Chapter 26
Liev
The Baranov jet waits at the far end of the runway, engines quiet for now, its presence a reminder that Hinto Moreno’s time in Miami is limited. One hour at most. Then he’s gone.
For now.
Ryder stands at my side, silent, her posture canted slightly in my direction. Probably because she looks as though she’s cringing away from where her father stands nearby, talking loudly in Spanish on his cell.
She’s watching everything, taking in our surroundings. This is the first time she’s been to the airstrip since I purchased it a few weeks ago. She hasn’t asked questions, but I know she’d flag me if she had concerns.
Alfredo arrives last.
He steps out of his car with the ease of a man who knows exactly where he stands in the world.
In his late sixties, I can only hope to come to that attitude naturally someday.
He wears high-waisted slacks with a shirt and cardigan despite the late-afternoon heat.
A measured expression, a dark mustache, and eyes that take it all in casually, but quickly.
“Liev,” he greets, extending a hand.
I take it. “Alfredo.”
His gaze moves briefly to Ryder, and he takes her hand. His mustache ghosts over her knuckles. I can see my wife fighting back a wicked smile. When Alfredo straightens, he looks to Hinto, off his phone and standing a few feet away. “Moreno.”
Hinto smiles like this is all his idea, and not a coincidence. He needs to leave. I need to do business. Our timelines overlap.
“Gentlemen.”
We don’t waste time.
“The arrangement is straightforward,” I say, directing the conversation where it belongs. “Your operations and mine intersect in three key areas—shipping, distribution, and territory overlap in the southern districts.”
Alfredo nods. “And conflict is inefficient.”
“Agreed,” I reply. “So we eliminate it.”
I lay it out cleanly. Shared routes where necessary, divided control where beneficial. Our men have each other’s backs. Clear boundaries, clear consequences. Enough overlap to ensure profit, enough separation to prevent interference.
“And protection?” Alfredo asks.
“Mutual,” I say. “No encroachment without discussion. No interference without consequence.”
A beat.
Then Alfredo smiles slightly. “You want balance.”
“I want stability,” I correct.
It’s a good deal. Strategic and necessary, but I also believe that it will boost business for both sides. It binds us just enough that neither of us can move against the other without cost.
Alfredo considers it, then inclines his head. “I can agree to that.”
Done. Or it would be—
“Unnecessary.”
The word cuts across the tarmac like a blade.
I don’t turn immediately. I let the silence settle, let Alfredo feel it, let him understand exactly what just happened.
Then I look at Hinto.
He stands with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, completely at ease, like he didn’t just step into something that has nothing to do with him. One thing Alfredo and I both agree on without question: no drugs. Ever.
“Explain,” I say.
Hinto smiles. “You’re overcomplicating things. Miami doesn’t need this kind of structure. It runs well enough as it is.”
Alfredo’s gaze shifts between us, interest sharpening.
Ryder has gone completely still, her eyes boring into her father’s shoulders. If looks left marks, he’d wake up bruised and battered.
I keep my voice even. “Miami runs well enough because no one has forced it to evolve.”
“And you will?” Hinto asks, amusement threading through his tone. “After a few weeks?”
“That’s all it takes.”
He laughs, the sound sending a spike of annoyance to the back of my skull. I can feel my knuckles tighten, shoulders going tense. “Confidence is admirable. Misplaced confidence is dangerous.”
He’s undermining me in front of the one man here whose opinion matters. I breathe deep through my nose, trying not to react the way I want to—by bashing his face into the tarmac. In front of one of the most successful crime leaders in Miami and his own daughter.
“Miami is under my control,” I say. “These decisions are mine to make. You’ve moved your business elsewhere.” I hope the latter acts as a reminder: he’s only in Savannah because Kazimir allows him to be.
Hinto tilts his head. “Control is a strong word.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
“I disagree,” he replies smoothly. “You’re still settling in. There are systems here you don’t fully understand.”
Alfredo watches closely now.
I step forward.
Not aggressive.
Not yet.
“You’re mistaken.”
Hinto smiles like he’s humoring me. “Am I?”
That’s enough.
My hand closes around his arm, the grip tightening as I pull him away from the others, toward the side of the hangar where the jet’s presence blocks the view.
It’s not hidden, but it’s private enough.
He doesn’t resist. That tells me he understands exactly what this is.
The moment we’re out of direct sight, I shove him back against the metal wall. The impact rings out sharply.
“You will not speak over me again,” I say, voice low and lethal. “Not in front of my partners. Not in front of my wife. Not on my ground.”
Hinto straightens slowly, adjusting his sleeve like this is an inconvenience rather than a threat. “Your ground?” he echoes.
My hand fists in his collar, pulling him forward.
“Yes.”
He looks at me, completely unbothered. “It’s not yours yet.”
I could end it here.
Right now.
One movement. One decision.
The jet would be gone in an hour. No one would question why Hinto Moreno didn’t return to Savannah. No one knows that this airstrip is mine, that he set foot here.
“Liev.”
Ryder’s voice cuts through the haze of rage clouding my judgement.
I don’t release him immediately. I look at her.
She stands a few feet away, gaze locked on mine, her expression controlled—not surprised or panicked. Would she care?
