14: The Mexican Standoff

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

POV: Julian Vane

The air in the grand dining hall was so thick with tension it felt like breathing through a wet shroud. This wasn’t like the gala; there were no cameras here, no polite society to maintain a facade of peace. This was a gathering of wolves.

At the head of the long obsidian table sat Dante, looking every bit the King of the Underworld in a midnight-blue suit that made his eyes look like polished basalt. To his left, I sat in the seat of the consort, the auditor who had effectively dismantled the Russian threat.

Across from us sat the Jimenez brothers: Mateo and Javier.

They didn’t look like the local Mafia. They didn’t care for the quiet elegance of the Morettis. They wore vibrant, expensive shirts unbuttoned halfway down their chests, heavy gold chains, and watches that screamed of cartel wealth. Mateo, the elder, had a jagged scar running through his eyebrow, while Javier, the younger, couldn't keep his eyes off me. It wasn't a look of lust; it was the look of a man wondering how much a Vane would scream if he started cutting.

"The wine is excellent, Moretti," Mateo said, swirling a glass of vintage Petrus as if it were water. "But we didn't fly three thousand miles to discuss the notes of a French grape. We came for the docks. Specifically, the deep-water berths you took from the Vanes."

"The docks are no longer Vane property," Dante replied, his voice a cool, level vibration. "They are Moretti territory. And I don’t lease my territory to outsiders, Mateo. Not even for Jimenez gold."

Javier let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You call yourself a King, but you have a hole in your pocket. The Russians are gone, the Irish are hiding, and your own Enforcer tried to sell you out. You need us. You need the hardware we brought to the Cathedral, or you won't survive the weekend when the other families realize you're bleeding."

Dante’s expression didn't change, but I felt the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. I knew that look. He was deciding which part of Javier to break first.

"We aren't bleeding," I intervened, my voice cutting through the male aggression like a cold blade. "We’re cauterizing."

The Jimenez brothers turned their gaze to me. Mateo tilted his head, intrigued. "The Golden Prince speaks. I heard you were the one who broke Mikhail. I find that hard to believe. You look... fragile."

"Fragility is a mask," I said, leaning back and meeting his stare. "Just as your bravado is a mask for the fact that the DEA has seized your three main routes in the Gulf. You didn't fly here because you wanted to expand, Mateo. You flew here because you’re desperate for a new entry point into the States. The Vane docks are your only hope for survival."

The silence that followed was absolute. I saw Dante’s hand twitch on the table a silent sign of approval. I had just laid their cards bare.

Mateo’s eyes flared with a dangerous light. He set his glass down with a heavy thud. "You have a sharp tongue, Vane. I wonder if it’s as sharp when you’re begging for your life."

"He doesn't beg," Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal snarl. "And he’s a Moretti. Address him as such, or this dinner ends with you leaving in a box."

Javier’s hand moved toward his waistband. In an instant, the Moretti guards standing along the walls leveled their submachine guns. The Jimenez bodyguards mirrored the movement. It was a perfect, crystalline moment of death. One sneeze, one twitch, and the room would be a slaughterhouse.

"Let’s not be impulsive," Mateo said, raising his hands slowly. "Javier, sit back. We are guests."

Javier settled, but the venom in his eyes remained.

"Julian is right," Mateo continued, his tone shifting into something more business-like. "We need a route. You need the weapons to maintain your absolute rule over this city. The 'hardware' we have in the Cathedral isn't just rifles, Dante. It’s electronic. Signal jammers, encrypted comms, and the kind of surveillance tech that makes the NSA look like amateurs. With it, no one can move against you without you knowing a week in advance."

"And the price?" Dante asked.

"Access," Mateo said. "Two berths at the East End docks, under our control. No Moretti inspections. No paperwork. We bring our cargo in, we move it out, and you get a ten percent cut of the gross."

Dante looked at me. It was a silent consultation, a level of respect he had never shown anyone else.

"Ten percent is an insult for the risk of a federal investigation," I said. "Twenty percent, and the 'inspections' are done by me personally. If a single ounce of your product ends up on a street I haven't authorized, I’ll sink your ships myself."

Mateo laughed, this time with genuine respect. "You married a tiger, Moretti. He has more bite than you."

"I know," Dante murmured, his eyes fixed on me. "Twenty percent. And the hardware is delivered to the Cathedral on Saturday morning for testing. If it’s as good as you say, we sign the berths over."

"Deal," Mateo said. He stood up, signaling to his men. "Until Saturday, Butcher. Try to keep your tiger on a short leash. He’s liable to get someone killed."

"I don't believe in leashes, Mateo," Dante said, standing to his full height. "I believe in loyalty. A concept I suspect you’ll learn the hard way if you cross us."

As the Jimenez brothers were escorted out, the tension in the room began to dissipate, but my heart was still racing. I looked at the table, at the ruined dinner and the cold wine.

"You're shaking," Dante said, moving toward me.

"I’m not," I lied, though my fingers were indeed trembling.

He didn't argue. He pulled me up from the chair and tucked my head under his chin, his arms wrapping around me like a suit of armor. "You were incredible. You saw their weakness before I even had the chance to probe for it."

"They’re desperate, Dante," I whispered into his chest. "And desperate men are the most dangerous. They aren't going to give us that hardware. They’re going to try to use it to take the docks by force on Saturday."

"I know," Dante said, his hand stroking my hair. "That’s why we aren't going to the Cathedral to test equipment. We’re going there to end the Jimenez line."

I pulled back, looking into his dark, obsidian eyes. "You're going to kill them all?"

"I’m going to make sure that by Sunday morning, the only name anyone in this city fears is ours." He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. "Are you ready for the blood, Julian?"

"I’ve been ready since the basement, Dante."

He picked me up, and for the first time, I didn't feel like a Prince or a prisoner. I felt like a Queen of the Damned, and the throne was finally within reach.