He says it like he’s ordering at a restaurant. Like it’s already settled.
That’s what makes my skin prickle. The men who scream and threaten, they’re predictable. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch. The ones who ask for the impossible like it’s already theirs.
To his credit, Lorenzo only looks bored. “Then find a city that isn’t already spoken for. Vegas isn’t the only place you can plant your flag.”
“You think you can drive me out?”
“I think it’s the only way you’ll get what you want. The Andrettis don’t surrender ground.”
Kozlov’s jaw tightens. A muscle jumps beneath the scar that runs from his temple to his cheekbone, pale and puckered against weathered skin. The man looks like what he is. A predator wearing a tailored suit.
“You’ve held power too long,” His voice drops to something quieter. More dangerous. “It’s made you soft. Complacent.” His gaze slides to the soldiers behind Lorenzo, then back. “We all know how you value your family. Your men. It’s almost touching, really. The way you pretend to be tough instead of what you actually are.”
“And what’s that?”
“Weak. You’re a weak, pathetic ruler.”
The word hangs in the air. Lorenzo doesn’t react, but I feel the tension ratchet up a notch in the men behind me. Hands drift closer to weapons. Breathing goes shallow.
“I’m not a ruler,” Lorenzo says evenly. “I’m a leader. There’s a difference, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand it.”
Kozlov’s palm slams against the table.
The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. Every soldier on both sides goes rigid. My hand closes around the grip of my gun before I even register moving.
For three heartbeats, nobody breathes.
I’m already doing the math. Kozlov first. Then the two flanking him. I’d take a bullet, maybe two, but Lorenzo would have time to get behind cover.
Then Kozlov smiles. Slow and cold and utterly devoid of warmth.
“I’ve been patient, Lorenzo. I’ve given you time to see reason. To understand that sharing this city is the only outcome that doesn’t end with both our organizations bleeding out in the streets.” He leans forward, and there’s something almost evangelical in his eyes. True believer madness. “But my patience has limits. I want fifty percent of Andretti territory. And if you refuse...”
He lets the threat dangle, unfinished.
Lorenzo’s expression doesn’t change. “If I refuse?”
“Then I’ll be forced to escalate.”
The statement lands like a blade between my ribs.
Escalate. As if kidnapping one of our men and mailing pieces of his dismembered body to Lorenzo wasn’t escalation. As if the drive-by that nearly took out Dario wasn’t escalation. As if trying to grab Lorenzo’s wife, Mia, off the street wasn’t fucking escalation.
I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes bulge. I want to carve that smug expression off his face with a dull knife.
Instead, I stand perfectly still and imagine all the ways I’d love to make him pay for this.
The conversation grinds on for another hour. Lorenzo refuses to cede an inch. Kozlov makes thinly veiled threats. Nothing gets resolved.
I spend the whole time scanning the room, tracking Viktor’s absence like a missing tooth I can’t stop tonguing. He should be here. Kozlov’s most trusted soldier. But he’s not.
Because he’s out there somewhere. Stalking Sierra. Waiting for his chance to hurt her again.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
When the meeting finally ends, both groups file out with weapons still holstered and hatred still simmering.
A stalemate. For now.
