Eight: A Deal with the Devil

Eight: A Deal with the Devil

Dominic POV

The bourbon’s amber glow caught the dim light filtering through the warehouse’s grimy windows, casting long shadows across the scarred wooden table. The room was thick with the scent of aged oak, faint cigarette smoke, and stale air. The fluorescent bulbs overhead buzzed, their harsh light emphasizing the dark circles under my eyes. My glass was empty, the ice long since melted into a relic of the countless refills I’d had throughout the night. The sharp bite of the bourbon lingered on my tongue, a fleeting warmth against the chill that had settled into my bones as the hours ticked by.

My mind was foggy from the endless back-and-forth, the same arguments echoing in my head like a broken record. Piper paced slowly, her silhouette cutting through the haze, heels clicking sharply on the concrete floor. She had long since abandoned subtlety. Her voice sliced through the tension, each word a carefully crafted arrow aimed at my resolve.

“Family’s why we’re here, Dom. Zacian’s file on her? It’s not idle. He’s testing boundaries. That dance wasn’t chance. He’s probing your soft spot. Alone, you can’t shield her. But allied? We ring the mansion with our best: Alex’s veterans on rotation, my surveillance feeds. She stays in her bubble. Charities, college apps. While we carve back your empire. Imagine it: profits flowing again, no more scraping for donations. Be the father she deserves, the boss you were meant to be.”

Her words landed hard, igniting visions I’d buried deep. I saw Cecilia stepping onto Stanford’s sunlit campus, her dreams unfurling without the stain of my shadows. I saw Treyvan easing the burden of those midnight runs, perhaps finding a path out of the grind. Yet doubt coiled in my gut. I thought of the ghosts from the ninety-five shakeout: bodies in the desert, empires crumbled to dust. Zacian wasn’t just a rival; he was the fulcrum. He balanced our fragile clans with an iron grip. Push too hard, and the whole board topples, chaos spilling into every corner, including the one sanctuary I’d clawed to preserve for her.

Alex, lounging against a stack of crates, pushed off and stood. His boots scuffed the concrete with deliberate weight. The flask in his pocket clinked softly, a reminder of old toasts turned bitter. He had been quieter, his persuasions more subtle, but no less insistent. He met my gaze, steady, the weight of unspoken histories pressing down. The old pacts were frayed by greed, and the laughs we’d shared over bad whiskey were now soured by suspicion.

“I know it’s tough, Dom,” Alex said, his voice a low rumble. “But we’re not asking you to jump into the fire blind. We’ve got contingencies. Safe houses tucked in the valley’s folds, covert exits mapped through forgotten tunnels. Loyalty oaths sealed in blood and bourbon. We’re not just throwing you to the wolves here.”

Alex reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick manila folder, dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud. The sound echoed in the silence like a gavel strike. He flipped it open, spinning it around to face me.

My stomach dropped. The pages were filled with screenshots of my private ledgers. Bank routing numbers for the shell companies, the encrypted crypto wallets I used for the fight rings, the weekly skim totals from the dens. It was my life, laid out in black and white columns of red ink.

“We know you’re drowning, Dom,” Alex said, his voice dropping an octave. “We hacked the network three days ago. You’re six months behind on your payments to the suppliers. The trucking margins are gone. You’re selling off assets just to keep the lights on.”

Piper leaned over the table, her finger tapping a circled figure near the bottom of the page. “This isn’t just about Zacian. If you don’t get an infusion of cash soon, you won’t have a kingdom left to protect. You’ll be lucky to keep a roof over their heads.”

I stared at the papers, the numbers blurring together. They had me. They knew exactly how bad it was. But the violation of it burned hot in my veins.

I shot to my feet, the chair screeching against the concrete as I knocked it backward. My hand slammed onto the table, palm flattening the damning ledger.

“You hacked my network?” I snarled, the volume of my voice bouncing off the corrugated metal walls. The friendly facade was gone, obliterated by the cold reality of betrayal. “You come in here talking about loyalty and blood oaths, then you slit my throat digitally? You think that gives you leverage? It makes you a liability, Alex.”

I glared at him, chest heaving, waiting for him to reach for a piece. I was cornered, yes, but I wasn't dead yet.

Alex didn’t flinch. He just held my gaze, calm as a stagnant pond. “It’s not leverage, Dom. It’s a reality check. We needed to know if you were still standing on your own two feet, or if you were already down for the count. Now we know.”

