~Vincent~
After dropping Ella back home, I don't linger. There are still things to be done, people to confront. One in particular.
Ronan.
I drive toward the club, not far from the city center, its neon lights burning like a gaudy beacon against the night. Inside, the bass is heavy enough to rattle bones, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and too many perfumes clashing at once.
It doesn't take long to spot him. Of course not. Ronan thrives on spectacle. Two half-dressed girls drape themselves over him as though he were a king on his throne. He laughs at something neither of them said—loud, exaggerated, a man desperate to be admired.
I cut through the crowd. The section he sits in has no guests, but that doesn't stop me. People know who I am. They don't make the mistake of trying to keep me out.
Ronan sees me coming and grins, pressing a wet kiss to one of the girls before speaking.
"Vincent. A pleasant surprise." His tone drips sarcasm. We don't like each other. He doesn't like me, specifically—because I've outgrown him, surpassed him in the very underworld business he started operating way before me.
"I'd have thought you would be expecting me," I reply, sliding into the seat across from him. "Considering you had one of my men turn against me."
He laughs, the sound sharp and mocking.
"It's not my fault your men aren't loyal."
A girl totters toward me, hips swaying, eyes heavy-lidded with false promise. She reaches out, ready to lay her hands on me. I wave her off, but she ignores it, trying again.
"Try that again, and I'll break those hands of yours." I say flatly, my eyes locking with hers.
She pales, stumbling back to Ronan's side. He chuckles, taking a drink, pretending not to notice the way the girl trembles.
"What?" he smirks. "Has your taste changed lately?" He buries his face in the neck of one of the women clinging to him, his hands roaming shamelessly. "You used to enjoy this kind of distraction."
Well, I have had my share of women in my life. With all the looks and money, women practically beg me to have them. That has never been a struggle. But since my marriage to Ella, I haven't slept with any other woman.
I tried to put my own needs first, but guilt always followed me. Every time another woman touched me, it felt like betrayal. And no matter how much I wanted to distract myself, her face haunted me. Ella has ruined me.
But once I'm done with her father, I'll have to divorce her. Only then can my life return to what it has always been.
I laugh off Ronan's jab.
"What can I say? I wouldn't want to dirty myself by fucking a woman who you've probably already used." Then I let the hook sink in. "Isn't it unsettling that I caught your mole… yet you haven't caught mine?"
The silence that follows is thick. His glass freezes halfway to his lips. He tries to mask it with a chuckle, but the crack shows.
He waves the girls away. "Why don't you both go freshen up for me." They hesitate, but leave quickly.
His face turns hard as soon as they're gone.
"What are you playing at, Vincent?"
I don't actually have a man inside his circle, but nothing weakens a crew faster than doubt. Once distrust settles in, he won't be able to lean on the people he needs the most.
"Well, I would have wanted to say I'm better than you," I say casually, "but that's already established. I just came here to drop a little piece of information—something that might ruin your night."
Ronan eyes me, then gulps down the rest of his glass in one go. One of his weaknesses? He makes enemies without a second thought, burning bridges he might still need. I can't claim I've walked through life without creating enemies of my own—but unlike him, I choose them carefully. He makes them recklessly.
His voice comes low, dangerous. "Just because we're in a room full of people, don't think I won't put a bullet in your head."
I smile, leaning back against the seat. "Maybe you could. Some other time. Right now, you should probably check whether your men at the dock are still alive. Too bad they couldn't save your products—millions, gone in flames."
His chair scrapes back as he stands. The rage in his eyes burns hotter than the liquor he just drowned. He yanks the gun from his waistband and levels it at me, steady, but his other hand fumbles for his phone. He dials. Waits. No answer. Dials again. Still nothing.
"Fuck!" he roars, slamming the phone against the table.
I don't even move. Still seated, still calm, I stare down the barrel like it's nothing more than a toy in a child's hand. Ronan thinks the gun gives him power. He hasn't yet realized that I'm the one pulling all the strings.
"Trust me, you don't have what it takes to pull that trigger." I finally rise from my seat, and watch as he shifts the gun, this time aiming squarely at my head.
"That's where you're wrong, Vince," he sneers, forcing a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I figured you'd behave this way." I slip my phone out of my pocket, and scroll until the screen glows with the video I've kept ready for this exact moment. I hold it up where he can see—a live feed of one of his warehouses, bombs already set in place.
"Go on then. Pull the trigger. But the second you do, that place goes up in flames. One of my men is watching us right now, waiting for my signal." I tilt my head, "So why don't you be wise for once in your life and make a decision that saves you money."
His grip on the gun doesn't falter, but I can see it in his eyes—he won't do it. He's reckless, not stupid.
His finger twitches on the trigger, but he doesn't pull it. I smirk, tilting my head like I'm almost disappointed.
"That's what I thought," I say, sliding the phone back into my pocket. "You see, Ronan, you're too predictable. Always running on anger, always threatening to kill before you think. That's why you'll never be more than what you are—a man scrambling to hold together a crumbling empire."
His jaw tightens, but he stays silent, the barrel still trembling in his hand.
I lean forward just slightly, my voice dropping so only he can hear. "Let me make this clear. You ever touch another one of my men, even the lowliest foot soldier, and I won't stop at a warehouse. I'll burn through everything you own—your clubs, your docks, your precious little empire—and I'll make sure you're the last thing left standing in the ashes."
I straighten, looking him dead in the eye. "And then, Ronan, I'll decide if you deserve to keep living."
Without waiting for his reply, I turn and walk out.