Chapter 11 – Lydia – Threadbare
I wake unrested. The sun’s already pushing through the cracks in the curtains, bright and too precise, making the dust in the air look like it's got nowhere to hide.
I sit up too fast and quickly regret it. My spine cracks. My mouth tastes like copper and bourbon and something I didn’t mean to swallow. Fear, maybe.
The loft is too quiet.
I scan the walls before I even realize what I’m doing.
The monitor above the bookshelf hums softly, it’s not flickering this morning.
No frame stutters, no skipped angles, no warning, and that terrifies me more than when it was glitching.
Because now I think it’s hiding better.
I slide off the bed and pad toward the console.
The system says nothing, no sign of intrusion, no alert, nothing at all.
Just that soft, steady glow like it never lied to me.
But it did.
Someone was in here. Watching. Not just Drazen. Not just Silas. Someone else.
Or maybe Silas is the someone else.
My hands curl into fists before I reach the console.
I pull them back. Turn away. Don’t touch it.
Not yet. I don’t want to give Drazen the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten inside my skin.
Not while I still smell like the night before and still feel the pressure of Silas’s hand hovering too close to mine without ever closing that last inch.
He’s dangerous.
But I didn’t flinch.
And that says more about me than it should.
I go to the kitchen. Pour water into a glass and drink it too fast. It burns like it's trying to scrub something off the inside of my throat.
Then I sit.
Just sit.
Staring at the still loft around me. The things I pretend are mine. The clothes. The books. The paintings on the wall that I picked because they felt impersonal enough not to be questioned.
I stand up to go shower when a knock sounds on the door. Hurriedly, I grab the nearest shirt off the chair, tug it over my head, cross to the door. My muscles tense before I even check the peephole.
Of course it’s Dom.
Dressed in charcoal gray, eyes hidden behind sunglasses even though we’re indoors, indoors, and it’s bright.
I open the door halfway.
He doesn’t wait for me to speak.
“Drazen wants a favor, and since I’m passing by your place, I thought it’s better to just come instead.” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay. So, where is this favor happening?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’ll be with you shortly.” I say as I close the door to change my clothes.
I grab my keys and step out.
Because with Drazen, there’s no such thing as no.
Only not fast enough.
When I get to the car Dom is already there, behind the wheel, waiting.
He starts the car and moves without saying a word.
Dom drives like he’s got something to prove.
One hand draped over the wheel, the other playing with the controls like the car’s a toy he’s already decided will never be good enough. The windows are tinted dark, the inside smells like cedar and nicotine, and every street we turn down feels like a road I’m supposed to forget.
He doesn’t talk for the first few minutes.
Just taps the steering wheel to some rhythm in his head.
I keep my gaze outside. The buildings bleed past: pawn shops, half-boarded liquor stores, a corner bodega with bulletproof glass and a kid spray-painting the wall like he owns it.
We turn onto the bridge road, heading east toward the docks. I recognize the route. Still, I ask, “You gonna tell me what this is?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Name’s Vasko. Drazen warned him to keep his shipments clean. He didn’t.”
I blink. “And I’m supposed to do what?”
"You're going to deliver a message. Face-to-face. The kind that needs a woman's touch to make it stick. And make it clear this is the last warning he gets."
"Final warning," I repeat, keeping my voice flat.
He smirks. "Relax. You've done this before."
"Not for you."
"No," he says, eyes tracking me with that calculating look he gets when he's measuring something. "But Drazen's busy tonight, and this particular client would responds better to... your approach than his usual methods."
I let that hang in the air.
It's not about whether I can do this. Dom knows I can. I've delivered enough veiled threats wrapped in polite conversation to understand exactly what he's asking for.
The question is why Dom's handling it instead of Drazen directly.
Dom turns into a side street flanked by wire fences and sodium lights burning daylight away. The warehouse looks abandoned from the outside.
We pull around back.
Two men in leather jackets stand by the rear service ramp, both armed and not even trying to hide it. One of them glances at Dom and waves us through with two fingers. The other eyes me in a manner both creepy and not new to me.
Inside, it’s colder. More men wait in the shadows, presumably stationed sentries. Either Drazen’s operation is expanding at a more rapid rate than I previously surmised, or this is borrowed muscle.
Not that that’s the most pressing concern at the moment.
We reach a wide-open storage floor lined with pallets and crates. A man waits at the center like he’s expecting a lecture he doesn’t believe in. Broad, built, aging like a boxer who lost his last five fights but still thinks he can take one more. He must be the one we’re here for… Vasko.
