I picked up the steak knife again.
I didn’t do it quickly. Didn’t make a show of it. Just reached over, wrapped my fingers around the handle, and lifted it offthe table. The blade caught the light from the chandelier. Clean. Sharp. Beautiful in the way dangerous things are beautiful.
“When you’re late,” I said, “you make me look unreliable. When I look unreliable, people start to think they can move into my territory. People like Rahsaan Boudreaux. You know Rahsaan?”
“I-I’ve heard of him?—”
“Rahsaan’s been waiting for me to slip for five years,” I continued. “He’s patient. Smart. The kind of man who knows that empires don’t fall all at once—they crack first. Little fractures. Small mistakes. And then, one day the whole thing comes down.”
Dominic was breathing too fast. Shallow breaths. The kind that came right before panic.
I could see it in his eyes—the moment he understood what was about to happen.
“You being late,” I said, “is a crack.”
“Mr. Landry, please.”
I stood.
The movement was smooth. Controlled. I walked around the table slowly, the steak knife still in my hand, my footsteps soft against the hardwood floor.
Dominic’s eyes tracked me, wide and wet with fear.
I could feel Priest’s attention slightly shift. Ready but not moving. This was my moment. He knew better than to interfere.
“I don’t tolerate cracks,” I said.
I stopped behind Dominic’s chair.
The room was so quiet I could hear his breathing. Fast. Ragged. The sound of a man who knew what was coming but couldn’t stop it.
“Put your hand on the table,” I said.
“What?”
“Your hand. On the table.”
Dominic’s breath hitched. “Mr. Landry, I swear to God, it won’t happen again!”
“I know it won’t.”
My voice was still calm. Still conversational. Like we were discussing the weather. Like this was the most reasonable thing in the world.
Because it was.
This was how my world worked. This was how respect was earned and maintained. This was how men like Rahsaan Boudreaux learned that my territory wasn’t up for negotiation and people knew not to fuck with me.
“Please!” Dominic’s voice cracked. “Please, I have a daughter!”
“I know,” I said. “Jasmine. Seven years old. Goes to Audubon Charter. Takes dance on Thursdays.”
Dominic went very still.
The fear in his eyes shifted. Deepened. Now it wasn’t just about him. Now it was about what I could do to the people he loved.
That was the point.
“Put your hand on the table,” I said again.
