“There’s somethin’ I didn’t tell you,” I admit.
Every trace of warmth disappears from Alexei’s face. “What happened?”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag before I slowly unzip it and pull out the folded drawing. “I found this in my mailbox this morning.”
His eyes drop to the paper in my hands. Then I watch the exact moment his entire body goes rigid.
I unfold the paper revealing Ivy’s bright flowers beneath the thick black marker slashed across the page.
SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU.
Alexei stares at the drawing for one long, terrifying second before lifting his eyes to mine.
“You got this before coming here today?” His voice stays calm which scares me more than yelling would.
“I didn’t know how to bring it up without you completely losin’ your mind.”
“That option is no longer available to you,kotyónok.”
15
ALEXEI
The private dining room sits hidden behind the main floor of an old riverfront restaurant near Savannah’s historic district, tucked beyond velvet curtains and dark walnut doors polished smooth by decades of wealthy men making quiet deals over expensive liquor. Rain streaks the tall windows overlooking the river while jazz hums through hidden speakers somewhere beyond the walls.
Neutral territory. That was Enzo’s request. I agreed because men like him prefer polished environments when delivering threats. Restaurants allow plausible deniability. Public enough to discourage open bloodshed. Private enough to conduct business no one intends to acknowledge later.
Most men walk into places like this and immediately start performing. They mistake confidence for authority and volume for intimidation because silence makes them uncomfortable.
Enzo DeLuca doesn’t. That tells me more than the expensive charcoal suit stretched across his lean frame or the relaxed posture he wears while seated across from me at the dining table. He’s comfortable inside hostile territory with the patienceof a man accustomed to dangerous rooms. People only develop that level of composure after surviving situations far uglier than this one.
Two of his men remain near the doorway leading toward the kitchen corridor. Four of mine stand positioned near the walls behind me.
“You closed the Charleston routes quickly,” Enzo says after taking a slow sip of whiskey. Rain taps steadily against the windows behind him while lightning flashes faintly over the river. “Faster than I expected.”
I lean back in the leather chair, one hand resting near my untouched espresso. “Your people became careless.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “There’s that word again.”
“Careless?”
“No.” His eyes remain fixed on mine. “Your people.”
Luka stands near my shoulder, stone-faced beneath the low lighting, though I already know his attention has narrowed entirely onto Enzo and the positioning of the men beside the doorway. Viktor remains farther back near the windows, his broad arms folded across his chest, and pale eyes never leaving Enzo for more than a second.
No one relaxes fully, not in rooms like this.
“You disrupted a great deal of money,” Enzo continues smoothly. “Cargo delays. Customs interference. Partnerships becoming impatient.”
“My concern for your inconveniences remains limited.”
He laughs low. “You always were difficult, Alexei.”
The use of my first name means little on its own. The familiarity beneath it matters more. Enzo wants this meeting to feel personal because personal conversations expose vulnerabilities, and vulnerabilities create leverage for men who understand how to weaponize pressure.
“You created a problem yesterday,” I reply evenly. “Men started circling places connected to my family shortly after I shut down your routes. That timing feels very convenient.”
Enzo exhales through his nose as if I have mildly entertained him. “You think I sent people to an animal shelter?”