I could feel the surveillance even here, a phantom itch on my neck from the drive over. It felt like there were eyes in every shadow. If word of this leaked...

Piper leaned in closer. Her perfume, a subtle mix of cinnamon and whiskey, cut through the musty air. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush that wrapped around my resolve.

“Let’s game it out. First, your convoy ghosts a Strip delivery. Blame it on Rodney’s gangs to stir paranoia. We follow with a hit on his Fremont port access, led by Alex’s crews. Your out-of-state lines supply the diversions: arms from Arizona, product rerouted through Utah. Rodney bites. He’s foaming over Zacian’s drug tariffs. Ryker wavers if we show proof of weakness. You’re the linchpin, Dominic. Second in command, with the charisma to rally. Not king, yet. But the fulcrum that topples him.”

The map she’d unfurled earlier lay between us, its lines a maze of potential salvation or ruin. It seemed to pulse under the fluorescent hum. My pulse matched its rhythm, a thunder in my ears drowning out the distant rumble of freight trains beyond the walls.

Arm the truckers with hidden caches. Weave in the Arizona haulers’ grit and Utah’s sly routes. It could work, a slow bleed on Zacian’s edges, buying back the air we all gasped for. But the cost was high. Cecilia’s innocence would be targeted, not by accident, but by design. Treyvan’s loyalty would be stretched thin, and our family dinners would be laced with unspoken fears. And me? I was hollowed by Miloetta’s absence, chasing a legacy that might bury us all.

“What’s the out?” I demanded, my voice cracking the silence. The bourbon’s burn rose in my throat as I set the glass down with a thud. “If it sours, we scatter? Or am I the fall guy?”

Alex’s gaze held mine, unyielding yet laced with the memory of camaraderie from better days. His words were measured against the warehouse’s oppressive quiet. He laid out contingencies: safe houses, covert exits, loyalty oaths sealed with blood. There were no grand illusions, just the raw math of survival. He anticipated retaliation and planned for betrayal, buffering it with layers of deniability.

My mind raced through the shadows. I needed to bolster the guards around Cecilia’s routines, fortifying those eastside shelter runs. I needed to reroute the shipments under cover of night, trickling profits back to mend the cracks. Ambition stirred in me, a dormant fire flaring against the cold logic of retreat. Miloetta’s memory whispered of risks worth taking for those we loved.

The weight pressed in, and the air grew thicker with the scent of rain threatening outside. It mirrored the storm brewing in my chest. Paranoia clawed at the edges. I thought of Zacian’s reach and his predatory patience, but isolation had carved deeper wounds than alliance ever could. For her light to endure, and for Treyvan’s grin to hold true, I had to step from the sidelines. I had to reclaim the reins before they slipped forever.

I nodded slowly, the motion heavy. A wry smile tugged at my lips to mask the tremor beneath. I used humor as armor, even here.

“First phase, then. My routes lead the diversion, Cecilia’s protection locked tight. We move at dawn.”

Piper’s eyes gleamed with restrained triumph. Alex clapped my shoulder with a firmness that sealed the pact. The warehouse seemed to exhale, the shadows retreating just a fraction as resolve settled in my chest. It was warm and perilous. An ominous commitment hung in the air. The path ahead was narrow, a choice between legacy and loss. But for the first time in months, the darkness felt navigable. I was fueled by the need to protect my family, and the hunger to keep their light safe from the encroaching night.

I stood to leave, my legs feeling like lead. I had just sold my soul to keep my daughter safe. It was a deal with the devil, but the alternative—watching her world burn because I was too proud to act—was a price I refused to pay. This was the only way. The only way to ensure she made it to Stanford, to ensure Treyvan had a future. I would walk through fire if it meant they didn't have to.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging it on. As I patted the pocket for my keys, my fingers brushed against a small, hard plastic disc stuck to the inside lining.

I froze.

I pulled the fabric taut, staring at the tiny, black device no larger than a coin. A small red light blinked on its surface, steady and rhythmic. A transmitter.

My blood turned to ice. I looked up slowly, scanning the dark corners of the warehouse ceiling, the exposed beams, the shadows where the light didn't reach. I hadn't been paranoid earlier. I hadn't been safe.

Zacian had heard everything.