Downstairs, I could hear the commotion as the fake officers pushed their way into my restaurant. Glass breaking. Customers crying out in alarm. Yuri's controlled voice trying to maintain order.
My hands clenched into fists as I drew my clothes on. These men had invaded my territory, threatened what was mine.
They would not leave alive.
I straightened my suit jacket, adjusted my cuffs, and headed for the door. It was time to remind O'Rourke why even other criminals feared the name Aleksandrovich.
I descended the staircase with measured steps, each footfall deliberately heavy enough to announce my arrival. The elegant chandelier in my restaurant's main dining room cast a warm glow over the chaos below.
My customers—wealthy patrons who came for fine dining and discretion—were being herded toward the exits by men in police uniforms. The sight of these intruders in my domain made my bear snarl beneath my skin, but I kept my face impassive. A century of life had taught me that displaying emotion too early gave away advantage.
The moment I reached the bottom step, I spotted him—Marcus "Sparky" Denton—standing in the center of my restaurant like he owned it. The police uniform he wore was authentic enough to fool civilians, but I'd been watching this particular dog of O'Rourke's for months. I knew the way he carried himself, the nervous habit he had of touching his scar when he felt threatened.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice deceptively calm as I strode forward, positioning myself between the staircase and Denton's men. No one was getting upstairs to Mishka, not while I drew a breath.
Denton turned toward me, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in my appearance. "Mr. Aleksandrovich, we have a warrant to search these premises for a missing person." He patted the breast pocket of his fake uniform. "Nineteen-year-old male, approximately five-foot-eight, blond hair. Been missing for three weeks."
My restaurant, with its black marble bar and cream-colored walls, had been designed to exude elegance and exclusivity. Thegold accents that normally gleamed warmly under soft lighting now seemed to pulse with the tension filling the room.
Crystal glasses behind the bar caught the light, creating prisms across the polished floor where my customers' meals now lay abandoned on tables draped in fine linens.
"O'Rourke's getting desperate, sending his dogs in costume," I growled, allowing just enough of my contempt to show. I didn't bother maintaining the pretense—I wanted Denton to know that I saw through their charade.
Surprise flickered across his face before he smoothed it away. "Don't know what you're talking about, Aleksandrovich. I'm Sergeant Miller with Metro PD." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document, flashing it with smug confidence. "The warrant's legitimate, Aleksandrovich. Step aside or face obstruction charges."
I didn't bother looking at the paper. If O'Rourke had gone through the trouble of obtaining a real warrant, it meant he was more desperate than I'd realized. It also meant he had more resources in city government than we'd previously tracked.
My gaze swept around the room, cataloging threats. Four more men in police uniforms had fanned out across my restaurant, hands hovering near their weapons. Not standard issue, I noted. The bulge under their jackets was too large for regulation firearms. They'd brought something special for me.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Yuri's subtle movement near the bar. To anyone else, it would look like he was simply adjusting his tie, but I recognized the series of small hand gestures he was making—signals to our security team who were strategically positioned throughout the restaurant and watching from cameras.
Three fingers pressed against his lapel: armed intruders.
A brush of his right cuff: evacuation protocol.
A straightening of his watch: prepare for conflict.
"This is my territory," I snarled, my voice dropping dangerously low as I took a step closer to Denton. I allowed my eyes to flash amber—just for an instant—a glimpse of the bear within me. "And you are not welcome in it."
Denton's confidence wavered for just a moment before he found his footing again. "Territory? This isn't the wild west, Aleksandrovich. This is a police investigation. Now step aside."
Behind me, I heard the soft murmur of my staff as they escorted the remaining patrons toward the exits. The maître d' was apologizing profusely, offering complimentary meals for the inconvenience, while simultaneously ensuring that no civilian remained in what was about to become a battlefield.
My security personnel—many of them fellow shifters who had sworn loyalty to me decades ago—had moved into strategic positions. Two by the kitchen entrance, one at the bar, another near the front door. None were visibly armed, but I knew each carried at least three weapons concealed on their person.
"If you had a legitimate concern about a missing person," I said, letting ice coat each word, "you would have called ahead. You would have asked for cooperation. You would have behaved like actual police officers." I took another step toward him, gratified when he instinctively stepped back. "Instead, you burst in during dinner service, frightening my customers and damaging my property."
I gestured toward a table that one of his men had overturned in their haste to clear the room. Fine china lay shattered on the floor, white fragments against the dark hardwood like scattered bones.
"Someone will pay for that," I added, the threat unmistakable in my tone.
"Add it to my tab," Denton said with a sneer. "Now, we're going to search these premises, starting with the upper floors. I have reason to believe you're harboring a fugitive."
"I harbor no one who doesn't wish to be harbored," I replied coldly. "And no one goes upstairs without my permission."
I could feel my control slipping, my bear clawing more insistently beneath my skin. The audacity of these men, invading my territory, threatening what was mine... it awakened something primal in me. Something I usually kept carefully leashed.
"Mr. Aleksandrovich," Yuri spoke up, his voice professionally detached despite the tension thrumming through the room. "Perhaps we should contact our attorney?"
