Alexander I leaned back, silently watching him clutch the evidence like it was burning his hands.“She...she forced me,” he stammered finally, his voice breaking. “You don’t understand, Remington, I didn’t have a choice. If I hadn’t done what she wanted, she would have had me killed. She said it herself, that she would replace me with someone who would do as she asked without hesitation. What was I supposed to do?” His words tumbled out in a desperate rush. His excuses were predictable, but his terror was real, and that was what mattered. The truth was, I didn’t care whether Marceline had forced him or whether he had followed willingly. Both roads led to the same place.I folded my hands together on the table, my eyes never leaving his. “You must work on sounding more convincing when you’re lying, Brian,” I told him, my voice carrying the weight of command. The kind of tone that always made men like him sit up straighter.His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “What do you want from me,
AlexanderI pushed open the door to the private dining room, my expression carefully schooled. I was very aware that I was over fifteen minutes late since I had done so deliberately. I had arrived at the restaurant exactly on time but stayed in the car, watching the clock tick away. I knew Brian Hart was already seated inside, stewing, probably checking his watch every thirty seconds, feeling the irritation build. That was the point of my lateness: a man on edge was easier to read and far easier to control.As I entered, my gaze immediately found him. Brian sat stiff-backed at the polished table, his hands folded tightly as if strangling one another, his mouth pressed into a disapproving frown. His balding head caught the low light from the chandelier above, highlighting the vein that pulsed faintly at his temple. He looked exactly as I had expected him to; annoyed, impatient, and waiting to vent it on the first opportunity he had.But then the door closed behind me, and the soft sou
Grant barked out another small laugh, but it was sharp and bitter, not amused. “He's not just forgotten. Hell, he’s rewriting history. When he didn’t have the guts to sit at Marceline’s table, when no one with power gave a damn about him, we were the ones beside him. We followed him then. Not Dave. Us.”Kane’s jaw tightened, the bitterness in his voice plain. “And the least he could do now is listen. We’ve earned that much. But he doesn’t, not if Dave the ass kisser wants to do things another way. Who the hell is Dave anyway compared to us? We’ve been around longer than that kid’s been alive.”Oliver said nothing for a moment as he drew on his cigarette, filling his lungs before blowing another plume into the air. His silence weighed heavier than words. “He’s not respecting the code. He’s treating us like green boys fresh off the street, not the doyens we are. Even criminals follow something to keep things working. We all have a line we're not supposed to cross. And he’s crossing it.”
The meeting had ended in the only way Casillas ever allowed it to, with his voice thundering louder than reason. Grant had opened his mouth once more, trying to argue that betraying Marceline wasn’t the best course of action, but Casillas didn’t let him finish. With a sharp snarl, he cut him off, declaring the meeting over. His words weren’t a suggestion but a command, and though the men pushed back their chairs and rose, none of them moved quickly to leave.Grant, in particular, lingered, his eyes fixed on Casillas in open displeasure. The stare was bold, dangerously so, but Grant didn’t blink. Casillas caught the defiance in the man’s face and felt his temper flare. With an ugly twist of his lips, he barked at all of them to get out, his voice like a whip cracking through the room.That broke the silence. Chairs scraped back, footsteps shuffled, and the men began filing toward the door. But as the first of them reached the hallway, Casillas lifted a hand and called out sharply, “Dav
Casillas The whiskey burned slow as it slid down my throat, the kind of burn I liked because it kept me steady and sharp. I swirled the glass lazily, watching the amber liquid catch the light while Oliver droned on about our routes. His voice carried the weight of bad news, and I knew it before he even spat it out. “Our southern run was hit a few days ago,” he said, his eyes lowered. “Law enforcement set up an ambush, and we lost the shipment.” I tilted my glass and let the burn linger on my tongue before swallowing, the taste turning sour in my mouth. A muscle ticked in my jaw, but I didn’t interrupt. That route wasn’t just any line. It was the one tied to Bonafide, the one Marceline and I split the cut from. Bonafide’s dealings had always been steady profit. Losing a stream like that was irritating. I let my mouth curl in distaste, though I stayed silent. My phone on the table started to buzz. All seven men turned their eyes toward it like dogs scenting meat. I looked at
SusannaSomething didn’t add up. The way Conrad skimmed over certain parts, the way his gaze slid away all gave me the distinct feeling that there was more to the story that he wasn’t telling me.I set my chocolates aside, wiping a trace of melted cocoa from my fingers onto the napkin beside me."So what’s the plan now?" I asked.His eyes met mine then, and his sigh this time was heavier. "Mother hasn’t contacted me," he said slowly, "but I have my own ideas on how to help her." There was a beat of silence. "I’m hoping it’s something you will be able to help me with."And just like that, whatever comfort that had been growing in my chest over the last few minutes turned to ash. I felt it drop, heavy and cold, somewhere deep in my stomach.Why else would he be here? It wasn’t loneliness. It wasn’t regret. It wasn’t even an obligation. No, Conrad was here because he needed something. Because Conrad only ever remembered I existed when I was useful.I took the napkin I had been holding an