CHAPTER 24
THE COURT OF WOLVES
POV: SILAS
War requires three things: capital, violence, and a symbol.
I have the capital—fifty-two million dollars of Nikolai Sokolov’s dirty money, sitting in offshore accounts that I now control.
I have the violence—it is stitched into my DNA, honed by my father, and perfected by necessity.
But until tonight, I didn't have the symbol.
I stand in the center of the loft, adjusting the cuffs of my black dress shirt. I am not wearing a suit jacket. I want them to see the holster strapped to my chest. I want them to see the muscle coiling beneath the fabric. Tonight is not about corporate diplomacy; it is about feudal law.
"Zip me up," a voice says from behind me.
I turn.
The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, sudden rush.
Ivy stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
She has discarded the oversized tactical gear.
In its place, she wears a dress that looks like it was forged from liquid onyx.
It is leather, tight enough to cut off circulation, with a high neck and long sleeves, but the hem stops high on her thighs.
She has dyed her hair. The soft caramel waves are gone, replaced by a deep, midnight chocolate that makes her pale skin look porcelain-white. Her eyes are rimmed in kohl, sharp and predatory.
She looks nothing like the girl I snatched from that apartment. She looks like the woman who stabbed a Bratva boss in the chest.
I walk over to her. My hands tremble slightly—not from nerves, but from the urge to rip that dress off her and ruin her against the glass.
"You look..." I struggle for the word. Beautiful is too soft. "...lethal."
"That’s the point," she says, meeting my gaze in the reflection.
I zip the dress up. The sound is a hiss of metal teeth locking together. I rest my hands on her waist, pulling her back against me. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of vanilla and gunpowder.
"Are you sure about this?" I ask against her skin. "You can stay here. Luca can guard the door. You don't have to walk into that room."
She turns in my arms, reaching up to fix my collar. Her fingers brush the gun under my arm.
"I’m not staying behind, Silas. Not anymore. If we’re buying an army, I want to see what we’re paying for."
She reaches down to the table and picks up the ceramic knife—the same one she used on Nikolai. She cleaned it, sharpened it. She slides it into a sheath strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath the leather.
"besides," she adds, a cold smile touching her lips. "I want them to know who the Queen is."
Pride, dark and viscous, floods my veins.
"Let’s go," I say. "The wolves are waiting."
The meeting is set in the VIP lounge of Purgatory, a nightclub in the Meatpacking District that is technically owned by the Triad but operates as neutral ground for the city’s underworld.
The bass from the club below vibrates through the floorboards, a rhythmic thumping that mimics a heartbeat. The air in the private room is thick with cigar smoke and tension.
Five men sit around a circular glass table.
Chen, the head of the Triad. Marcus King, leader of the Yardies. O’Malley, representing the Irish remnant. Diego, from the Latin Kings. And a representative from the Albanian cartel I paid off years ago.
They are apex predators in their own territories. But tonight, they are curious. They heard the rumors. They heard that Vane Enterprises is frozen. They heard Nikolai Sokolov is hunting me.
They smell blood in the water. They just don't know whose it is yet.
The door opens. Luca steps in first, scanning the room. He nods.
I walk in.
I don't pause. I walk straight to the empty chair at the head of the table. I don't sit. I stand behind it, resting my hands on the leather backrest.
Ivy walks in beside me.
The conversation in the room stops dead.
Five pairs of eyes shift to her. They scan her legs, her leather dress, the dark intent in her eyes. Some look with lust. Others with confusion.
"Gentlemen," I say, my voice cutting through the silence. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"We heard you were dead, Vane," O’Malley says, leaning back and blowing a ring of smoke. He’s a heavy man with a red face and bad teeth. "Or broke. Word on the street is the Feds locked your vaults."
"The Feds locked my vaults," I correct him smoothly. "They didn't touch my liquidity."
I signal to Luca.
He steps forward and places a heavy black duffel bag on the table.
He unzips it.
Bundles of cash spill out. Hundreds. Stacks of them. Five million dollars in physical currency, withdrawn from the stash houses we hit on the way here.
The mood in the room shifts instantly. The scent of skepticism is replaced by the scent of greed.
"That’s a lot of liquidity," Chen notes, his eyes narrowing. "But money doesn't buy survival against the Sokolovs. Nikolai has an army, Silas. You have... a bag of cash and a girl."
He gestures dismissively at Ivy.
"Why is she here?" O’Malley sneers. "This is business, Vane. Send the whore to wait in the car."
The room goes silent.
I don't move. I don't flinch.
I look at O’Malley. I look at the smirk on his face. I look at the way he dismisses her, reducing her to an object, a hole to be used and discarded.
My hand twitches toward my holster.
But before I can draw, Ivy moves.
She doesn't attack. She walks around the table. Her heels click rhythmically on the hardwood floor. Click. Click. Click.
She stops behind O’Malley’s chair.
She leans down, bringing her face close to his ear.
"I’m sorry," she whispers, her voice sweet and poisonous. "I didn't catch that. What did you call me?"
O’Malley laughs, turning his head to look at her. "I called you a—"
Ivy grabs a handful of his hair. She yanks his head back, exposing his throat.
In one fluid motion, she draws the ceramic knife from her thigh.
She presses the blade against his jugular.
O’Malley freezes. His eyes bulge. The laughter dies in his throat.
The other men at the table stiffen, reaching for their weapons.
