Chapter 20
Johnny
A storm hammers the windshield of my Aston Martin, rain hitting like gunfire.
Nashville doesn’t usually get storms like this.
But tonight, it fits. The board meeting Walter promised is finally happening.
I was invited to "sit in," learn about the opportunity, ask questions. Like I don’t already know. Like I’m not already ten moves ahead.
I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit in my life.
Killed men. Broken people. But trafficking?
That’s the line. The kind you burn into concrete and never cross.
Not after seeing what assault did to Lina.
Not after knowing how deep the scars run in the aftermath.
I may be a monster, but I’ll never be that kind of monster.
Joe, though? I’d bet every cent I’ve got he’s neck-deep in this filth.
Especially if he and Walter are in bed together, which I’m positive they are.
So, I’ll sit with these men who make my skin crawl. I’ll drink their whiskey. I’ll smile for their cameras. Then, I’ll burn their empire to the ground.
But first, I need to kill Joe.
I pull into a long, winding drive. The mansion ahead gleams with excess.
Tall columns, gold trim, too many cars. Too many predators in tailored suits.
I park behind the line and kill the engine.
Before I can open the door, a woman appears, rushing through the rain with an umbrella. She’s a maid, maybe. Disposable staff.
“Sir,” she says softly. “This way, please.”
I take the umbrella and follow her up the stairs, rain slicking the marble beneath my feet. Inside, she folds it neatly and gestures for me to keep following. My dress shoes click across the tile as I follow the corridors. Gilded wallpaper. Oversized portraits. A shrine to wealth built on rot.
Finally, we reach an office turned boardroom. There’s a long table with twelve chairs. Just enough for the eleven old bastards. Twelve, if you count me.
The maid eyes me warily as I pass. Smart woman.
Walter spots me instantly. “Jonathan, son. Come meet our host, Frances James.”
Frances looks like a weasel stuffed into a suit. Too-slick hair, watery eyes, and a handshake like wet tissue. Weak men hide behind stronger monsters. Frances is no exception.
“Jonathan,” he greets me. “Walter’s told us so much about you. We’re looking forward to seeing what you bring to the table.”
“Thank you for having me.” The lie tastes clean on my tongue. “I see a long and successful partnership ahead.”
Frances smiles, buying it. Fool.
“Help yourself to a drink. We’ll begin shortly.”
Dismissed, I move to the bar. A staff member pours me a whiskey neat. I sip slow, scanning the room. Every face matches the file in my research. Old money. New money. Southern charm dipped in arsenic. Dangerous, all of them. Most of these men are worse than I am.
Five minutes later, Walter calls us to order. I wait until the others sit, then take the open seat to his right.
“Gentlemen,” Walter announces, “let’s begin.”
Frances runs point. Discusses shipments, routes, ports. The ugly math of human cargo, dressed up in buzzwords and spreadsheets.
Another man takes over for finances. Numbers. YTD revenue. When he hits the totals, Walter looks my way. I widen my eyes, feigning surprise. Let the old bastard think I’m impressed. He smirks back.
The rest of the meeting blurs. I already know this operation inside and out. I’ve studied their routes, their players, their funding lines.
Instead of listening, I calculate how many of them I could kill before someone sounded the alarm. Five. Maybe six, if I’m fast. But I can’t, yet.
I’m playing the long game. There’s no room for mess. No mistakes. Not until I have Joe. Not until I have everything.
Finally, we adjourn. I walk with Walter to his car. The storm outside has broken, but the air is still sharp with cold.
“So,” Walter says, “you in?”
“Absolutely,” I say, smooth as glass. “I told you, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
He grins and claps my shoulder like we’re old friends. “Good. I’d hate to have to kill you.”
We both laugh. His threat is real. So is mine.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“I’ll take you to one of our holdings next week. Introduce you to the man running it for now. The last guy ran afoul of the Bratva.”
My gut goes tight. Bratva means Nik’s family. Lines are crossing that shouldn’t.
Walter continues. “The interim manager isn’t cutting it. I’m hoping you can step in. With your background in management and security, you’re perfect. We can’t have any cargo escaping.”
He laughs like it’s a punchline. I laugh too.
“I won’t disappoint you,” I promise. The lie comes easily.
“I know you won’t, son.”
We part ways, and I walk back to my car. I sit in the driver’s seat with the engine off.
I’m almost certain the man running that site is Joe. By next week, I’ll know for sure. And when I do? There won’t be anywhere left for him to hide.
The drive back is silent. No music. No distractions. Just the steady pulse of anger thrumming beneath my skin. Walter thinks I’m his new enforcer. His new favorite weapon. He has no idea I’m already polishing my gun for him.
And Joe? He’s next. I can feel it. I’m so close now, like a shark drawn to blood in the water.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening.
Lina was right to hate me. She was right not to trust this version of me; however, if I can take this empire down—if I make them bleed for what they’ve done—maybe she’ll see the man I’m trying to be.
And if not?
At least the ones who broke her first will gone from this world.