“You live,” I repeat. “Because death is simple. Death makes martyrs. Death gives your friends excuses. But what I’m going to do to you is worse.”
I step closer until he has to tilt his head back to look at me.
“You’re stripped,” I say. “Rank. assets. territory. people. Your name is removed from every ledger and every hallway. You become a ghost that still breathes.”
Jasker’s mouth opens. “You can’t?—”
“I can,” I say. “And I will.”
I turn to the door and speak into the corridor without raising my voice.
“Rook,” I call.
The door opens immediately and Rook steps in, expression blank, weapon not visible but absolutely present.
“Take Captain Jasker,” I say. “Strip him. Audit him. Freeze every account, seize every ship, every warehouse. Send his lieutenants new assignments. If any of them resist, they join him in exile.”
Rook nods once. “Understood.”
Jasker lurches to his feet. “Lonari, please?—”
I don’t look at him. “Remove him.”
Rook takes him by the arm. Jasker jerks like an animal caught in a snare, but he’s weakened by fear, and fear makes men clumsy.
As they drag him out, his voice cracks. “You’re making a mistake! The Nine?—”
“The Nine can choke,” I say softly.
The door shuts behind them.
Now it’s just me and Tarsen.
He studies me, his calm mask settling back into place. “Impressive,” he says. “You’re very controlled for a man whose syndicate is bleeding.”
I smile, all teeth this time. “Control is how you win.”
Tarsen’s gaze flicks to the projection still floating above the table. “You recorded everything.”
“I record everything,” I say.
His smile grows thin. “Then you know this doesn’t end here.”
“I do,” I agree. “And you’re going to leave this building and tell whoever sent you that Jordan James is not for sale.”
Tarsen’s eyes narrow. “And if I don’t?”
I step closer, just enough that he can smell me—smoke, steel, and the faint metallic edge of threat.
“Then the next time you offer protection,” I say, voice low, “it’ll be to yourself. From me.”
He holds my gaze. Then he nods once, slow. “Noted.”
He stands, smooth, careful. “May I go?”
“Yes,” I say. “But first—empty your pockets.”
A beat.
