Chapter 2 #2
I finish my scotch and consider the situation.
Charleston has been profitable precisely because it’s remained relatively peaceful.
The established families here prefer accommodation to confrontation, understanding that violence draws unwanted attention from federal authorities.
A war with Balakin would shatter that delicate ecosystem. “How many men do we have locally?”
“Fifteen reliable soldiers, and maybe twenty if we count the part-timers.” Timur sets down his phone. “Balakin probably has half that, but he’s adding to his ranks.”
I nod slowly. “That’s not enough for a sustained conflict without bringing in men from other locations, which will bring heat on us if things become noticeable. Our law enforcement contacts accept bribes to keep things peaceful, but a war would force them to stop turning a blind eye.”
“Yes, which is why I suggest we strike now before it escalates. Twenty men are enough to send a message if we choose our targets carefully.”
My phone vibrates with a text message from Dmitri, confirming tomorrow’s shipping schedule.
Business continues regardless of personal vendettas, though the line between the two blurs when survival is at stake.
Not yet deciding about going on the offensive, I shift the subject slightly.
“Double security at all our key locations. I want eyes on Laurent’s shop around the clock.
If Balakin is targeting our operations, we need to know before he moves.
Timur studies my face with the intensity of someone reading enemy intentions. “Consider it done, though it is an…interesting choice for where to send more of our people. The tailor shop seems particularly important to you.”
I tense, refusing to sound defensive despite the hint of knowing in his tone. “It’s a significant revenue stream.”
He gives me a small smile, which is unusual for him. “Is that all?” Timur knows me well enough to recognize when business concerns mask personal interest. In our world, emotional attachments become vulnerabilities that enemies exploit without mercy.
I give him a sour look. “Laurent has been cooperative for three years. I won’t abandon reliable partners.”
He tilts his head. “Even when protecting them puts us at greater risk?”
I signal for another scotch, using the delay to organize my thoughts. The server brings the glass swiftly, keeping his head down and his ears closed. Smart man. “Risk is inherent in what we do. The question is whether the potential reward justifies the exposure.”
He accepts a new chilled glass of vodka from our server as he asks, “Does it?”
I think of Willa’s hands as she measured my shoulders, the way she stood her ground against Richardson’s intimidation, and how she looked at me when I stepped close enough to see her pulse beating in her neck. She was smart, brave, and unaware of the storm gathering around her. “Time will tell.”
Timur nods, though his expression suggests he’s not entirely convinced. “What about the broader picture? If Balakin makes a play for Charleston, other families will take notice. Some might see opportunity in our distraction.”
“Let them try.” The response comes automatically, backed by years of conditioning.
If I show weakness once, every ambitious lieutenant might start measuring my territory for himself.
I don’t truly believe Timur would ever betray or try to undermine me, but showing strength is an ingrained habit, just like hiding weakness is. “We’ve handled challenges before.”
He shows a hint of concern in his expression and voice. “Not like this, with someone who has personal reasons to see you destroyed.”
I can’t counter the truth of that statement.
Professional conflicts follow certain rules.
One takes calculated risks and decides on measured responses, understanding today’s enemy might become tomorrow’s ally if there is no scorched earth between them.
Personal vendettas operate by different logic entirely.
“Mikhail wants revenge, not profit.” I speak the words aloud to examine their implications. “That makes him dangerous and predictable in equal measure.”
Timur leans back. “Predictable how?”
“He’ll target what matters most to me, like assets, allies, or reputation. He’ll go after anything that causes maximum damage to my position.”
“Which brings us back to Laurent’s shop.”
I drain my second scotch and stand, decision crystallizing with alcoholic clarity. “Schedule a meeting with our key lieutenants for tomorrow night. I want contingency plans for every major operation.”
He rises as well. “And Laurent?”
“Double the guards as instructed, but for now, I’ll handle the rest of that situation personally.”
He looks faintly disapproving but doesn’t voice it explicitly. “Be careful, Iskander. Personal protection can become personal obsession very quickly.”
I pause, considering his warning. “Noted.”
We walk through the restaurant together, past tables where Charleston’s elite conduct their own versions of business. Real estate deals, political maneuvering, and social climbing are all variants of the same fundamental game we play, just with different stakes and consequences.
Outside, the evening air carries hints of rain and the distant salt tang of the harbor.
Charleston sleeps uneasily, sensing change even if it can’t identify the source.
War always announces itself this way—in the restlessness of animals, the nervous energy of crowds, the way ordinary people start checking locks and avoiding dark corners without knowing why.
Timur pauses beside his car. “One more thing. If you’re planning to involve the tailor in this situation, she should know what she’s walking into.”
I scowl at him. “Who says I’m involving her?”
“The way you talk about her suggests she’s already involved.”
I consider denying it, but he would see through the lie immediately.
Instead, I unlock my car and step inside, rolling down the window to deliver my final words.
“Make sure our people understand Laurent’s shop is off-limits for Balakin and anyone working with him.
Use whatever force is necessary to make that point clear. ”
Timur nods once, a gesture that contains volumes of unspoken understanding.
He’ll execute the order without question, just as he’s done countless times before, even if he disagrees with my motives.
The knowledge should comfort me, but instead, it highlights how far I’m willing to go to protect someone I barely know.
I drive home through Charleston’s empty streets, past monuments to a different war, and try not to think about green eyes and steady hands. I’ll return to Laurent’s shop tomorrow with a legitimate excuse, such as a follow-up fitting, or questions about fabric choices.
The real reason will remain unspoken. I need to see her again, to confirm what I remember from our first meeting is real and not some product of wishful thinking. More importantly, I need to assess whether she’s strong enough to survive what’s coming whether as a bystander or someone…closer to me.
Mikhail Balakin is coming, as surely as the tide returns to Charleston harbor.
When he arrives, everything I’ve built here will be tested, including whatever grows between Willa Reynolds and me if I allow that to proceed, and she’s willing.
The thought should worry me more than it does.
It’s blunted by imagining what it would feel like to have Willa on her knees in front of me for an entirely different reason than measuring my inseam, and I already accept I’ll have her if she’s willing and protect her if necessary, damned the consequences.