“Let him go,” she says. Back on the runway, the jet starts up. “Not here,” she adds. “Not like this.”
I hold her gaze for a second longer, then I release him.
Hinto smooths his shirt, looks at his daughter, and there it is—that smugness. Like he expected her to intervene. Like he still believes she belongs to him.
Ryder sees it too, and something in her expression hardens.
She steps forward, placing herself between us without hesitation, but her attention is fixed entirely on her father.
“Don’t misunderstand,” she continues, her voice calm but edged. “The only reason I stopped him is because killing you here would create problems.”
Hinto’s expression drops.
“I’m choosing my husband,” she adds, quieter now but no less firm. “Not you.”
The smugness drains from his face, replaced by something sharp and bitter. He looks like he’s been bitch-slapped, and doesn’t recognize his own child.
Good.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says softly.
Ryder doesn’t flinch. “No,” she replies. “I’m making a decision.”
Alfredo has lazily walked toward us, but he’s still far enough away that he can’t hear us over the engine. He watches from a distance, saying nothing, his attention fully on the three of us. This isn’t just a negotiation anymore; it’s a statement.
Hinto’s gaze shifts to me with bitterness that’s settling deeper, colder. “Be careful,” he says quietly. “You don’t have what you think you have.”
He steps back, putting distance between us, then turns toward the jet.
“Miami isn’t yours,” he says over his shoulder.
Then he walks away.
* * *
The drive back to the house is filled with silence that presses in from all sides, thick with everything neither of us is saying. The city moves around us in streaks of light and shadow, but inside the car, it feels contained. Focused.
Ryder stares out the window for most of the ride, her posture relaxed but not at ease. There’s tension in her shoulders, and she taps her fingers against her thigh before going still again.
She’s thinking. Always thinking, but now more than ever I feel a distance between us. I’d give anything to know if what I did earlier, the way I handled her father, was too far.
When we reach the house, neither of us speaks as we step inside. The door shuts behind us with a quiet, final sound that cuts off the outside world completely.
The silence shifts.
It sharpens.
I turn toward her, and she’s already looking at me. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then she exhales slowly, like she’s making a decision.
“That was reckless,” Ryder says. Her voice is steady. But there’s something underneath it.
I step closer, testing the boundaries—if there is one. If she’ll even tolerate me. “He embarrassed me.”
“He baited you,” she corrects.
“I don’t take bait.”
Her lips twitch faintly. “You almost killed him on your own runway.”
I stop just in front of her. Close enough to feel the heat between us.
“You stopped me,” I say.
“I did.”
Her chin lifts slightly, defiantly, even after everything that just happened. There’s no fear in her. No hesitation.
“And then you chose me,” I add, quieter.
Something flickers in her expression, gone almost instantly. “I chose the outcome that made the most sense,” she replies. “There’s no going back. I knew that the night I agreed to marry you. It’s logical choosing you.”
My hand lifts, slow enough to give her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t. My fingers brush her jaw, then settle lightly at the side of her neck.
Her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
There.
Honest.
“You keep telling yourself that,” I murmur.
Her breath catches.
Just for a second.
Then she steps closer instead of away.
“This,” she says, her voice lower now, less controlled, “doesn’t change anything.”
“No,” I agree. But it’s a lie. Because she chose me, and the two of us chose not to touch each other recklessly, but intentionally, and it changes everything.
My hand tightens slightly at her neck, not enough to restrain, just enough to hold her there. She doesn’t resist. If anything, she leans into it, her fingers catching in the front of my shirt, gripping just enough to ground herself.
There’s no more pretense, not tonight.
“You thought about killing him. You don’t get to make decisions like that without me,” she says, her lips brushing against my jaw. “Not when it involves my father.”
My gaze drops to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Then stay close enough to stop me.”
A challenge.
An invitation.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “You might not like how close I get.”
“I already do.”
Whatever line we’ve been pretending exists, whatever distance we’ve tried to maintain, it snaps clean in that moment.
I pull her into me, and Ryder comes willingly, like she’s been waiting for it.
Her hands slide up, gripping my shoulders, anchoring herself as our mouths meet.
Unapologetic and familiar in a way that’s no longer surprising.
There’s nothing tentative about it and no way to act like this is uncontrolled passion, stress being unleashed. We already know exactly what this is, even if neither of us can say it out loud.
My hand moves from her neck to her waist, pulling her closer, closing every last inch of space between us. She responds instantly, matching the pressure, intensity, and the need that’s been building for days now with nowhere to go.
There’s no pretending this is a mistake or temporary; we know what we’re doing. We just don’t care.
“Still just strategy?” I murmur against her mouth as her fingers begin to deftly undo the buttons of my shirt.
She lets out a quiet, breathless laugh that isn’t entirely steady. “You wish. Bedroom?”
I almost smile.
Then I kiss her again, deeper this time, and whatever words we had left dissolve completely. Towering over her, I wrap my arms under her ass and hoist her up. Ryder locks her thighs around my waist like we’ve done this a thousand times.
If she lets me, I’ll happily meet and pass that milestone.
The tension doesn’t break when we separate for a breath and stare into each other’s eyes. Ryder only licks her lips as I heft her higher, moving toward the bedroom, burning for her.
And this time neither of us tries to stop it.