Chapter 73 Jag
“You’re certain about this?” My heart gallops as I look at Dove first. “If you have regrets later—”
“No regrets.” She steps toward me, her heels adding four-inches to her height as she grips my jaw and pierces me with her gilded stare. “No hesitation.”
We stand in the entryway of our suite, minutes from heading to the dinner meeting. I wear a fitted suit, black and serviceable, uninspiring enough to disappear into a crowd. Fabric and obligation pulls where they shouldn’t, pinching at my collar.
I’m not nervous. Just ready to go so we can get back.
Back to our room.
Back to our bed.
“That dress belongs on the floor.” I give her a slow perusal.
“Excuse me?” She anchors her fists on her hips.
The cocktail dress outlines every gorgeous curve of her figure, the corset bodice fitted to push her tits up and out. The neckline frames the beauty mark at her collarbone, drawing the eye to all that cleavage.
“When I rip it from your body and carry you to the bed, you’ll understand.” I arch a brow.
A pretty flush colors her cheeks.
The top half of her hair pulls into two buns, crowned with black beads. The rest spills over her shoulders in ombré ripples of blue and green. Her legs are bare, unapologetically so, set off by strappy black heels.
“You look lethal.” My dick hardens. “Devastatingly beautiful.”
She looks like she belongs exactly where she is.
“Thank you.” She dips into a curtsy.
I turn to Wolf. “What about you?”
“As my family would say, I’m all in.” He drapes an arm over Dove’s shoulders and strikes a pose.
He wears a similar suit to mine, the tailored cuts made unruly by the man inside it.
A fishnet top sits under the jacket, where a proper shirt would be, skin and scars visible beneath the weave. A pearl necklace rests at his throat, and matching earrings dangle from his ears.
He styled his skater-long hair to sweep across his brow instead of in his eyes. Rings crowd his fingers, and heavy eyeliner sharpens the effect, making his blue eyes impossible to ignore.
“You clean up.” I meet his gaze.
“I know.” He grins.
I think about the room he’ll walk into wearing that suit. The men who will underestimate him because he looks beautiful. The ones who will clock the intelligence behind the style and hesitate. Wolf has always understood optics. Tonight, he’s weaponized them.
We spent the day in bed together, sunlight shifting across the room while we talked about what staying here actually means for them.
Before Wolf and I arrived in Colombia, Dove had already told Matias she would remain if Wolf did. I know that now. I also know I won’t let that be the only condition on the table.
I have demands.
Tonight, I intend to make them clear.
I open the door and step into the corridor. Wolf falls in at my right, Dove between us. We link hands without discussion. It steadies the pace and keeps us aligned as we move through the citadel.
Three people choosing the same direction.
The walk to the dining hall takes ten minutes. By the time we arrive, the room is already coming alive. Chairs slide back. Quiet discussions taper off. One by one, the rest of the twenty-two filters in.
Matias takes his place at the head of the table, Camila on his right and Van on his left.
Camila motions at me then the chair beside her. I take the offered seat with Wolf at my side and Dove next to him.
Conversation fills the table as plates arrive in an endless procession of appetizers. Crisped arepas topped with warm hogao. Bowls of ajiaco broth, fragrant with guascas.
I’m slowly learning the food, but there are a few things I don’t recognize as the hiss of hot plates meets wood.
The aromas of corn, citrus, and slow-cooked meats circulate the room, threaded with the clink of cutlery and the murmurs of easy camaraderie. Family updates are shared, jokes traded, and a few dry comments draw laughter. I answer where appropriate and nod where it’s expected.
Wolf charms without trying, asking a question here, offering an offensive punchline there. Dove listens, eyes moving, absorbing the dynamics with the same attention she gives an engine.
Matias rises.
The room quiets with him, chairs easing back, and conversations tapering into stillness. He lifts his glass and looks down the length of the table, expression composed and satisfied.
“Welcome home.” He smiles warmly. “It’s rare to have us all in one place. We’re usually scattered across the globe, most of you on reconnaissance or undercover operations, dangerous work that keeps us moving. But for this…” He tips his drink in my direction. “For El Vigilante, you all came back.”
