“Then why does it look like obsession?”
I turn, leveling him with a look that makes most men back down. My brother only raises an eyebrow. He’s always been fearless—annoyingly so.
“Drop it,” I say.
He smirks, but he lets it go. “Fine. Then focus on the work. Rafael is moving. This fight wasn’t about the ring. You needed an outlet.”
“I don’t need outlets,” I reply. “I need information.”
“Yet you’re restless.”
We reach the car. Viktor opens the back door, and I slide in. Ardaleon closes it behind me and moves to the passenger seat. The interior smells of leather and cold air, familiar and grounding. The city blurs outside as we pull away.
I should be thinking about the docks. About Rafael’s men. About the strategies waiting on my desk. Instead, my mind keeps circling the one thing it shouldn’t.
Eden, standing in the afternoon light with her notebook pressed to her chest. Eden, shifting on her feet when I asked why she was far from her usual area. Eden, looking at me like she felt something she didn’t dare name.
Her fear was real, yes—but not the kind that makes people stupid. It was measured. Intelligent. That alone draws memore than it should. Most people either crumble or attack when they’re afraid. She does neither. She steadies. She adapts. She feels and still observes.
That combination is rare. Dangerous. Except I can’t stop replaying it.
The car turns onto a wider avenue, where neon lights smear across the windshield. Ardaleon glances back at me. “You going to tell me what exactly you want with her?”
“No.”
“You planning to let her go?”
“Also no.”
He huffs a dry laugh. “So we’re pretending this is logical.”
“It is,” I say, though the certainty in my tone feels strained.
“Sure,” he mutters. “If that helps.”
The city passes in long streaks of color. I close my eyes briefly, trying to force my mind back to the cartel, to Rafael’s next move, to the empire I built and must protect.
I open my eyes again, staring out at the city that belongs to me. I control territory. I control men. I control fear and silence and survival.
I can’t control this. The thought settles with a weight I don’t appreciate.
Eden is becoming a problem, and I’m not sure I want to solve it.
***
The club swallows us the moment we step inside.
Heat, perfume, liquor, and the low throb of bass wrap around the room like a second atmosphere. Lights slice acrossthe crowd in quick pulses—blue, red, gold, then darkness before the cycle begins again.
Bodies sway, laughter spikes, and every table is crowded with people trying too hard to matter.
My men move first—Viktor and Kirill scanning the crowd, slipping into the room’s rhythm without losing their edge. Lukyan, my cousin, drifts to my left, broad-shouldered and grinning like he owns the place. Ardaleon is on my right, quieter, sharper, already reading the room like a book he’s memorized.
We move through the club like a single, calculated force. People part without realizing why.
I take the booth reserved for us in the back, the leather creaking when I settle in. Bottles of expensive liquor line the table. Ice clinks, glasses fill, laughter spills from Lukyan’s mouth as he teases one of the bartenders who brings our drinks.
I lean back as the scene unfolds. Women drift close almost immediately, drawn in by proximity, power, and curiosity.
