My blood runs ice-cold. The memory of Sandra shaking in the boutique hits me like a physical blow. My hand twitches toward the small of my back, every instinct screaming at me to draw my gun, find the bastard, and put a hollow-point round in his chest.
I clench my jaw, keeping a tight, ironclad lid on my temper. I force my hand to stay loose at my side instead.
No violence.I repeat the objective in my head, shoving the anger down. I follow the guard up a metal staircase toward a glass-paneled office overlooking the warehouse floor.
I’m ending this. Right now.
The guard opens the heavy steel door to the elevated office. I step inside, leaving the noisy warehouse floor behind.
The room is a total contrast to the rusted industrial space outside. It features rich leather armchairs, thick Persian rugs, and dark wood paneling. The air smells of expensive cigar smoke and bourbon.
Sergio sits behind a massive desk at the far end of the room. He is an older syndicate boss in a tailored suit, his dark hair silvering at the temples. He projects casual control, resting his hands on the polished wood and evaluating me with calculating eyes.
I start to walk across the Persian rug, but before I reach the desk, heavy footsteps thud against the metal staircase outside. The office door swings open behind me.
The bitter scent of old sweat, cigarette smoke, and cheap cologne rolls into the room. Nero and Emilio flank each other in the doorway behind me.
They followed me up from the warehouse floor. They step into the office together. Nero, with his slicked-back dark hair and hawk-like nose, moves to the right side of the room. Emilio,heavier set with a dark scowl. They look at me with a mix of arrogance and aggression. Nero opens his mouth to speak.
I don’t give him the chance. I ignore their existence.
I finish crossing the rug, pull the thick envelope from my inner jacket pocket, and toss it onto the pristine mahogany desk. It hits the wood with a heavy smack.
“Sergio.” I keep my voice low and steady. I don’t offer a hand for a shake. “My name is Jethro. I’m a Pack Alpha from Willowside.”
Sergio arches an eyebrow, taking a slow drag from his cigar. He glances at the envelope, then back to my face. “I know who you are. My men have been keeping an eye on your town. You run a bar. And you currently possess property that belongs to my organization.”
“She’s not property.” I match his steady tone, forcing myself to stay calm. “Her father owes you a gambling debt. I’m here to clear the ledger.”
I reach forward, popping the metal clasp on the envelope. I slide the two thick, banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills out under the bright office lights.
The entire room goes dead silent. The two guards standing by the door shift their weight, staring. Sergio stops mid-drag, his cigar hovering near his mouth. Nero and Emilio freeze, their sneers faltering as they look at the cash sitting on the desk.
“Twenty thousand dollars.” I look at Sergio. “Cash. That covers her father’s principal debt and whatever hazard pay you’re giving your guys to freeze in an SUV outside my town. The financial marker is wiped out.”
Sergio slowly lowers his cigar to an ashtray. He leans forward, his eyes locked on the money.
“Count it. Verify it.” I step back from the desk. “Do whatever you need to do, but this transaction ends right now.”
Nero steps forward, his boots thudding against the rug, Emilio right behind him. “Boss, you can’t be serious. That bitch is ours. We claimed her. We gave her our marks. We don’t sell our collateral to some bartender just because he brought some cash!”
“Shut your mouths.” Sergio snaps the order without even looking at his enforcers.
I square my broad shoulders, turning slightly to ensure Nero and Emilio catch the absolute finality in my expression.
“You forced a bite. That isn’t a bond, and she rejected it.” I let my voice carry a hard, unyielding weight, shifting my attention back to Sergio. “She accepted our marks. The physical and emotional bond is fully set. By the rules that govern our country, and by the marks she accepted from us, I’m officially invoking Alpha Law.”
The words hang in the heavy air of the office.
Invoking Alpha Law isn’t just a negotiation tactic. It relies on the archaic, primal rules of our society. Under the Law, she is recognized as our pack’s property. I feel dirty even thinking of her like an object; it goes against everything I feel for her, but I know it is the only rule that Alphas like Sergio are forced to respect. Because she accepted our pack, any forced claims or familial debts are completely voided.
“Sandra belongs to my pack.” I keep my voice pragmatic and cold. “She has no ties to this city or to your organization. Alpha Law stands. All Alphas follow it, and you will, too.”
Sergio leans back in his leather chair. He looks at the cash, then back at me. He is a businessman, and he knows how this works. If he accepts the money, his financial loss is covered. If he ignores an established Alpha Law claim, he violates the most sacred, unbreakable instinct of our kind.
“And let me make this perfectly clear.” I turn my tone to pure steel. “After today, Sandra is no longer her father’s family. Youdo not come to her, or to us, for any future debts that man creates for himself. I don’t care if he borrows another million dollars. We will not pay a single cent of it. You need to make absolutely sure he understands that.”
Sergio nods slowly. He reaches out, tapping a manicured finger against a banded stack of hundreds. “The debt is settled. The ledger is clean. We recognize her marks. Alpha Law stands. Your pack is shielded from his future mistakes. I have my money, I considered this matter done with.”