“It’s called FOMO.” Camila laughs.
A ripple of assent moves around the table. Glasses lift.
“And you…” Matias turns fully toward me. “You have done this. Your presence gathered the circle. For that, you have my thanks. Our thanks.” He lifts his glass higher. “Salud.”
“Salud,” the table answers, voices overlapping and glasses meeting with ringing clinks.
I take a sip, let the moment settle, and set down my glass.
When I clear my throat, it’s soft but deliberate. Heads turn. The room yields again.
“Thank you for the hospitality. For the welcome. For the food.” I incline my head to Camila, then Matias. “It’s been… Thorough.”
A few smiles flicker. I don’t return them.
“There’s something we need to discuss before the next course.” I square my shoulders. “A demand. Two of them, actually.”
“This should be interesting.” Van reclines, waggling a toothpick between his lips.
Matias lifts a hand, the motion casual but carrying weight.
“Hable con todos.” He flicks his fingers outward, indicating the table. “Speak.”
“All right.” I turn my body toward the circle and let my gaze travel, meeting eyes and measuring attention.
“Wolf accepted your job offer, but I have limits. His involvement will be solely in an intelligence capacity. He’ll provide analysis, strategy, and ideas.
” I clamp a hand on his jogging knee beneath the table, calming him.
“He will not be deployed as a spy. He will not be an operative. He will not be placed in the field or anywhere that requires a weapon.”
I squeeze his knee, a quiet warning, and feel the argument coil in him anyway. When we talked this through earlier, he said this condition wasn’t necessary, that he could handle himself.
Dove and I didn’t budge.
In our democracy of three, he lost that vote.
“He stays here.” I keep my hand on his leg, reminding him to remain quiet. “At the table. In rooms like this. Where minds are used instead of bodies.”
“What I’m hearing is…” Van grins around the toothpick. “No more wearable surprises?”
“No bombs. No bullets. No danger. Wolf stays out of the line of fire.” I set my forearms on the table and harden my voice. “I agreed to give you my life for one reason only. The protection of Wolf and Dove.”
“The terms changed.” Matias sips from his glass, watching me over the rim. “When your Wolf arrived wearing a bomb, he demonstrated capabilities that align with our needs.”
“He is not collateral!” I slam a fist onto the table, rattling the dishes. “He’s not leverage or incentive or a fucking clause in a contract. Everything else is negotiable. That is not.”
The room goes quiet, eyes shifting, calculating, but not objecting.
Matias studies Wolf, assessing posture and expression, marking Wolf’s stillness, which reads as confidence rather than compliance. Then his gaze returns to me.
“I’ll agree,” he says at last. “With conditions.”
Here we go.
“I’m listening.”
“Wolf answers to the table.” He tips his glass at the inner circle. “Not to you alone. When we ask for his mind, we get it. Fully.”
“That was always implied.”
“And we want the Russians.” His eyes cut to Wolf.
“In the nightclub, you wore devices no one detected, cameras and other hidden communications that allowed the Russians to see and hear everything. And the explosive… It was invisible enough to sneak inside.” He tilts his head. “The Ghost built all that?”
“Yep. With two of these.” Wolf lifts both hands, fingers splayed and wriggling, irreverent as fuck. “DIY.”
Murmurs move around the table.
“You want the Russians?” I look at Matias. “I thought you didn’t trust them?”
“I had to be sure, and now I know.” His dark eyes glint. “The Ghost and his associates don’t traffic humans. That makes them amenable to our cause. Persuadable. Useful. We want them to help us.”
“The Ghost is retired.” Wolf shrugs.
“Then you have your first assignment, Wolfson Strakh. Make him unretired.”
“Sure.” He coughs. “Totally doable. No problem.” He nods, shifting. “I’m on it.”
“This is where the second demand comes in.” I turn back to the table. “We want time in Alaska. The three of us. Time with our family there.”
“How much time?” Matias asks.
