Shipment

The room was dim, lit only by the warm amber glow of my desk lamp. I sat in my leather chair, the glass of whiskey in my hand barely touched.

My jaw ached from how tightly I’d been clenching it, my patience hanging by a thread.

Marco walked in, his face tight with hesitation. That hesitation already told me the news wasn’t going to be good.

“They only sent thirty percent,” he said quietly, like speaking it any louder might make it worse.

I blinked once, slowly. “Thirty… percent?” My voice was calm—too calm.

Marco swallowed hard. “Yes, boss. Straight from Vicenzo’s men. That’s all they said you’d be getting this week.”

I set my glass down with a soft clink. “And did they give a reason?”

Marco hesitated. “They… said the rest will come when the ‘time is right.’”

That did it. My calm cracked like glass. I pushed my chair back sharply, the legs scraping against the polished floor. “The time is right?” I repeated, my tone dripping venom. “Since when does Vicenzo dictate what’s right for me?”

Marco stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. Smart.

I paced toward the window, my mind running a hundred miles a minute. The skyline outside was just a blur of lights.

“This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t charity. We had a deal—payment in full, no excuses.”

I turned sharply. “Get four of his best men. The ones he relies on most.”

Marco’s head jerked up. “You want them… alive?”

“Alive,” I said coldly. “Alive, and in our basement before midnight.

I want Vicenzo to feel the weight of every missing piece in his crew. No one steals from me and walks away breathing easy.”

Marco gave a curt nod.

“Consider it done.”

The night played out exactly as I’d envisioned—swift, brutal, and precise. By 11:42 PM, Marco and the others returned, dragging in four battered men. They were breathing, but barely. Their hands were bound, blood staining their shirts from the struggle.

I stepped into the basement, the smell of damp concrete and metal filling my lungs. My eyes locked on the captives. “Welcome,” I said evenly, almost politely. “You’ll be sending a message for me.”

One of them tried to spit at the floor near my shoes, but Marco’s boot found his ribs before the spit landed. He groaned, doubling over in pain.

I crouched down, meeting his glare with a cold smile. “You tell your boss,” I said softly, “that thirty percent doesn’t buy his men back. Full payment does. And next time, I won’t stop at four.”

Their eyes shifted nervously, and I knew the fear had set in. Fear was good. Fear was leverage.

I straightened, turning to Marco. “Lock them up. No food. No water. Not until I say.”

As I walked out, my anger hadn’t lessened—it had sharpened. This wasn’t over. Vicenzo had just declared war.

The basement was cold, damp, and carried the metallic tang of fear. The four men were slumped against the wall, wrists bound with zip ties, faces bloodied from the resistance they’d put up before my men dragged them here. Vicenzo’s best soldiers or so he thought now looked like cornered animals.

I stepped down the creaking stairs, my footsteps slow on purpose. I wanted them to hear me coming. Wanted them to feelme coming. Marco stood at the bottom, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes flickering to the captives before locking on me.

“They’ve been quiet,” he said, “but I’m sure you can change that.”

I smirked faintly, rolling my shoulders to release the tension in them. “Quiet’s fine for now. Let them think I’m here to negotiate.” I took a slow step toward the first man, a tall one with a jagged scar running from his jaw to his ear. His gaze darted away.

“You know why you’re here?” I asked.

Scar shook his head quickly. “We—we don’t know nothing. We were just—”

“You were just following orders,” I cut in, my voice low but sharp enough to slice. “Vicenzo’s orders.”

One of the others, younger, with a busted lip, spat blood onto the floor. “You think this’ll scare him? You think this’ll make him pay up?”

My jaw tightened. I crouched down in front of him, my hand gripping his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Scaring him isn’t my aim. Sending him a message is. A loud one.”

The boy’s bravado faltered, his eyes flicking to the shadows where my men stood — silent, watching, armed.

Marco stepped forward, handing me a folded piece of paper. “We checked their pockets. No phones. No IDs. But…” he tapped the paper, “we found this on the tall one.”

I unfolded it. A set of numbers, a location, and a date. My pulse spiked. “What’s this?” I asked the tall man.

He swallowed hard. “It’s nothing… a meeting spot.”

“For who?”

He hesitated, and I saw his eyes give away the truth before his lips could form the lie.

“For Vicenzo,” Marco supplied. “It’s in three days. Looks like he’s expecting a shipment.”

Good.” I leaned in, my voice low and sharp. “Where’s the next shipment coming from?”

“I–I don’t know—” he started, but Marco slammed his fist into the man’s gut, forcing the air from his lungs.

“You have exactly ten seconds,” I said. “Ten seconds before I make you wish Vicenzo had killed you first.”

His voice trembled as he spoke. “The coordinates… 41.1428° N, 8.6110° W. Near the docks—two nights from now. That’s all I know, I swear!”

I watched his face, searching for a lie. He seemed desperate enough to be telling the truth.

“Good boy,” I murmured. “You might just keep that arm of yours a little longer.”

As I turned to leave, Marco raised a brow. “You’re gonna check it?”

I smirked. “Not check. Take it.”

When I stepped out into the night air, the tension of the basement dissolved into something else something warmer, but no less dangerous. Rose.

Damn it, that woman had been invading my thoughts too much lately. Every time I told myself I’d keep my distance, my mind dragged me back to her smile, her stubborn glare, the way she’d said my name like she wasn’t afraid of me.

I lit a cigarette, leaning against the veranda railing of my penthouse later that night. The city glittered below, but it wasn’t the view that had me restless. It was the image of her.

Marco came out behind me. “You look like a man about to make a bad decision.”

“Maybe I am.” I exhaled smoke into the cool night air. “Send someone to keep eyes on those coordinates. When the shipment comes, I want it before Vicenzo even knows it’s on the water.”

“And you?” Marco asked.

I crushed the cigarette out. “I have somewhere to be.”

An hour later, I was standing in the soft glow of a high-end boutique, watching the florist carefully wrap a bouquet of deep red roses.

The scent was intoxicating, heavy and sweet. Beside the flowers on the counter sat a small black velvet box containing the diamond necklace I’d picked—delicate,

expensive, and engraved with the letter R.

The saleswoman smiled. “Is it for someone special?”

I gave her a half-smirk. “She’s… complicated.”

Driving through the quiet streets toward Rose’s place, my mind kept flickering between the shipment plans and her face. I had no idea if showing up was smart—hell, it probably wasn’t—but I didn’t care. I’d had enough of just thinking about her. I needed to see her.

By the time I pulled up outside her building, it was past ten. The street was dim, the hum of the city distant. I took the flowers in one hand, the gift bag with the necklace in the other, and walked up to her door.

I knocked once.

Then again.

Footsteps approached from inside.

The door creaked open, and there she was hair slightly messy like she’d been winding down for the night, eyes wide with surprise.

“Luther…?” Her voice was uncertain, almost breathless.