Chapter 7 ARTAN #2
I take the chair across from him. Erion ignores the other available chair entirely and leans against the fireplace mantel instead. Arms crossed. Watching us both with those sharp, calculating eyes.
"What brought you here?" Luan asks. Direct. No preamble.
A soft knock at the door.
"Come in," Luan says.
The door opens. Lily enters carrying a wooden tray.
"Leave the coffee on the desk," Luan says. His voice cold and dismissive. "Don't interrupt again unless you're called for."
She sets the tray down on his desk carefully, with efficient and practiced movements.
But there's something in her posture. A stiffness in her shoulders. A tightness around her mouth. Like she doesn't appreciate being spoken to that way but knows better than to say anything about it.
She leaves without a word. Closes the door quietly behind her.
Once we're alone, Erion speaks. "We have problems. Plural."
"Explain," Luan says in a controlled way.
"Your father's widow, Valentina, is making noise. She's been reaching out to other clans. Saying she has valuable information to trade. Inside knowledge about the Krasniqi organization. Trying to build alliances. Positioning herself as someone worth protecting."
"She doesn't know shit," Luan with certainty. "She was arm candy. Decoration. My father didn't tell her anything important. She's not a threat."
"I disagree," I say. "She could become dangerous.
Not because of what she knows, but because of what people might believe she knows.
Perception matters as much as reality. We should offer her a generous allowance.
Enough to keep her comfortable and quiet.
And make it very, very clear what happens if she talks. "
"I agree," Erion says. "Especially since she's already reached out to your uncle Driton, in New York. Trying to turn him against you. Planting seeds of doubt about your fitness to lead."
I look at Luan. Watch his jaw tighten. A muscle jumping beneath the skin.
"Driton has been calling," I say quietly. "Multiple times. He's insisting on meeting. He's asking questions. Getting suspicious. We can't stall much longer without it looking worse."
Luan curses under his breath. "I can't meet him like this. Not face to face. He'll know immediately. He'll see it as weakness. And weak men don't lead clans. They get replaced. Removed. Eliminated."
"Then we don't give him a face-to-face meeting," Erion says.
Straightforward. Pragmatic. "You almost fooled me the first time we met.
Your uncle is in New York. You're in Chicago.
There's distance. Use it. Convince him to do a video call.
Tell him you can't leave the city right now.
That you're cementing your leadership here.
Managing the transition from your father's rule to yours.
Handling internal issues. Whatever excuse works. "
I consider it. Run through the logistics in my head. The risks. The variables. "It might work. If we control the lighting carefully. The camera angle. Keep the call short. Don't give him time to notice anything off."
"Good," Erion says. "That leaves the Irish." His tone darkens. Hardens. "They've been hitting our warehouses. Both yours and mine. Multiple strikes over the past two weeks. Small, surgical. Testing our defenses. Measuring our response times. Seeing how we react."
"We need to send a message," I say. "A loud and clear one."
"Agreed," Luan says.
"Then we're set," Erion says. Pushes off the mantel. Straightens. "Luan handles Driton. You and I handle the Irish. We hit them hard. Make an example. Something they won't forget. Something that makes it very clear that touching our operations comes with consequences."
We all nod. The plan is set. Simple. Direct. Dangerous.
Erion stretches. Rolls his shoulders like he's loosening up for a fight. "I think I'll go see if I can find something sweet after all."
The implication is crystal clear. He's not talking about dessert.
"Back off," it comes out almost like a growl. The warning is unmistakable. "Lily is off limits."
Erion looks at me. His eyes are sharp. Assessing. Calculating. "Does she belong to you, Berisha? Or to him?" He jerks his chin toward Luan.
The question hangs in the air. Demanding an answer I'm not prepared to give.
I want to say yes. Want to claim her. Want to tell him she's mine and he needs to keep his hands and his eyes and his flirtations to himself.
But I can't.
Erion watches me. Waits. Gives me every opportunity to speak.
Then he nods slowly. Understanding. "Mendoje, vella. Think about it, brother. But don't think too long." He heads toward the door. Pauses with his hand on the knob. Looks back over his shoulder. "Because I know exactly what I want. And I'm not afraid to take it."
He walks out. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
I stand there. Silent. Motionless. Coffee cooling in my hand.
Knowing I just lost ground I didn't even realize I was defending.
Knowing that Erion Kodra just declared his intentions.
And knowing I have no claim strong enough to stop him.