“Half the year.” I steady my breathing. “Fifty percent here, fifty percent there.”
“Your home is here.” He sets his jaw.
I grit my teeth. I knew this would be the hard one.
A chair shifts at the far end of the table. Tiago Badell leans back, arm draped over his wife’s lap. Former kingpin of Venezuela, still holding himself like the crown never left.
“Kate and I spend most of the year in Eritrea.” Tiago lifts a brow at Matias.
“Siempre haces lo que te da la gana.” Matias scowls.
“Porque soy mi propio jefe.” Tiago shrugs, a lazy roll of one shoulder.
A few quiet sounds ripple down the table. I really need to learn Spanish. Like yesterday.
“Algún día esa boca te va a costar caro.” Matias leans forward, arms angrily braced on his knees.
“Stop flirting.” Tiago laughs. “I might get the wrong idea.”
The room settles again, tension redistributed.
“Just going to pile on here.” Across the table, Cole Hartman winks at me and turns to Matias. “Lydia and I spend our summers in Russia and winters in Ireland. It’s never been an issue.”
Beside him, Joshua Carter leans toward his wife. “Liv and I live in Texas during football season.” He looks straight at Matias. “Be reasonable, jefe.”
Silence follows. Not empty or hostile. Evaluative.
Matias’s expression tightens with irritation. He doesn’t like being boxed in by his own circle. He likes it even less when they’re right.
What I’ve learned about these people is simple. Family comes first, their loved ones outrank everything else, and every voice at the table carries weight.
I stay still, hands relaxed, eyes on the shadow boss.
“?Alguna otra opinión?” Matias asks the room.
No one speaks.
He holds the silence for a moment, sipping from his glass. When he sets it down, his smile is already in place.
“It’s settled.” He looks directly at me. “You may come and go as you want. Use our helicopters. Our planes. Be present for all required meetings.” His tone sharpens. “But your home base is here. With The Freedom Fighters. ?Comprende?”
I nod. Beside me, Wolf and Dove nod, too.
“Bueno.” Matias leans in. “One more thing.”
I wait.
“Every time you return to Colombia…” He flicks his eyes to Wolf. “You will bring Strakh Vodka.”
“Knew it.” Wolf grins.
“Understood.” I incline my head, hiding my smile.
The table exhales and drifts back into conversations about travel windows, aircraft maintenance, and the perfect heat level in the sauce. Plates shift. Glasses refill. The machine resumes its hum.
I rest an arm along the back of Wolf’s chair and let my fingers trail over the nape of his neck. He stills under the touch without looking at me, a subtle acknowledgment that stirs so many things in my chest.
Dove leans across Wolf and reaches for me. I catch her hand easily.
“I’m happy, Jag,” she whispers for only our circle of three. “Are you… Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I swear it.” I hook our pinkies together and lift them to my lips.
Then I offer our intertwined fingers to Wolf.
He cradles both our hands in his palms, dips his head, and kisses our fingers with a seriousness that silences me.
When he looks up, the three of us hold one another’s eyes over the small bridge of skin and promise.
The moment loosens, and we separate to eat.
I turn back to my plate and find Camila watching me from my other side, her expression unreadable.
“Welcome to the family.” She lifts her glass, her finger tapping against the stem. “I told you in our first meeting that I’d been watching you, studying the jobs you refuse and the people you protect.”
“I remember.”
“You turned down every contract tied to human trafficking. Every operation that involved harming people who couldn’t fight back.
That told me everything.” Her nostrils pulse with a slow inhale.
“You belong here. In the circle.” Her gaze moves to Wolf and Dove.
“So do they. You were never going to survive without them.” Her eyes return to me.
“Without them, you would’ve never been able to breathe. ”
Realization slams into me with sudden, alarming clarity.
This wasn’t coincidence or convenience. It was design. Bringing Dove here, drawing Wolf in, folding them into the family so completely that leaving would never be a consideration. Because I would always choose them.
My jaw locks down on a smile. “You set me up.”
She lifts her glass to her mouth and takes an unhurried sip with a glimmer dancing in her eyes.