RIOS POV
The sun was a hot, a literal oven ,pressing down on the city like it wanted to bruise it. I walked out of the office and toward my car, sunglasses dangling from my hand because I knew I wouldn't bother with them once I was inside the SUV.
I liked the quiet of a ride alone, the guard cars trailed at a respectful distance. Shadows are useful things in my world.Things can go sideways really fast. Having an extra line of fire , always a smart choice.
My phone buzzed with calls I ignored.
I threw the responsibility of the meeting with the investors at Chad ..or charles whatever his name is ..he's my projects manager .
My father had texted, rescheduling the lunch, sooner than planned. I sighed. When Rocco calls you in, you go. Even when you don't want to.
Lux Hotel smelled like money, polished floors, cold marble, staff who bowed like it was prayer. I found them at a corner table: my father already seated, Alfredo with his easy, predatory smile. I gave my old man a quick side-hug, a practiced gesture of respect that didn't mean anything. Alfredo's hand, an empty courtesy,I ignored.
"How's the company?" Rocco asked.
"Good." I went straight to the point. "Why are we here?"
Alfredo smiled like a viper. "We haven't met in a while, Rio." His voice was oiled intent.
"That's because I don't like seeing you," I said flat, and then I watched the air move between them.
"I think we've trailed the marriage with my daughter for too long ..,"he said his stupid voice irritating me .
"We?"I scoffed looking at him.
"You will marry Jessica," Alfredo said, leaning forward as if spelling it out would make me obedient. "For alliances. For the family." He turned to my father. "Isn't that right, Rocco?"
My gaze snapped to my dad . He couldn't possibly agree with this bastard right?
My father's head dipped. Guilt was a bad look on him,one I'd only seen once before and never wanted to see again.
"Yes, Alfred. I'll make sure." His voice was small. The words were a betrayal I could taste.
You have got to be kidding me .
"Dad?"I asked waiting for him to say something. Instead he looks away avoiding my eyes.
I stand feeling tired and irritated by this whole situation.
I laughed once,hard, bitter. "I don't have time for this." I left them there, the clink of cutlery sounding like a guillotine.
Anger didn't quiet itself. It buzzed under my skin as I drove to the warehouse,my domain. Forty minutes later the gravel crunched under my tires and the old building welcomed me like a familiar wound.
Inside, the men shifted when I walked through.
"Capo," they said, a chorus. i nodded at them, once before they went back to work .
"About time !"Marco's voice beams at me as he walks towards me .
"You look like shit brother ..,"he observes.
"Your step father and my dad had something to do with it..,"i mumble rolling my sleeves up as we walk down the steps to the basement.
Marco is my Best friend, right hand man and the only person I trust with my life . Alfredo is his step dad and his dad and mine being close we grew up together.
As we grew older, we detached from the old men and build our own empire.
"Let me guess, marriage bullshit with Jess?"he chuckles .
"Yeap ..four years later same noncence..,"I mumble .
Marco stops dangling his toothpick between his fingers .
He pats my shoulder.
"Well , the Russian is in chamber 16, have fun ..,"he says .. before dissapering back to where we came from .
I walked the corridor slow enough to savor the silence. The smell of smoke and the metallic tang of old bruises hit before the door creaked open. He was younger than I expected,twenty-five, maybe. Blood dried on his lip. His head rolled like a dead thing. Marco had been thorough.
I threw a bucket of ice water over him. He snapped awake, panic flooding his pupils when he saw my face. He was a rat in the open now.
I sat opposite him on a steel chair and let the room do its work: the clink of tools on a metal table, the low hum of men who knew what would happen next. I asked the questions that matters , name, who sent you, what were you doing in my shipments.
He spat in my face,an answer and an insult. "I'm not telling you shit," he snarled. Good. That made it quicker.
I stood, sleeves rolled, and moved down the wall where we kept implements for conversations that couldn't be solved with patience.
I didn't like to linger on this part, but there's a rhythm to it, the selection, the smell of alcohol, the cold of a needle in your palm. I picked my favorites: a dagger that cuts clean, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a syringe with a serum that sears slow and smart. The point isn't spectacle. The point is answers.
I came back to him and set the tools where he could see them. "Last chance," I said, voice low and patient. He laughed, a wet, surprised sound. "Make me," he dared.
I stabbed the dagger in his thigh , he screamed in pain I smirked dragging it it his knee up.i pour the alcohol on the wound and he screams so loud my ears ring .
For the next twenty minutes I made him very uncomfortable. Loud, not showy, just deliberate. Ice, cold water, pressure points, a fingertip on a wound until the memory of pain became more immediate than the need to protect your own skin.
Men break when they realize the only option left is the truth or a longer, slower death.
They always pick the truth.
He talked, finally. The name he spat was "Max." He said Storm sent him.
Storm. The name landed like a bomb. Our biggest rival. A name that meant moves would be made and blood would be paid in interest.
"S..storm sent me," he croaked, each syllable a confession and a plea. "H...he said there's a key...,"he straggled to talk but he was talking that's all that matterd.
"T..the key of secrets. Says it was spotted around your circle. Said to find who had it."he finished talking.. chocking on his own spit his body shaking violently.
One sentence and everything that had been a dull ache snapped into focus. A key. My father had muttered about codes and safes before, but I'd never put it together. Now the pieces slotted with sick clarity.
I didn't like having to finish it, but I finished it anyway. A bulle, quick, merciful in its own way stopped Max from being a problem again. The room smelled of iron and burning rubber and the thing inside me that had stayed calm over and over felt suddenly hollow. I stepped back, hands clean because that's the point. Control.
My head swam and my thoughts landed on Elena. The way that pendant once caught the light at the store , is that the same key?
The question made my head spin .
I thought of the key as familiar but now it was a possibility I couldn't ignore. If that key was around her throat it was a target. Storm would send anything, anyone. If my enemies knew or suspected she had it,even if it's maybe just a rumor , then she was in danger.
I would incinerate the world before anyone touched a hair on her head.
I left the basement and the men to their quiet. Back at the office, I unbuttoned one more button, let the leather chair swallow me, and tried to breathe. My hand shook just enough. I called her.
"Elena. Coffee. Now." I hung up before she could answer everything.
She arrived two minutes later, steam rising. She set the cup on my desk and looked at me like she could read the pieces.
"You okay?" she asked, soft concern wrapped in that voice that made me want to protect her more than anything.
I didn't answer because I knew what I'd do if I opened my mouth. "You brought my coffee. Leave. I don't need your pity," I said quick and hard.
She blinked, hurt folding into polite resignation. "Okay," she said and left. The door had barely closed when I regretted it. But regret isn't a plan.
I left my office because the walls felt too small. In the elevator, the doors opened and she walked out, files in hand, beautiful and furious. She pushed past me. I caught her wrist before she could disappear.
She jerked away, voice bright with anger. "Don't !."she snaps pushing past me.
That snap,god, I hate it. She walks like she rules the world, even when she's wounded.
I let her go because the building was a pressure cooker and I had to find the leak before it blew us both apart.
But the thing that buzzed under my skin wouldn't leave: Storm's name, Max's confession, the image of a key at her throat. Problems, that may unfortunately involve her .
She doesn't have to know anything yet.ill protect her .
And I don't do half measures when it comes to what's mine.