I smoothed the front of his vest, a mockery of politeness.
"Tell him the asset is secure. Tell him the perimeter is closed. And tell him if he sends another scout to her family's house... I won't just break the camera."
I stared into his eyes until he looked away, baring his neck in submission.
"Go."
He ran. He didn't pick up his tools. He sprinted down the street, stumbling, looking back once before vanishing around the corner.
I looked at the smashed camera on the sidewalk. I kicked the pieces into the gutter.
I turned back to the apartment building.
Rowan was in the window. The blinds were open. She was watching me. Her face was pale, tight with fury.
I let out a breath, forcing the anger back into the cage. The violence lingered under my skin, a low hum of electricity. It felt good. It felt clean.
I walked back up the stairs.
The door was unlocked.
I pushed it open. Rowan was standing exactly where I’d left her, next to the open suitcase. She looked like a statue carved out of ice and indignation.
"You broke the camera," she said. Her voice was flat.
"I neutralized the surveillance."
I walked past her, checking the room. "Is the bag packed?"
"You assaulted a man on a public street at 2:00 PM on a Tuesday." She turned to face me. "There were witnesses, Mateo. The woman with the stroller. The cab driver."
"They didn't see anything," I said, closing the blinds again. "Just a dispute. Londoners don't get involved."
"I saw it," she snapped.
I stopped. I looked at her.
She was hugging herself, her arms wrapped tight around the silk blouse she was wearing. She wasn't scared of the scout anymore. She was scared of me. Or rather, she was scared of what I represented.
"He was recording you," I said gently. "He had your face in the lens. I couldn't let him keep it."
"You didn't ask me," she whispered. "You just... went. You turned into a sledgehammer."
"I am a sledgehammer, Rowan. That’s why I'm here."
"I had a plan!" Her voice cracked, rising in pitch. "We could have slipped out. We could have been ghosts. Instead, you made a scene. You made it violent."
She stepped closer, her eyes blazing with that frantic need for control.
"Do you know what that feels like? Standing here, watching you handle him like... like he was nothing? It makes me feel small, Mateo. It makes me feel like I’m just a package you’re delivering. 'Stay here, little Beta. The big Alpha will handle the bad man.'"
She poked me in the chest. A hard, sharp jab.
"I hate feeling small," she hissed. "I have spent my entire career proving I am not small. And you just stripped my agency in thirty seconds."
I looked at her finger on my chest. I looked at the fire in her eyes.
She was right. In her world, the world of contracts and negotiations, violence was a failure of logic. In my world, violence was the only language that mattered.
