Keller’s smirk is cold. “Clever. Taking her out of play won’t just hit him personally. It’ll expose him. If he’s chasing us, he’s not protecting his empire. His allies will see the cracks and start pulling away.”
Cain chuckles darkly, leaning forward with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “So we use her to bait him, let him come to us while we dismantle everything he’s built. Poetic. Pretty daughter, powerful father. Yeah. That’ll get his attention.”
Rhodes finally speaks. His jaw is tight, and his voice is quiet. “You’re sure she’s the way? If this backfires?—”
“It won’t,” I cut him off firmly. “This isn’t a gamble.It’s calculated. Vin’s idea, and he’s right. If we’re going to break him, it has to start here.”
Their silence speaks volumes as each of them weighs the plan. Rhodes nods, and the tension in his frame eases slightly. He’s young, but he’s learning.
Wells taps ash into a nearby ashtray, keeping his tone serious. I think he’s smoked four cigarettes since I walked in here.
“So what’s the move? We can’t just grab her off the street and wait. There’s got to be more to the plan than that. Who does it? When, where? What happens after we have her?”
I meet his gaze, my voice steady. “I’m taking her myself. No one else. It sends the right message and shows him this isn’t a pawn move. It’s personal. I’m coming for him, and I’m starting with her. We’ll keep her at the cabin, and we’ll wait to see how Laurent responds to know our next move.”
Wells’s brows lift, but he doesn’t question it. Cain whistles low. “Bold. I like the optics of you, the oldest son, taking her. If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
Keller leans back, his calculating demeanor unshaken. “While you’ve got her, we’ll keep the rest of his operation busy. I’ll apply pressure at the docks when I’m not running the tables. If there’s a single shipment out of place, I’ll make sure it doesn’t make it to port.”
Wells nods, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’ll keep tabs on his contacts. If anyone’s looking nervous, I’ll push them. See who cracks.”
Cain smirks, adjusting his watch. “Just tell me where I’m needed while I’m here. As I said, I’ll stay as long as you need me, and then attend to my loose ends in New York. I’ll be back to handle business for good soon enough.”
Rhodes watches quietly, then nods. His youthfuldetermination cuts through the room. “Whatever it takes. I’ll do what you tell me.”
I let my gaze move around the table. No one looks away.
“This part is mine,” I say. “I’ll handle it.”
My hand throbs where it’s wrapped beneath the cuff of my jacket, the stitches pulling when I shift my grip on the chair.
A car door slams outside on the street. Someone exhales. No one argues.
“When it’s done, we don’t slow down. We don’t fracture. The business keeps moving like it always has. That’s how we make it clear that nothing changed when our father died. Except now there are six Stones on deck, not just one.”
Wells nods once from the window. Keller’s jaw tightens, approving. Rhodes straightens in his chair. Cain doesn’t smile, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
That’s enough.
I push back from the table. “I’m moving on the daughter as soon as the time is right. I’ll keep you all in the know as things unfold.”
The meeting dissolves without ceremony.
Chairs scrape back. Wells lights another cigarette. Rhodes lingers like he wants to say something and then thinks better of it.
Keller gives me a single look, sharp and assessing, before turning toward the door. No one needs instructions. They know what happens next.
I grab my jacket and leave first.
The office hallway is empty, lights low, the hum of the building settling into something tired and mechanical. Phones have stopped ringing, and the calls have already been made. What’s left is implementation.
Outside, the night hits hard and wet, the kind of New Orleans heat that clings to your skin no matter the hour. I cross the lot and slide into the car, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
The engine turns over.
As I pull into traffic, the city stretches out around me, neon bleeding into old brick and iron balconies.
French Quarter streets are already thick with life. Laughter spills from open doors. Music drifts through rolled-down windows. Tourists weave along sidewalks, oblivious to how close they are to things that would ruin them if they knew where to look.
