Terms of Protection

The elevator doors yawned open to chaos. One of Varian’s men had a pistol drawn, scanning the lobby through the open glass doors. Another barked into an earpiece.

The moment they stepped out, the convoy was in motion—three SUVs, engines growling like something alive.

“Middle car,” Varian ordered, shoving Liora ahead of him.

“Stop manhandling me—”

A sharp pop cracked the air. The nearest SUV’s side mirror exploded in a glitter of glass. Liora froze.

“Move,” Varian snapped.

A man in a hoodie darted between parked cars across the street, phone clamped to his ear. One of Varian’s shadows went after him, but Varian didn’t wait to see how it played out.

The door slammed behind her as she tumbled into the SUV’s leather seat. Tyres squealed. The convoy peeled away from the curb in a tight formation—two in front, one behind.

Liora twisted toward him. “This is insane. You’re making me a target.”

“You already are one,” Varian said, pulling a phone from his coat. “It’s just you didn’t know how many people have you marked.”

“I don’t need you to play bodyguard—”

“Good,” he said, voice flat. “I’m not your bodyguard. I’m your insurance policy.”

“Insurance policies don’t come with armed caravans.”

He didn’t answer, just murmured into the phone. “Clear the south approach. Reroute to Penthouse entry. Yes, Penthouse.”

Her spine stiffened. “Penthouse?”

“You’re relocating. Tonight.”

“I’m not relocating anywhere with you.”

He looked at her then—really looked, his gaze pinning her to the seat. “You think that little apartment is going to keep you breathing through the week? You think those thin walls are going to stop a bullet?”

“I’ve managed this long—”

“You were almost grabbed tonight.”

“That was because of you.”

“Wrong.” His tone was cold enough to make the SUV’s heated interior feel like winter. “That was because of the people who want me. They’ll use you whether I’m in your life or not.”

Liora clenched her jaw, gripping the seatbelt. “So your solution is to lock me in a gilded cage?”

“My solution,” he said evenly, “is to make sure when they come again, there are ten men with rifles between you and them.”

She forced a laugh. “And what, I just live in your palace and owe you… what exactly? Rent? Gratitude? The occasional dinner date?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’ll owe me something.”

Her stomach dropped. “And here it is—the catch.”

“You think I’m hiding that?” His eyes didn’t leave hers. “I told you once before what I wanted from you. That hasn’t changed.”

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, but Varian’s tone stayed calm—like they were discussing the weather instead of her life.

Liora shook her head. “I’m not your mistress, Varian. I’m not some trophy you parade between your deals.”

“Good,” he said. “I don’t parade trophies. I keep them close.”

Her voice sharpened. “You mean locked up.”

The SUV turned sharply, city lights smearing across the glass. She caught a flash of movement in the side mirror—two motorcycles weaving through traffic behind them.

“Those yours?” she asked.

“No.”

He didn’t need to shout for the driver to floor it. The convoy surged forward, engines snarling. Liora’s heart slammed in her chest as the cycles darted closer, headlights cutting through the night.

The lead SUV swerved, blocking one bike, but the second zipped up alongside them. A masked rider reached for something at his waist.

Gun.

Liora ducked, covering her head just as Varian’s man in the front passenger seat leaned out with a pistol. Two shots—sharp, deafening—split the air. The bike wobbled, veered into a guardrail, and went down hard.

Her ears rang, and she realized she’d grabbed Varian’s coat without thinking.

He looked down at her hand, then back at her. “Still think your apartment’s safer?”

She let go like he’d burnt her. “You’re making my life worse.”

“No,” he said. “I’m showing you how bad it already was.”

The convoy sped onto a narrower street, flanked by buildings with blacked-out windows. She recognized the route—straight to the district where his headquarters loomed over the skyline.

Liora’s pulse pounded. “You can’t just decide where I live.”

“I just did.”

She laughed bitterly. “And if I refuse?”

He leaned back, not smiling. “The street won’t refuse back. You can walk away from me, Liora, but you won’t make it three blocks before someone tries to finish what started tonight.”

“You’re bluffing.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “If I were bluffing, you wouldn’t still be breathing.”

The SUV slowed as they pulled under a steel awning lit by floodlights. Armed men stood in neat formation, the kind of security that screamed you were entering another country.

Varian opened the door, stepping out first. One of the guards addressed him quietly; he answered with a sharp nod before turning back to her.

“Your choice,” he said, holding the door. “Walk inside, or walk out there.”

She hesitated. The night beyond the convoy was all shadow and distant sirens, the kind of dark that swallowed people whole.

Varian’s men watched her like statues.

“Inside,” she said finally, the word tasting like surrender.