Blood and sweats hung in the air like cheap cologne. The man kneeling front of me reeked of fear, his eyes darting to the door as if he could still bolt. Pathetic. His hands trembled as he pushed the duffel bag towards me, the zipper barely holding together the crumbled mess of cash inside.
"Is this joke?" Matteo voice was cold beside me, the kind of cold that made men like this piss themselves. The thug swallowed hard, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
"I—it's all I could get, I swear—"
I silenced him with a look. He's mouth snapped shut, terror washing over his face as his knees scrape against the concrete floor. Good. Let him squirm. This was business. And my business, there were no second chances. The rules were simple: You pay. You respect. You don't fuck with me.
I squatted down, grabbing the duffel. The weight of it was wrong. I knew just by feel. Too light. My jaw clenched, and I threw it to Matteo without a word. He unzipped it, sifting through the bills like he was sorting trash.
"You're short," Matteo growled, tossing a handful of crumpled twenties at the man's feet. "Three hundred grand short."
The man's eyes widened, his face draining of color. "I—please, Mr. Weston, I'll get the rest. I just need more time—"
Time. They always begged for time.
"Look at me," I said quietly, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. He flinched but raised his eyes to meet mine, his body trembling like a cornered animal. I could see it—his mind racing, calculating how long it would take him to make a run for it. He was already dead. He just didn't know it yet.
"You came into my city," I began, standing up slowly, keeping my eyes locked on him. "You made a deal. You failed to deliver. That's not how things work."
"I—I have a family," he stammered. " Please, I'll get the money, I swear—"
"Everyone has a family," I said, brushing off his plea like dust. "It doesn't make you special. It just means more people to cry when you're gone."
Before he could say another word, Matteo stepped forward, pulling out his gun with the kind of casual grace that said he'd done this a hundred times before. The thug's eyes went wide, his body jerking backward, but there was nowhere to go. I'd already made my decision.
Matteo moved fast. The gun was at the man's temple before he could finish his next breath.
"No!" The man screamed, scrambling, but he barely had a second to panic before—
Bang!
The body hits the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him as the warehouse filled with the bitter scent of gunpowder. The sound echoed off the wall, but I barely noticed. The rush, the control that I usually felt in Moment like this—it wasn't there today. This should have made me feel Powerful, instead, there was just... nothing.
" clean this up," I ordered, my voice flat as I turned towards the exit." Send a message to his crew. They owe me Three hundred grands. Make sure they understand what happens if they don't deliver."
Matteo nodded, already signaling the clean up team as I stepped out into the cold air. The sky was pitch black, the only light coming from the streetlights. My driver was waiting, and as I stepped into the backseat, the door clicked shut behind me.
The car pulled away from the warehouse, and for a moment, I let the silence wash over me. But it didn't help. My mind was already drifting—back to her.
Lyra Carson.
No matter how much I tried to focus on business, on the empire I'd built brick by bloody brick, she kept invading my thoughts. It had been two days since I hired her, two days since she stood in my office and faced me without fear. And ever since, she'd been there. In my head. A problem I couldn't quite solve.
The worst part? I didn't know if I wanted to.
I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car lull me into a fog. But instead of clearing my mind, all I saw was her—those sharp green eyes, the way she carried herself with quiet confidence, like she wasn't scared of who I was or what I could do. It gnawed at me. Intrigued me.
Why the hell wasn't she afraid?
The car pulled up to the estate, and I stepped out, jaw clenched as I made my way inside. The moment I walked through the doors, I could feel her presence. It was like she filled the space with something I couldn't name—something sweet, something warm, something that didn't belong in a mansion like mine.
I found myself walking toward Mira's room before I even realized what I was doing. When I reached the doorway, I stopped, leaning against the frame. And there she was.
Lyra sat on the floor beside Mira, her back to me, reading softly from a book. Her fingers brushed through Mira's hair with a tenderness that caught me off guard, and Mira… Mira was listening. For the first time in months, she was actually paying attention.
I watched them, something tightening in my chest. Lyra didn't know it, but she was doing what no one else had been able to do—she was reaching her. And for the first time, I saw a flicker of hope in Mira's eyes.
Lyra glanced up, her gaze locking with mine. There it was again—that look. The one that made my blood hum. She didn't flinch, didn't look away, just held my gaze like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
I should've turned away, should've walked out. But I couldn't. Something about the way she filled the room, the way she handled Mira, made it impossible to loo
k away. She was a problem, a distraction I couldn't afford.