting and going to hug her.

"It's not that, Mother. He used to bring me sweet pastries that I enjoyed, but he hasn't come recently," Cersei said, sounding disappointed.

"Are you telling me he's your friend now and not a fearsome intruder?" I asked, worried about her. Not long ago, she had been terrified of the hooded man, and now he was her friend?

I brushed it off as childish imagination, convinced that her dreams of the hooded man stemmed from her new room, now separated from Jaime, her twin brother. It was the first time since birth that they'd been apart, and I couldn't help but feel that this change had unsettled her.

I sighed, trying to soothe her. "It's alright, my little cub. The hooded man isn't real," I said softly, though a trace of worry crept into my voice. I felt a pang of guilt, knowing she now slept alone, where once her brother had been beside her, offering comfort in the dark.

"He's real, Mom! He's real, and he's my friend!" Cersei's voice rose in desperation, her eyes wide with conviction. "He told me if I was a good girl, he'd bring me pancakes and pizza."

I froze, uncertain how to respond. What was this pancakes and pizza, I had no idea at all. No food like that exist. I simply nodded to my confused seven name day daughter, not knowing what else to say. 

My daughter had truly gone mad, it seemed. Her imagination had run wild, and I wasn't sure how to bring her back to reason.

Maybe she'll grow out of this phase. I thought.

With a weary sigh, I returned to my knitting, the rhythmic click of the needles offering some small comfort.

Cersei, after a long pause, turned back to her sewing, she was pouting, the reason was that she knew I didn't believe her words. The tension in the air lingered between us. 

…

Third POV 

Richard sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, his fingers lightly tapping the polished wood as he surveyed the faces of the seventeen men before him. 

All capos—his made men, the backbone of his growing empire. Each had proven their loyalty and worth, surviving the violent birth of his mafia family in the heart of Lannisport's slums. They were young men who understood power, and today, Richard intended to give them more.

The room was thick with anticipation. Every capo knew what this gathering meant. Today was about expansion, a step beyond the territories Richard had already tamed. 

He had claimed control of the slums, a place once abandoned to squalor and filth, a breeding ground for crime and misery. But under his command, the slums had transformed.

Six moons ago, when his family first took root, the streets had been as foul as any in Westeros—dark alleys where lives were snuffed out for a few coins, where hunger and hopelessness clung to the people like a second skin. 

But Richard, with a vision that far surpassed mere criminal ambition, had pumped coin into the market, revitalizing the broken economy of the slums. Merchants returned, stalls reopened, and commerce flourished under his watch. The market, once barren, was now a bustling center of trade.

Crime had plummeted, not because of some newfound lawfulness, but because of Richard's iron grip on the underworld. He had executed a brutal purge five moons ago, wiping out any who dared defy him. 

Those who once preyed on the weak now either served him or were buried in unmarked graves. His purge had sent a message—Richard was in control, and the streets were his to command.

Even the city's homeless population, particularly among the children and teens, had seen a stark change. Richard had taken them in, molding them into soldiers for his growing family. 

They now stood as a visible symbol of his power and influence, no longer ragged or desperate, but armed, disciplined, and loyal. The slums, once a festering wound on the city, were now the foundation of his criminal empire.

Richard leaned forward, his gaze hard as he addressed the capos. "Today marks a new chapter," he began, his voice low but commanding, yet resonating with authority. "We've taken the slums, brought order to chaos. Now, it's time to spread our reach. The rest of Lannisport has grown complacent—ripe for the taking."

The capos sat in silence, their eyes locked on Richard. Each man had been waiting for this moment, the chance to extend their influence into the wealthier parts of the city. But they were well aware that this expansion came with a new set of challenges, ones that would test their loyalty, their strength, and their ambition.

"I'll be promoting a few of you," Richard continued, his words measured and deliberate. "You've earned it. But remember this—what we're building isn't just about power. It's about creating something that will outlast all of us."

A murmur of agreement swept through the room, though the tension was palpable. Richard stood, motioning to a map laid out on the table, divided into five key districts: the slums, the northern, western, eastern, southern, and central sectors of Lannisport. His finger hovered over the northern district.

"Addam," Richard said, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. "You're no longer captain of the scouts. From now on, you're the underboss of the northern district."

Addam rose from his chair, pride swelling in his chest as he crossed the room. He kissed the back of Richard's hand in a gesture of respect, and Richard embraced him with a brotherly hug. The room erupted in applause.

One by one, Richard called out the names of those chosen for promotion.

"Laenor, you will be the underboss of the western district." Laenor stood, receiving the same honor as Addam. 

"Conrad, you'll be the underboss of the eastern district." Conrad's jaw tightened in acknowledgment as he approached Richard, nodding solemnly as he accepted his new role.

"Lastly," Richard said, his voice lowering as if to draw everyone in, "Jon, you will be the underboss of the southern district."

At the mention of Jon's name, a ripple of surprise passed through the room. Jon, a towering man of 7 feet, rose slowly from his seat. At only 20 years old, he was one of the oldest in Richard's inner circle, but his reputation for ruthlessness was well-earned. There are three slash scars across his face, a reminder to not mess with the boss.

Jon approached Richard, his usually fearsome demeanor faltering as he got closer. Trembling slightly, he dropped to his knees, not just kissing Richard's hand as the others had, but lowering himself to kiss Richard's shoe. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. This was no ordinary show of loyalty—this was submission born of fear.

Jon stood, visibly shaking, and wrapped Richard in an embrace. "Thank you, boss. I won't let you down," he said, his voice trembling.

Richard returned the hug with a nod, his eyes sharp and unreadable. He knew Jon feared him more than anyone else in the room. Jon had seen what Richard could do—had witnessed his power firsthand. And unlike the others, Jon understood what it truly meant to be in the presence of someone like Richard.

The room remained quiet, no one daring to speak after the display.

Richard leaned back, his gaze sweeping over the room, ensuring that every pair of eyes was focused on him. "Firstly, we take down the other groups. Their businesses, their connections—I want them all under our control," he declared, his voice steady but menacing. "Every merchant, every business owner. I don't care what it takes—persuade them."

The capos exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They knew what Richard meant by "persuasion," and it wasn't as simple as friendly negotiations. Blood would be spilled; power would shift.

One of the capos cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "What about the city guards?" he asked cautiously. "The only reason they haven't come down hard on us is because the last time they did, twenty-one Lannister men and the captain of the city guard were killed… by you." The capo's words hung in the air, a reminder of Richard's ruthlessness.

Richard's lips curled into a sly, dangerous smile. "Don't worry," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "Kevan Lannister won't allow it. After all, we made a deal."

The room fell into a tense silence. Richard's words carried weight, the implication sinking in with each passing second. Richard had already "spoken" to the lord of the city—one way or another, Kevan Lannister was in his pocket. The capos understood then just how deep Richard's influence ran. Even the Lannisters, the most powerful family in the West, were being manipulated by him.

Richard leaned forward again, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculated confidence. He continued laying out the rest of his plan—each step designed to bring the wealthier districts under their control, each move carefully thought out to avoid drawing unnecessary attention from the higher lords of the realm.

When he was finished, he looked around the room, the silence heavy and expectant. "Alright then," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "Is everything clear?"

A murmur of assent rippled through the room. The capos understood their roles, and the path forward had been laid out. Richard's empire was growing, and soon, there would be nothing left in Lannisport outside of his grasp.