Chapter 12 #2
I pulled out a chair, not the one at the head—that was for show—but the one just off center.
Power didn’t always sit where people expected.
Nikolai took the seat to my right. Isabella sat beside him without waiting for permission, and Yuri dropped into the last chair with a lazy grin like we were all here to drink and not talk business with men who’d slit your throat if your numbers were off.
My jaw ticked when I saw another set of eyes on Isabella. Was this what I’d brought into the room? A weapon? Or a distraction?
“Who’s the girl?” the man at the head asked, voice low, deliberate. He leaned forward with both forearms braced on the table, his thick accent wrapping around each word like smoke. “She doesn’t look like just another soldier.”
I leaned back in my chair, letting silence stretch for a moment. Power meant knowing when not to speak.
“She’s mine,” I said finally, tone flat. “That’s all you need to know.”
Isabella didn’t flinch, didn’t correct me. Smart. She knew the game.
The man’s eyes flicked to Yuri, then to Nikolai. “Strange company you keep these days, Carrion. Russian steel… and something much more unpredictable.”
“She’s here because I trust her,” I said. “That’s rare enough in our world.”
That shut him up. At least for now.
We got into the numbers then—kilos, routes, weapons shipments.
I laid out the offer with the kind of calm precision that unnerved men like this.
Our end was simple: access to their southern corridor.
In exchange, they’d get what no one else could deliver right now—untraceable military-grade rifles, high-caliber ammunition, and explosives.
It wasn’t about what we were offering. It was about how we could get it in. We’d spent years building the backdoor channels. They knew that.
“You can really guarantee those routes won’t be touched?” one of them asked, doubt laced in his voice.
I looked him dead in the eye. “When have I ever offered something I couldn’t deliver?”
Yuri shifted beside me, smirking slightly. “If he says it’s clean, it’s cleaner than your mother’s confessionals.”
That earned a snort from the youngest of the three Cartel men. The oldest, though, didn’t smile. His fingers tapped against the table once. Twice.
“I want a demonstration,” he said finally. “Before anything gets inked.”
Of course he did. They always wanted proof.
“You’ll get one,” I replied. “Give us seventy-two hours.”
They nodded, and silence fell again. The weight of decisions, of blood-soaked alliances and money laced in powder and gunpowder, settled between us like fog.
And still, I could feel their eyes returning to Isabella.
Yuri leaned forward, voice calm but deceptively soft. “You boys should focus more on the deal and less on the woman unless you’re planning to leave with both your hands.”
I didn’t laugh. But inside, I appreciated the way he read the tension. Because if they didn’t stop looking at her the way they were… Well. I might not wait for the seventy-two hours to pass before spilling someone’s blood.
The scent of cigars and old money clung to the air, mixing with the metallic undercurrent of danger. I let the others talk—details about shipment security, checkpoint coordination, and the weight of what was about to move across continents—but my eyes drifted. To her.
Isabella hadn’t spoken a word since we sat. She didn’t fidget, didn’t blink more than necessary, didn’t fold into herself like someone who didn’t belong here.
She looked born for it. And maybe that’s what made them uneasy. Because something about a beautiful woman in a room full of killers who doesn’t look scared?
That’s a different kind of power.
“She doesn’t talk?” the youngest of the three Cartel men asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward her. His tone was meant to provoke—young, brash, too confident in a room he hadn’t earned the right to dominate. “Or is she just decoration?”
I didn’t move. But something about the stillness in me was worse than rage. I saw Nikolai shoot him a glance, Yuri’s smile twist into something less friendly.
But it was Isabella who spoke.
“No,” she said calmly, turning her head slightly toward him. “I talk. I just don’t waste my words on men who mistake silence for weakness.”
A beat passed.
Yuri chuckled under his breath, low and dangerous. Nikolai arched an eyebrow. Even the older Cartel member smirked.
But I didn’t. I watched her.
I felt it again—that tightening in my chest. Not lust. Not admiration. Something else. The kind of tension that knew it could only ever end in fire.
“And what is it you do then, senorita silenciosa ?” the younger man pressed. “Besides following Rafael around like a shadow.”
I leaned back in my chair, waiting to see if she’d bite. And she did.
“I kill myths,” she said, voice softer now, almost amused. “The ones men like you build about yourselves.”
