It’s sharp.
It’s cutting.
It’s cold.
“Where is he?” My voice comes out low, flat, dangerous.
She hesitates. “In the briefing room.”
I’m already on my feet.
“Lucian,” she says quietly. “Be careful.”
Hartford’s betrayal makes me forget I don’t want to be known as the devil.
The door to the briefing room creaks open. Hartford stands at the table with two captains, going over a shipment schedule. He looks up, and everything about him shifts. Surprise flickers—then careful neutrality.
“Boss,” he says smoothly. “You’re early.”
The captains glance between us.
“Leave,” I order.
They scatter.
Hartford folds his hands behind his back. “What can I help you with?”
“You were there when the email from Elias came in, weren’t you?” My voice feels like a blade, edge honed to perfection.
“Of course,” he says. “Handled it personally.”
“Interesting,” I murmur. “Because you told one version of events to me. And a different version to the guards.”
His expression flickers—but barely.
“Miscommunication,” he says easily.
“You also seemed to be sure of Elias’s betrayal even before the email was sent.”
He freezes for a fraction of a second. It’s small, but I’m trained to see it. “Boss, I don’t know?—”
I cock my gun and shoot him in the leg. Hartford falls against the table, yelling out.
I press the barrel to his head, my voice chilling. “Tell me the fucking truth, Hartford.”
He stares at me without an ounce of fear.
“I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive, Lucian,” he says. “I have contacts everywhere. You know that.”
Lucian.
Not “Boss.” Not “Sir.”
Arrogance. Familiarity. Contempt.
“Tell me the truth before I spread your brains all over this fucking room.”
“The truth,” he says, slowly, deliberately, “is that you’ve grown weak. And the boy is the reason. You used to be sharper. Harder. Your father would never have let a Moretti brat crawl into his bed and destroy his judgment.”
