His head is angled slightly to the left. Past my shoulder. Like I'm not worth his direct attention.
Arrogant prick.
Heat crawls up my spine. My jaw tightens. I force myself to breathe slowly. Evenly. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.
I smile instead. Let it spread slow and sharp. "What's this? Mood lighting? You trying to seduce me, Krasniqi?"
His jaw tightens. Just a fraction. Barely visible in the dim light. But I catch it.
Good. I got under his skin.
"Sit down and get to the point." His voice is flat. Cold. "I'm a busy man."
The words are dismissive. Final. Like I'm an inconvenience. Like he's doing me a favor by letting me breathe the same air.
I sit. Let the chair take my weight. Cross one ankle over my knee. Let the silence stretch between us. Let him wait. Let him wonder if I'm going to play his game or flip the board.
Then I let my face turn to stone. All humor gone. All pretense dropped.
"I don't know if condolences or congratulations are in order," I say. My voice is steady. Deliberate. "What's the protocol when a man kills his own father?"
Luan's hands tighten on the armrests. His knuckles go white. His shoulders shift forward half an inch. For a moment, I think he's going to launch himself at me. Come across the ottoman and put his hands around my throat.
I almost want him to try.
But Artan steps forward. His voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "Get to the point, Erion."
I hold Luan's gaze. Or try to. He's still not looking directly at me. His eyes are fixed somewhere above my head. Past me. Through me.
Like I'm not even here.
The disrespect crawls under my skin. Presses against my ribs.
"I have a proposition," I say, my voice even. Let the words carry their own weight. "An alliance. Between the Krasniqis and my crew."
Luan's head tilts. Just slightly. Still not meeting my eyes. "What do I gain from an alliance with you?" A pause. Then, quieter, sharper: "I just got rid of one unhinged element from my organization. Why would I align with another?"
The insult lands clean. Sharp. Deliberate.
I smile again. Slow and dangerous. Let him see the edge. Let him know exactly what he's poking.
"We both know the bomb three weeks ago was planted by men loyal to your father," I say. "Men still operating inside your organization. Hidden. Waiting. You don't know who you can trust, Krasniqi. Could be anyone. Could be the man standing next to you right now."
I let that sink in. Watch Artan's face for a reaction. He doesn't give me one. Stone. Unreadable.
"I don't have that problem," I continue. "My men are loyal to me. Not because of blood. Not because of tradition. Not because their fathers served my father. Because I earned it. Every single one of them chose to follow me. And if I tell them we're joining forces with the Krasniqis, that we're taking Chicago together, they won't hesitate. Not one of them."
Silence settles over the room. Thick. Suffocating.
Luan's hands flex once against the armrests. Then still. Completely motionless.
Artan shifts his weight. Just barely. A fraction of an inch. But I catch it.
Good. I'm getting to them.
Then Luan speaks. His voice is cold. Controlled. Surgical. "Why do you want this alliance? If we're as exposed as you say, why not make a move? Take Chicago for yourself."
I lean back in the chair. Let the question hang in the air for a moment. Let him think I'm considering it. Weighing my options.
