15. Alexei
ALEXEI
The private dining room sits hidden behind the main floor of an old riverfront restaurant near Savannah’s historic district, tucked beyond velvet curtains and dark walnut doors polished smooth by decades of wealthy men making quiet deals over expensive liquor.
Rain streaks the tall windows overlooking the river while jazz hums through hidden speakers somewhere beyond the walls.
Neutral territory. That was Enzo’s request. I agreed because men like him prefer polished environments when delivering threats. Restaurants allow plausible deniability. Public enough to discourage open bloodshed. Private enough to conduct business no one intends to acknowledge later.
Most men walk into places like this and immediately start performing. They mistake confidence for authority and volume for intimidation because silence makes them uncomfortable.
Enzo DeLuca doesn’t. That tells me more than the expensive charcoal suit stretched across his lean frame or the relaxed posture he wears while seated across from me at the dining table.
He’s comfortable inside hostile territory with the patience of a man accustomed to dangerous rooms. People only develop that level of composure after surviving situations far uglier than this one.
Two of his men remain near the doorway leading toward the kitchen corridor. Four of mine stand positioned near the walls behind me.
“You closed the Charleston routes quickly,” Enzo says after taking a slow sip of whiskey. Rain taps steadily against the windows behind him while lightning flashes faintly over the river. “Faster than I expected.”
I lean back in the leather chair, one hand resting near my untouched espresso. “Your people became careless.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “There’s that word again.”
“Careless?”
“No.” His eyes remain fixed on mine. “Your people.”
Luka stands near my shoulder, stone-faced beneath the low lighting, though I already know his attention has narrowed entirely onto Enzo and the positioning of the men beside the doorway.
Viktor remains farther back near the windows, his broad arms folded across his chest, and pale eyes never leaving Enzo for more than a second.
No one relaxes fully, not in rooms like this.
“You disrupted a great deal of money,” Enzo continues smoothly. “Cargo delays. Customs interference. Partnerships becoming impatient.”
“My concern for your inconveniences remains limited.”
He laughs low. “You always were difficult, Alexei.”
The use of my first name means little on its own. The familiarity beneath it matters more. Enzo wants this meeting to feel personal because personal conversations expose vulnerabilities, and vulnerabilities create leverage for men who understand how to weaponize pressure.
“You created a problem yesterday,” I reply evenly. “Men started circling places connected to my family shortly after I shut down your routes. That timing feels very convenient.”
Enzo exhales through his nose as if I have mildly entertained him. “You think I sent people to an animal shelter?”
“I think men losing money become creative.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth before disappearing again. “Interesting theory.”
My eyes stay locked on his. “You’re denying involvement?”
“I’m denying interest.” He lifts the whiskey glass again. “I don’t wage war by harassing volunteers and chasing dogs around parking lots.”
The denial feels too polished, too prepared. And men like Enzo rarely deny the parts they actually consider important.
Rage moves through me instantly at the lie, hot enough that I feel my pulse hammering beneath the collar of my shirt even while my expression remains unchanged. Years inside this world taught me how to sit still while violence builds beneath my skin.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand pressure.” His fingers rotate the whiskey glass once against the tabletop. “You shut down routes tied to people with long memories. Reactions happen.”
Thunder rolls outside. Enzo studies me carefully for another minute before speaking again. “You know what surprised me?”
I say nothing.
“The woman.”
Every muscle in my body tightens immediately.
He remains calm. “She reacted quickly yesterday. Most civilians panic once situations become chaotic.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “Magnolia Hayes didn’t.”
The atmosphere in the room changes the second he says her name. Nothing changes outwardly, yet tension coils beneath the polished conversation. Viktor straightens near the windows, and Luka’s attention narrows beside me.
“She has no involvement in this.”
“Not directly.” Enzo tilts his head. “But people close to powerful men rarely stay untouched by the fallout surrounding them.”
My fingers curl slowly against the leather armrest beneath the table.
Enzo continues smoothly before anyone interrupts. “Savannah is beautiful. Quiet. Predictable. Women like her don’t belong anywhere near conflicts between organizations like ours.”
I stare at him without blinking. “You’re threatening her.”
