But as I bury my face deeper into Moo-Shu's coat, listening to his contented breathing and feeling his warmth against my cheek, I decide not to think about that. Right now, I'm going to focus on what will be the best month of my life, however long it lasts.
That has to be enough.
Chapter twenty-eight
Stefan
I stand beside Charles' chair, my arms crossed over my chest as I watch the scene unfold in front of me. The office is tense, thick with unspoken threats and barely contained violence. Charles sits in his leather chair like a king on a throne, utterly relaxed despite the dangerous men assembled before him, his fingers drumming against the armrest in a steady rhythm, the only outward sign that he's not as calm as he appears.
The office itself is flashy, designed to intimidate the men Charles works with. Dark wood paneling covers the walls, expensive art hanging in golden frames that are worth more than my salary. A massive desk dominates the center of the room, its surface clear except for a single lamp and the gun resting on the side table within easy reach. Persian rugs cover the hardwood floor, their intricate patterns worth more than most people make in their entire lifetime.
It’s all for show, like this entire estate is, but it adds to the power Charles Driscoll wields.
Across from Charles sits Viktor Volkov, head of the Volkov family and one of the most ruthless criminals operating in the tri-state area. His two sons flank him on either side, both of them built like brick walls and carrying enough firepower to take out everyone in this room twice over. The resemblance between father and sons is striking, all three of them sharing the same cold blue eyes and angular features that speak to their Russian heritage.
Viktor looks comfortable, too comfortable for a man sitting in another criminal's office. He's dressed in an expensive suit that probably cost more than my truck, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back from his face. There's a scar running along his jawline, barely visible but present. A reminder that he didn't get to his position through diplomacy alone.
But it's the man on his knees between them that holds my attention. The Alpha who hurt Ashton, who left that gash in his side that required my stepbrother to stitch him up in the middle of the woods. He's pleading for his life, his voice cracking with fear as he begs Charles for mercy. Blood drips from his nose where someone clearly hit him, staining the expensive carpet beneath him dark red.
His hands are bound behind his back, the zip ties cutting into his wrists hard enough to leave marks. There are bruises on his face, fresh ones that tell me the Volkovs didn't bring him here gently. One eye is swollen nearly shut, his lip split and bleeding. He looks like he's already been through hell, and he's smart enough to know that worse is coming.
I only wish I had a chance with him as well, to show him how fucking pissed off I’ve been ever since I found Ashton trying to clean himself up in his bathroom.
"Please," the kneeling Alpha gasps, his voice hoarse. "I didn't know he was Alpha Driscroll’s! I swear, I didn't know. If I had known—"
"But you didn't ask," Viktor interrupts, his accented voice cutting through the pleading. "You saw a pretty Omega who you thought belonged to Driscoll’s pet and you took what you wanted without considering the consequences. Very stupid."
I watch the scene with detached interest, trying to ignore the ‘pet’ reference, my mind focused on Ashton in his room. He's been locked in there since this meeting started, under strict orders from Charles to stay put until it's over. I should be there with him, making sure he's safe. But Charles wanted me here as muscle, as a show of force, even though we all know I'm outgunned by the Volkovs.
"We don't condone what he did," Viktor says, his heavily accented voice carrying across the room. He gestures dismissively at the kneeling man like he's discussing a disappointing business transaction rather than an attempted assault. "So, we've brought him to you at the request of your dog."
That really is all I am to them. Charles' dog, his attack animal kept on a leash and pointed at whatever problem needs handling. Not an employee, not security, just a dog. Something less than human, something that exists only to serve.
I bite back the growl that wants to tear from my throat, force myself to remain still and silent. Showing weakness now would be dangerous, possibly fatal. Viktor is testing me, seeing if he can get a reaction. I won't give him the satisfaction.
Charles doesn't react to the insult on my behalf. He never does. In all the years I've worked for him, he's never once defended me against disrespect from his business associates. I'm useful to him, nothing more. "And you know that delivering him to me like this is also delivering me his life."
Viktor nods, that cold smile never leaving his face. "Of course. We understand the rules of this world, you and I. A slight against your property demands blood. We would expect nothing less if the situation were reversed."
The kneeling Alpha makes a choked sound, his pleading intensifying. "No, please, I'll do anything. I'll pay, I'll leave the state, just please—"
Charles reaches for the gun resting on the side table next to his chair. The movement is casual, like he's reaching for a glass of water rather than a weapon meant to end a life. He picks up the weapon, checks that it's loaded and then points it at the kneeling Alpha's head.
The shot rings out before the man can finish his plea. Blood and brain matter spray across the carpet as the body drops, twitching once before going completely still. The sound echoes in the confined space, making my ears ring as smoke drifts through the air.
I blink, startled despite knowing this was coming. I've seen Charles order deaths before, watched him eliminate people who crossed him or became liabilities. But I'm not usually part of the business conversations that include violence like this. Usually, I'm with Ashton, protecting him from seeing the worst of what his father does, shielding him from the reality of how Charles built his empire.
This is different. This is personal. Someone hurt what Charles considers his property, and he's making an example of them.
Charles places the gun back on the table, his hand completely steady. There's not a drop of blood on him, not a hair out of place. He might as well have just finished a business call instead of executing a man in his own office. He reaches for a handkerchief in his pocket, wiping his hands despite not having touched anything dirty.
Viktor laughs, the sound full of genuine amusement. "I would have expected nothing less. You've always been decisive, Charles. It's one of the things I've always respected about you. No hesitation, no second-guessing. You see a problem, and you eliminate it."
"Then we understand each other," Charles says, leaning back in his chair. He seems completely unbothered by the corpse bleeding out on his carpet, like this is just another Tuesday afternoon.
"We do." Viktor's smile widens, showing too many teeth. "Which is why I wanted to restart our talks about partnering. We left on bad terms last time, but a few things have changed. I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement now."
I feel the shift in the room before I see it. The temperature seems to drop several degrees, tension ratcheting up another notch. Viktor's sons straighten slightly, their hands moving closer to the weapons concealed beneath their jackets. Whatever Viktor is proposing, Charles isn't going to like it.
