Her eyes sharpen, sleep disappearing. "Go where?"
"Yuri found something that I need to investigate." I hate the way her face changes, how the soft contentment fades into wariness. "There's nothing in this world I want more than to stay right here with you. To spend the day in this bed, learning everything that makes you smile."
She sits up, my shirt sliding off one shoulder. "But you can't, I understand."
"Not yet." I reach for her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone.
Fear flickers across her features, but she doesn't pull away. "How long will you be gone?"
"A few hours."
When all this is over, I'm going to give her that perfect night. The one she deserves. Dinner somewhere beautiful, dancing if she wants it. For now, I'll have to find the most beautiful and rare gift for her to remember today.
I'd planned to question Shane tonight, but Connor requested an urgent meeting instead. The tone in his voice suggested complications.
The Sovereign Room sits beneath one of the Pakhan's galleries, Thane Art Traders, like a secret kingdom carved from mahogany and shadows. This is where we conduct business that requires absolute discretion, where handshake deals worth millions happen over aged whiskey, and no recording device has ever penetrated.
Yuri and I descend the private staircase, the exclusive lounge serving as neutral ground where business continues regardless of whose blood was spilled yesterday.
The door opens. Crystal decanters catch strategic lighting, creating patterns that dance across faces while keeping identities safely obscured. Connor Quinn sits at a corner table with Patrick beside him.
Both men rise as we enter; the old courtesies persist even when discussing violence.
"Baev." Connor extends his hand. "Appreciate you coming so quickly."
"Connor. Patrick." I shake their hands. "You said it was urgent."
A hostess guides us through the gambling floor into a private room, dark wood, leather seating, soundproof walls.
We take our seats. Connor and Patrick on one side, Yuri and I across from them.
Connor doesn't waste time. "We received word this morning. Couldn't risk sharing details over any line. Too many ears in our business."
I lean back, studying both men. "What kind of word?"
"The kind that changes everything we thought we knew about Morrison." Connor leans forward. "The old bastard got himself into something deeper than gambling debts."
Yuri opens his laptop beside me, fingers already moving across keys with surgical precision. The blue glow reflects off his face as data streams across the screen.
"Morrison hired what he thought was a professional assassin." Connor's voice drops. "Wanted to eliminate some people he owed money to. Substantial gambling debts that were about to destroy him. But what Morrison didn't know was that he was dealing with the people he was trying to get killed. These people created an entire persona, complete background, references."
"So what did Shane see at the tailor shop?" I ask.
"It was Morrison getting snatched before he could walk inside."
My fingers press into my palms. "Then why go after Shane and Fee? Why shoot up the boutique?"
"The hired muscle overreacted," Connor replies. "They were supposed to create a distraction while their primary target was handled."
Connor's green eyes meet mine, holding steady despite the gravity of his words. "The debtors themselves called and said that the job's done. We weren't supposed to be part of it. They're offering payment and whatever's needed to keep the peace."
Yuri's fingers pause over his keyboard. "Three million dollars just appeared in an escrow account."
Three million isn't enough to cover a war between families. It's an apology, not blood money.
I've seen plenty of desperate men make stupid choices, but I need to know exactly what he brought into Fee's orbit. "What did Morrison owe that made him so reckless?"
"Millions in gambling debts," Patrick says. "Plus blackmail material about his sexual appetites."