"Sit down," I command, my voice a thunderclap. I draw my Glock and aim it at the center of the table. "Anyone moves, and this becomes a funeral."
They freeze. They look at me. Then they look at Ivy.
She hasn't flinched. She holds the knife steady. Her eyes are locked on O’Malley’s.
"I am Mrs. Vane," she says softly. "I am the woman who robbed Nikolai Sokolov of fifty million dollars yesterday. I am the woman who is financing this war. So I suggest you choose your next word very carefully."
O’Malley swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs against the blade. A thin line of blood appears.
"Mrs. Vane," he chokes out.
"Better," she says.
She releases his hair. She shoves his head forward. She wipes the blade on his shoulder—a gesture of pure disrespect—and sheathes it.
She walks back to me. She stands at my side, her chin held high, her chest heaving slightly.
She looks magnificent.
I look around the table. The men are staring at her with new eyes. Not lust. Fear. Respect.
"Now that we’ve established the hierarchy," I say, holstering my gun, "let’s talk business."
I lean forward, placing my hands on the table.
"Nikolai Sokolov is weak. He lost his funding. He lost his pride. He is a wounded animal lashing out. I am going to put him down."
I look at each man in turn.
"I’m offering you a contract. One night. Total war. You hit his distribution centers in Queens. You hit his warehouses in Jersey. You burn his clubs in Brooklyn. You stretch his forces so thin they snap."
"And what do we get?" Diego asks.
"You get the territory," I say. "Whatever you take, you keep. And you get ten million dollars each, transferred to accounts of your choosing, the moment the job is done."
Chen picks up a bundle of cash. He flips through it.
"And Sokolov himself?" Chen asks. "Who gets the head of the snake?"
I look at Ivy. She looks back at me, her eyes burning with a dark promise.
"Nikolai is mine," I say. "He touched my wife. I am going to peel him apart."
Chen nods. He puts the cash down.
"The Triad is in."
"Yardies are in," Marcus King says.
"Latin Kings are in," Diego agrees.
I look at O’Malley. He is rubbing his neck, looking pale.
"O’Malley?" I ask.
He looks at Ivy. He flinches.
"We’re in," he mumbles.
"Good."
I zip up the bag. I slide it across the table to Chen. "Consider this a down payment. The rest follows the fire."
I step back. I offer my arm to Ivy.
"Gentlemen," I say. "Happy hunting."
We walk out of the club and into the cool night air. The adrenaline is humming in my blood, singing a song of violence.
We get into the back of the waiting sedan. Luca gets in the driver’s seat.
As soon as the door closes, I pull Ivy into my lap.
I kiss her. It is rough, possessive, hungry. I taste the victory on her tongue.
"You terrified them," I murmur against her lips. "O’Malley almost pissed himself."
"He needed to learn manners," she says, breathless.
I run my hand down the leather of her dress, gripping her thigh right over the knife sheath.
"You are born for this," I say. "You are a natural."
"I was terrified," she admits, resting her forehead against mine. "My heart... Silas, check the tracker. What was it?"
I pull out my phone. I check the log.
PEAK HEART RATE: 145 BPM.
"High," I say. "But steady. You didn't panic. You controlled it."
I kiss her neck, right over the pulse point.
"Now," I say, pulling back. "Phase two."
"The Trap," she says.
"Yes."
I take out a burner phone. I dial a number I haven't called in years. A number that belongs to a corrupt NYPD detective who is on Nikolai’s payroll.
It rings twice.
"Yeah?" a voice answers.
"Detective miller," I say. "This is Silas Vane."
Silence on the other line. Then, a nervous laugh. "Vane? You’re a dead man walking. Why are you calling me?"
"Because I want to make a deal," I say, injecting a tremor of desperation into my voice. "I’m done, Miller. The accounts are frozen. I have no cash. I have no men. I’m hiding in a rat hole in the Bronx and my wife is... she’s not handling it well."
Ivy watches me, a small smile playing on her lips as she listens to my performance.
"I want out," I continue. "Tell Nikolai... tell him I’ll give him the girl. I’ll give him Ivy. Tonight. Just tell him to call off the hit. I just want to walk away."
"You’re selling her back?" Miller asks, incredulous.
"I’m saving my own skin," I say. "She’s just a liability now. Tell him to meet me at the old shipyard in Red Hook. Midnight. Alone. Or with a small crew. I don't want a war."
"I’ll tell him," Miller says. "But Vane... if this is a setup..."
"I have nothing left to set up with," I lie. "Just tell him."
I hang up.
I break the phone in half and toss it onto the floor of the car.
I look at Ivy.
"He’ll come," I say. "His ego won't let him refuse. The chance to have me begging? The chance to take you back and prove he won? He’ll be there."
"And we’ll be waiting," she says.
"Not just us," I say. "The army we just bought will be hitting his empire at 11:55 PM. By the time he realizes it’s a distraction... he’ll be trapped in the shipyard with us."
I run my thumb over her bottom lip.
"Are you ready for the end, Ivy?"
She catches my thumb in her teeth. She bites down, just hard enough to hurt.
"I’m ready to watch him burn," she says.
I look at her, my beautiful, corrupted wife. The girl who paints monsters is now the one leading the hunt.
"Then let’s go finish this," I say.
"Luca," I call out. "Get the C4 ready. We have a stage to set."