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink. Just shifts his stance slightly when he sees me walking in front.
Dom stops behind me and says, “Lydia speaks for Drazen today.”
I’m not sure why the hell he’s giving my name away, but it isn’t as if I can say anything here. I’m under no illusion of choice.
Vasko raises an eyebrow. “He sends a woman to do his talking now?”
I smile, stepping forward until we’re a breath apart. “He sends who he trusts to deliver the point without drawing a weapon.”
“Trust,” Vasko says, spitting the word like it tastes wrong. “And what, exactly, is the point?”
“That if you fuck up another shipment, he won’t send a mouth next time. He’ll send a message in pieces.”
Tension ripples through him, but he doesn’t move.
I take another step. My boots echo too loud on the concrete.
“You were warned. You agreed. Now you’re trying to squeeze out the side and pretend it was all a misunderstanding.”
He glances past me toward Dom.
I don’t let him look away.
“Eyes on me, Vasko. This part’s important.”
He does.
And I lean in, voice low and clean.
“You think this is about one shipment? He knows about the second one. And the third. You’re not good at hiding things. Just good at dying slower than most.”
A pause.
Then Vasko mutters, “Never seen you before.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m new.”
“What makes you think I’m scared of Drazen’s toy soldiers?”
I straighten. Smile just enough to cut.
“I worked with Elias.”
That sends a hard message across.
Dom shifts behind me.
Vasko’s face darkens.
“I survived under Elias,” I add. “This? This is child’s play.”
He doesn't answer. Doesn’t need to.
Because he hears it now.
This isn’t my first conversation in a warehouse with too many eyes. And he’s not the first man who thought I’d choke and ended up stammering instead.
Vasko lifts his chin and delivers a single nod that may be a bluff after all. All the same, he walks off without another word. The guards watching him go like pillars in a mausoleum.
I turn to leave.
Dom falls into step beside me, whistling low under his breath.
Once we’re back in the car, he says, “Drazen thought you’d flinch.”
I shut the door. Don’t look at him. “Then Drazen forgot who trained me.”
Dom laughs, flicks the ignition. “Oh, we remember Elias,” he says. “Hard man to forget. Smooth. Precise. Always walked around like he knew God personally.”
“He did.”
Dom snorts. “And now he’s a ghost. Funny how that works.”
I feel my fingers curling into fists in my lap but refuse to answer otherwise.
He pulls out into the street again, casual like it’s a Sunday drive.
“You handled that well,” he says.
“I always do.”
“You’re getting good at being useful.”
I glance out the window.
Not angry.
Just calculating.
“I’m not useful.”
“Sure,” he says. “That’s why he keeps using you.”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t need to.
The engine hums beneath us, too smooth for the roads we’re on.
Dom doesn’t turn on the music. Doesn’t fill the space. He just lets the hush sit there between us like he’s waiting for it to do his dirty work.
I watch the scenery bleed past the window. The warehouse disappears behind a veil of cracked fences and boarded-up storefronts. A dog trots past with no leash and no apparent destination.
The city’s always honest when no one’s looking.
It makes it harder to lie to yourself.
Dom finally speaks. “You didn’t even blink back there.”
“Should I have?”
He shrugs. “Most people do.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he says, “you’re something else. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”
I rest my head against the window and say nothing. Let him circle the question without getting closer.
He’s never been good with silence, though. Not when it makes him feel like he’s not the one holding the leash.
“Silas was at your place briefly last night. Interesting.”
“Are you tracking him now?”
“Drazen is.”
I meet his gaze as I turn my head towards him, he’s been watching me the whole time. Like he’s waiting for a crack.
“He’s not subtle,” Dom adds. “He doesn’t have to be.”
“He’s not stupid either.”
“Maybe not. But he’s predictable.”
I lean forward, voice level. “If Drazen has a problem with Silas, he should say it himself.”
Dom gives a mock gasp. “Oh? Look at you! Protective now?”
“Don’t confuse observation for allegiance,” I remind him flatly.
“Oh, I’m not confused.” He grins. “I just think it’s funny how fast you started watching the watcher.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Dom’s the type who’ll keep talking until he feels like he’s ahead again.
“Drazen doesn’t trust him,” he says. “You know that. Hell, I don’t trust him. But you? You’re letting him come into your loft like he’s not a viper with a face that sells knives.”
“I’ve let in worse.”
“Like Elias?”
I don't take the bait.