“No.” Another small smile touches his mouth. “I’m acknowledging reality.”
The image of Maggie standing outside the shelter yesterday slams into my head hard enough to make my back teeth clench.
Her braid had already started falling apart while anger and fear burned inside those hazel-green eyes, even while frightened volunteers and barking dogs created chaos in every direction around her.
That image nearly destroys the last restraint I still possess.
“You made a mistake,” I tell him quietly.
His brow lifts. “Did I?”
“You think mentioning her gives you leverage.” My voice lowers another degree. “What it actually gives you is a problem you’re not prepared for.”
Amusement sinks deeper into his expression. He wanted a reaction, confirmation, proof that Magnolia Hayes matters enough to reach beneath my composure. And I just handed it to him.
The realization detonates through my chest half a second before fury finally tears through the restraint I’ve maintained since this meeting began.
My chair slams backward across the floor as I surge across the table. Crystal crashes sideways while the table groans violently beneath the impact of Enzo’s body when I seize him by the throat and drag him over the polished surface.
His men draw their weapons. Mine do the same.
The room erupts into pandemonium so quickly that the sound of the rain disappears beneath the scrape of chairs and the click of guns being aimed.
I slam Enzo flat against the table and press the knife from inside my jacket beneath his jaw.
“How dare you.” The words come low and vicious through clenched teeth.
No one moves. No one breathes.
The blade presses harder against the underside of his throat, drawing a bead of blood while his pulse beats directly against the steel.
“You come into my city,” I continue, “you send men after what belongs to me, and then you speak like you’re entitled to it?”
One of Enzo’s guards takes half a step forward before Viktor quickly redirects his pistol toward the center of the man’s forehead.
“Don’t,” Viktor says coldly.
Enzo remains pinned beneath me without resistance. There’s no panic on his face, only a hint of fear in his eyes. If anything, he looks mildly interested in the reaction, and that expression drives another wave of fury through me because I realize exactly what he believes.
He thinks he won, not because of the routes or the ports, but because he finally got a reaction out of me.
“There he is,” Enzo murmurs.
I press the knife harder.
“You think this entertains me?”
“No.” His breathing remains even despite the steel against his throat. “I think she matters more than you intended.”
Luka steps closer carefully, his voice at a level that most people would mistake for calm. “Alexei.”
I ignore him.
Enzo’s mouth curves despite the blood beginning to bead beneath the blade. That tiny expression nearly pushes me over the edge because I understand exactly what he came here to accomplish.
Not negotiation, but confirmation.
“You should kill me now if you intend to,” Enzo says quietly.
The knife digs deep enough for a thin line of blood to slide along his throat.
Viktor’s jaw tightens visibly near the windows.
Luka’s voice hardens another degree. “Alexei.”
I finally glance toward him. Just briefly. But briefly is enough. Enough for reason to force its way back through the violence threatening to consume the room.
Killing Enzo here starts a war before Roman finishes identifying who is actually behind these attacks. It draws law enforcement attention toward Black Tide Logistics. It confirms every weakness Enzo hoped to expose during this meeting.
Worst of all, it drags Maggie deeper into a world she never asked to enter.
Slowly, I remove the knife from Enzo’s throat.
No one lowers their weapons.
I release the front of his suit and step backward while he rises from the table with infuriating composure, adjusting the collar of his jacket as though we merely disagreed over contract terms instead of nearly spilling blood across a restaurant table.
A drop of blood slides slowly down his neck. He wipes it away with his thumb.
“No hard feelings,” he says lightly.
Viktor looks prepared to shoot him anyway.
Honestly, I might have allowed it if Luka hadn’t stepped partially between us first, creating enough interruption to force distance back into the room before instinct overrides logic again.
“You’re finished here,” Luka says.
Enzo buttons his jacket calmly. “I know Alexei will make the correct decision eventually.”
All the violence inside me rises again at the implication beneath those words because men like Enzo believe pressure changes behavior and fear eventually creates compliance. He still doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with.
“You should pray,” I tell him quietly, “that no one touches her before I learn who gave that order.”
Enzo studies me for one long second before a smile slowly appears, not triumphant so much as curious, like he’s learned far more from this meeting than he expected to.