Page 102 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“My father worked for the Lyons. He started as a soldier, and he built up such a reputation for doing anything and everything necessary to get the jobs assigned to him done that he quickly climbed through the ranks—enforcer, captain, lieutenant, and eventually, he made it into their inner circle.” I clench my teeth together then exhale. “What makes the Lyons so difficult to deal with is their power structure is decentralized. They actually have a fucking board, and my father is on it.”

“A board?” she asks, aghast.

I laugh and it’s not the least bit amused. “Yup,” I say. “They decide what criminal activities they’re going to engage in like a fucking billion-dollar corporation decides how to best please their shareholders.”

“Honestly, some of those billion-dollar companies are doing the same thing.”

She’s not wrong, and I know she’s trying to lighten the moment. But there’s not really any lightening this.

So, I push on. “The businesses they predominately fund are human trafficking and arms dealing. Of course, they round out their portfolio by selling drugs, loansharking, and racketeering,” I add dryly. “Gotta have something to keep the underlings busy while the higher ups bring in those contracts with the big bucks—bonus, if a simple soldier can bring in some money too.”

“Is that what your father had you do?”

I exhale. “I was selling drugs at eight, trailing enforcers to pick up protection money by ten. I took a baseball bat to my first kneecap for a missed loan payment at thirteen, and”—a breath—“I killed my first enemy of the Lyons at sixteen.”

She sucks in a breath. “My God,” she whispers. “What happened?”

“We got in over our heads because I was cocky and overconfident. My whole circle was—teenagers are dumb and it wasn’t like we had any boundaries. So long as what we were doing was benefiting the family and we weren’t bringing any unwanted attention from the authorities, we were free to do what we wanted. Hell, they encouraged it. They wanted to see what lengths we would go to for their benefit.” I shake my head. “So yeah, we decided to swing our dicks and steal some products off a ship.”

“A ship?”

“My father and I were living in France at the time. He was based near a port town that was the Lyon hub for transporting products.”

“People?” she asks cautiously. “And drugs?”

“Yes.” A beat as I let her take that in. “And all the products we used to make the operation look legit—luxury goods, electronics, chips. There’s big business in memory and ram right now because of AI. They were at the forefront of it, controlling the stock, raising the cost—and their profits—and supplementing it with whatever profitable products they could get their hands on.” I sigh. “But their biggest profit was in people.”

She waits, as though she knows this is going to get worse.

“We boarded the boat, thinking we were going to steal some purses or scarves.” The memories of that night well up, threaten to take over.

The moon glinting off dark water.

The water lapping against the boat’s hull.

The shouting and gunshots and…

Fuck, there had been so much blood.

“There were kids in the container—little girls and little boys…and Claudette.”

River goes stiff, as though she’s bracing.

“She was my age, was taken because she refused to let her sister go alone, and God—” I laugh softly. “She was fierce. We opened that door and she came out kicking and yelling and fighting.” My amusement fades. “Unfortunately, that fierceness drew the attention of the guards.”

Bullets flying.

Shouting and screaming.

My friends cowering.

“I fired back. I wasn’t even aiming, was just trying to get us enough cover to get us the fuck out of there.”

“But?” she whispers.

“I hit him. Sergio got the other.”

She blinks. “The same man who kidnapped me?”