My eyes followed and met the man walking in.
He wasn’t wearing a suit that would draw attention. He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. The fabric stretched slightly over a body built with purpose. His movement wasn’t for show or admiration. He moved without hurry, but every step held control.
The room didn’t react to him, it adjusted.
My body almost acted on its own, ready to stand, bow, and acknowledge something I didn’t understand but knew was dangerous.
He walked straight toward us, and my breath hitched the moment our eyes met.
His eyes didn’t just look at me. They cut through, peeling away every lie I thought I could hide behind. There was no softness, only calculation. Dark brown hair cropped short, a few strands out of place, like he didn’t bother with appearances. His faceoffered a still control that made every small thing count. Even the faint clench of his jaw felt deliberate.
I reached for Cole’s hand and gripped it. If death had a face, it would look like him. This man didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
He pulled the same chair the suit guy had used and slid into it. His eyes stayed on mine, and it unsettled me. The mask hid part of my face, but it did nothing to hide the fear.
He leaned back and watched me.
I had to speak. We were here because of the briefcase. I reached for my bag and pulled it open, my fingers slipping once before I dragged the briefcase out. “This… hm… this is your briefcase—”
My voice cut off when he lifted a hand, and a waitress hurried to his side.
“Whiskey.” His voice carried effortless authority. It was the same voice from the phone call last night, now real, near enough to fray my nerves.
“Get one for her and…” His eyes flicked to Cole. My stomach dropped as heat rushed through me. “What do you like?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Hot chocolate,” Cole answered calmly, as if I wasn’t dying here.
“No. He wants nothing. And I want nothing. In fact, we want nothing. Madam—”
“Bring that.” He didn’t raise his voice or snap his fingers, but the waitress obeyed.
“Yes, sir.” She left.
I let out a breath and tightened my hold on the briefcase. The table between us didn’t create distance. I prayed this would end well.
“Is that a Rolex watch?” Cole asked, and I grabbed his hand, squeezing it to quiet him.
I looked at the man, ready to apologize, but the words died when I found him smiling at Cole.
Was hesmiling?
“Nice catch. You like watches?” he asked.
“He doesn’t,” I said.
“I do,” Cole said, and God help me. “I’ll buy Rolex and Graff watches when I grow up. Do you like cars?”
The man’s smirk deepened, and I didn’t like it at all. Why was he smiling? It had to be a façade.
“Motorcycles mostly,” he said.
Cole’s eyes lit up. “You do? Me too! Inna loves them too.”
His gaze slid to me. “Does she?” The smirk lingered, just enough to make my skin prickle. It wasn’t friendly.
The waitress returned, and I could’ve hugged her for the interruption. She set a glass of whiskey in front of me. I recoiled, a memory hitting me. The last time I drank, I spent a week in a hospital bed. Alcohol and I didn’t get along.
