"Because you own the docks." Jonah's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Because nothing moves through this city without your people touching it, brother. Because despite everything, we're still family."
The wordfamilylands like a punch. I set down the folder and study my brother's face, looking for the angle I know is hiding beneath the surface.
"Who are you working with?"
"Independent investors. People who want to make money without the bureaucratic hassle."
"Names." Coldness slides through my veins.
"Confidential." His jaw tightens. "I'm not asking you to get involved directly. Just make a few calls. Ensure the shipments don't get flagged for inspection is all. Simple and your company can take ten percent."
I lean back in my chair. The request is dirty, but not unusually so for the circles Jonah has always aspired to run in. What bothers me is the timing. The desperation beneath his polished exterior he’s putting on for my benefit. The way his eyes keep flicking to the door like he's expecting someone to walk through it.
"I'll need to verify the cargo," I say slowly. "My people will inspect the first shipment before I make any calls. That’s all I can offer." I’m not about to expose my throat for him.
Frustration flickers across Jonah's face.
My brother nervously taps the table with the side of his thumb. "That won't be possible. My partners value their privacy. The containers stay closed."
Christ. This man doesn’t get it. My jaw tightens and my answer is immediate. "Then we don't have a deal, Jonah. This is done my way or not at all." I have no idea who he’s gotten in bed with. If I do shady deals and walk among the dirtiest of Chicago’s underworld, my brother slithers among the filthy of the shadows. I have limits. My brother does not. Because of our differences, I refuse to put Redthorne Holdings at risk.
Jonah's composure cracks. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to see the rage simmering beneath the polished surface. A muscle ticks in his jaw. His nostrils flare with a breath he fights to control. His fingers curl at his sides, knuckles blanching white against the expensive fabric of his trousers.
"You always do this." His voice drips with bitterness. "Make me jump through hoops. Prove myself over and over while you sit on your throne and judge who gets to live and thrive or who dies."
"I built this throne with my own hands while you were still learning to walk. Don't talk to me about proving yourself. How the fuck do you think I got to where I am? By doing the same damn thing. No one gave me anything. I had to prove to everyone I was worth taking a risk for. It’s about damn time I demand the same from you."
The old argument rises between us like a wall. I've heard these grievances a thousand times. Poor Jonah, living in his brother's shadow. Poor Jonah, never good enough no matter how hard he tries. Poor Jonah, convinced the world owes him something simply because he exists.
I'm tired of this conversation. But I'm not tired enough to miss the opportunity I've been waiting for. I know why he’s here. This conversation is only happening because of Katriana.
I pull out my phone and send a text.
Come to conference room 32 please.
Jonah watches me with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Calling in my assistant. If we're going to discuss import logistics, I'll need someone to take notes. You’re going to give me the details of what is in those containers and then we are goingto get down to business. I want you to succeed but if you are going to use my connections, everything has to be above board with me. Dirty deals don't happen between brothers. Got it."
It's a lie. Katriana has nothing to do with dock operations. But I want Jonah to see her. I need him to understand she’s under my protection now. I want him to watch her walk into this room looking confident and beautiful and utterly at ease in my world. I want him to understand exactly what he threw away and how Katriana has bloomed under my care.
Petty? Perhaps. But I've never claimed to be above pettiness when it comes to my brother.
The minutes stretch. Jonah's agitation grows. He keeps glancing at the folder between us, at the door, at his phone. Whatever this deal really is, he needs it badly. Which means his "independent investors" have him by the throat.
Good. Let him squirm. The deeper in the shit he is, the more he will slip up. If he doesn’t want to clue me in on what is going on, fine. He’ll have to sooner or later.
The door opens, and Katriana steps inside. She has her eyes down reading something on her phone and has failed to read the room.
“Sorry it took me a minute to get here. I was finishing up helping Kon with typing up a contract.”
I wave off her concerns. “It’s fine.”
She's wearing a navy dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, her honey-streaked hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Her glasses frame those brown eyes that have haunted my dreams for three years. She looks professional,polished, and completely at home in the halls of Redthorne Holdings.
She looks like she belongs here. With me.
"How can I be of assistance, Mr. Moses?"
