“The bad news first.”
“How predictable of you, Roan. I knew you’d pick that.” He smirks infuriatingly.
I inhale deeply and give up on accomplishing any work right now. When Dhimitër gets like this, it’s impossible to rush him—the bastard enjoys drawing things out way too much.
“Just get on with it, asshole.”
He sobers up somewhat as he sinks into a chair across from me. “The bad news is that there seems to be… a hiccup with the alcohol shipment that should have arrived two days ago.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” If it didn’t arrive when it was supposed to, there’s obviously a hiccup. “When will the shipment actually arrive?”
He winces visibly. “I don’t know yet, but?—”
“You don’t know?” My palms sting as I slam them flat on my desk.
“But the weapons shipment did come in this morning,” he continues in a rush. “I received them myself and personally checked every crate, so we’re on track with delivering the agreed-upon amount to the Nightshades.”
My temper cools marginally at that news. Thatisreally good news, especially considering Rafael only put in the order for those weapons a few days ago. Swift, reliable delivery is something men in our line of business appreciate above almost everything else, and it builds the kind of trust that translates directly into repeat business and long-term partnerships.
“What sort ofhiccupis delaying the drinks?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain level.
Dhimitër grimaces, and I can tell I’m not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next. “Apparently, Fabian got in touch with the supplier and has been adding and removing items from our original order. Multiple times. Which means the supplier has no idea what they’re actually supposed to be shipping us.”
My hands ball into fists as I push to my feet, running an agitated hand through my hair before remembering that the strands are currently held back by an elastic tie. I yank it off in frustration and my hair falls down in riotous waves to my neck, the curls already tangling around my fingers as I dig them into my scalp. “He’s getting bolder.”
“Yes, he is. We have to do something, and soon.” Dhimitër leans forward intently. “Do you think we should go back to Long Island and insist on a face-to-face meeting with him?”
That’s a great idea. But going to Long Island… Reluctance tugs at my chest. It would mean being gone for at least two days, possibly longer if Fabian decides to make himself scarce again. Normally, I wouldn’t mind the short break from the estate. But now I have a complication—a problem in the form of a woman with piercing blue eyes who I find myself looking forward to seeing far more than I should.
Fuck.
“Maybe that can be a last resort,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll arrange a conference call with him first. Give him one chance to explain himself and get back in line. If he doesn’t honor it… well, then he’ll be seeing me in person.”
And that won’t be pleasant for him.
Dhimitër nods slowly, considering the plan. “That’s not a bad approach. The conference call will serve as an official warning meeting. If he doesn’t respond or refuses to heed your order, then you’ll be justified in going over there. Even the other leaders on Long Island will have no way of defending Fabian or claiming you overstepped.” He grins suddenly, rubbing his hands together with barely contained glee. “Honestly, I hope he doesn’t answer. I’d love an excuse to go over there.”
“Bloodthirsty,” I mutter as I settle back into my seat, glad we at least have a concrete plan in the works now. “Reach out toJanick. Tell him to arrange the meeting with Fabian as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if he can manage it.”
Janick is Fabian’s second-in-command and the best way to reach a man who isn’t exactly tech-savvy. Or who pretends not to be when it’s convenient.
Dhimitër already has his phone out as I speak, his fingers flying across the screen as he types out the message.
17
ROAN
The house is quiet when I step inside—a stillness that I’d grown accustomed to over the years but now find suffocating after just two days of walking in to find Katie waiting for me.
I shrug off my jacket and toss it over the back of the couch as I head towards the kitchen, planning to grab something quick before collapsing into bed. Thirty minutes ago, I gave in to temptation and checked the security feeds, but she wasn’t downstairs. So I figured she must be locked away in her room, probably already asleep.
I turn towards the large open space where the living area, dining room, and kitchen all flow together, then freeze.
There she is.
Standing by the fridge with her head tilted back, throat exposed and vulnerable as she swallows something down with water. The light catches the graceful line of her neck, and for a moment all I can do is stare, my heartbeat tripping hard in my chest.
I ease forward slowly, quietly, not wanting to disrupt whatever moment I’ve walked in on. That’s when I notice the pill container in her hand.