Silence. Heavy and satisfying. I wanted to smile. I didn’t.
Because if I gave her that—if I let her see even a flicker of pride in my expression—she’d know just how much control she had.
And I wasn’t ready to admit that. Not even to myself.
We wrapped the conversation from there—details confirmed, hands shaken. No signatures yet. But the energy had shifted. They wanted the deal. Needed it. And they’d remember this room, if only because of the woman in it.
When we stepped out into the hallway again, the air felt lighter, even if the danger hadn’t passed. Yuri clapped Nikolai on the back, muttering something about the youngest Cartel guy probably writing sonnets to Isabella before sunrise.
But I didn’t laugh. I turned to her instead, my hand ghosting down her lower back, not touching—almost. “You’re not what they expected,” I said quietly, low enough that only she could hear me.
She looked up at me, unreadable. “Neither are you.”
I held her gaze, something sharp and unspoken passing between us. And for once, I didn’t try to name it. I just nodded, stepping ahead toward the cars, knowing she’d follow—because she always did.
Not because I owned her. But because we were moving on the same path, whether we liked it or not.
Just as I stepped closer to the waiting car, Damyen emerged from around the corner, his hands clasped behind his back like he was trying too hard to seem composed.
“Sir,” he said quickly, a little too eager. “The shipment’s ready for transport—warehouse near the port. They’re moving it out tonight. I was told you’d want to oversee it yourself.”
I studied him for a second, my jaw ticking. His voice was steady, his face expressionless. But I’d seen men fold with far less pressure than what this world could serve. He was new, green in ways that would get most people buried if they weren’t careful. Still, he hadn’t made a mistake—yet.
“Text Nikolai the location,” I said, my voice low but sharp enough to cut. “And I don’t need reminders of what I want to oversee.”
“Of course.” Damyen dipped his head and stepped back, disappearing into the dusk.
Just as I was about to open the car door, I felt her before I heard her. “You’re really going?” Isabella’s voice came soft, calculated—low enough that no one but me would hear.
I glanced sideways. She stood beside me, arms crossed, her eyes sharp like she’d dissected every word of that conversation.
She wasn’t dressed for bloodshed, but that never meant she wasn’t prepared for it.
The breeze tugged at a strand of her hair, and I had the fleeting thought that if she ever stopped looking at me like she wanted to rip out my throat, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.
“I don’t trust him,” she added, chin tilted slightly up. “Damyen.”
I looked back at the car. “You don’t trust anyone,” I replied, stepping closer. “It’s what makes you useful.”
“Then you should take me with you.” Her voice didn’t rise. It never did when she was like this—deadly calm, still. “If something’s off, I’ll see it before you do.”
I turned to face her fully, arching a brow. “You’re not going.”
Her jaw clenched. “Why? Because I have a vagina or because you still think I’ll break if I get blood on my shoes?”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Because I don’t need a distraction if shit goes sideways. Stay here.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“I’ve made worse.”
Her eyes narrowed, like she wanted to throw something at my head—or kill me, but that was often the same thing with her.
“You’re underestimating me again.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous. “I’m protecting my investment.”
Her lips parted, but before she could say anything else, I turned and slid into the backseat of the car. Nikolai was already inside, phone in hand. Yuri was smirking like he’d just heard the entire thing and was dying to comment but knew better—barely.
As the engine purred to life, I glanced once through the tinted window. Isabella was still standing there, arms folded tight across her chest, her weight shifted to one leg like she’d decided ten different ways to kill me with her eyes alone.
“You two get any closer, and the whole damn resort’s going to burn,” Yuri said as we pulled away.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I stared ahead, the heat outside nothing compared to the fire crawling just beneath my skin.
She was right about one thing. I should’ve brought her.
But I didn’t know if it was the danger I was trying to shield her from… or myself.
The city outside the car window was quiet, too quiet for Cartagena. The usual echoes of music, of life, were swallowed by the thick heat of the night. I rolled my sleeves up to the elbows and leaned back in my seat, the engine’s low hum vibrating through my spine as the docks came into view.
Beside me, Nikolai lit a cigarette, the tip glowing red as he cracked the window. Yuri sat in the back, lazily stretched out, twirling a knife between his fingers like it was a toy.