Victor
I sat in silence, the low hum of the city outside barely audible over the pounding in my skull. The room was thick with tension. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the mahogany table, my fingers tapping against the cold surface in a slow rhythm. The only light came from the single overhead pendant, casting shadows over the stone-cold faces of the men before me.
"Three shipments. Gone." I said, sounding calm. Too calm. "That's three containers of rifles, cash, and microchips that vanished into thin air."
I paused, then looked up slowly.
"Somebody tell me how the fuck that happened."
No one dared speak.
"Boss… I've been digging. There's something wrong," Nico said, clearing his throat. "It's not just one mistake. It's the precision and timing. Someone's feeding intel."
I clenched my jaw, feeling the skin around my knuckles stretch as my fist curled tighter. My eyes locked on him.
"You sure?"
"I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't," he said. "There's a pattern. Whoever it is, they're not sloppy."
"Do you have a name?"
"Not yet but I'm getting closer," he said. "Whoever it is, they're clever. They're using offshore black-market accounts. No trace. They hit us when we're spread thin. It's someone on the inside, working with someone on the outside."
I leaned back, rubbing my jaw. The stubble scratched against my palm as I thought. I already knew he was right. I just didn't want to face it. Not yet.
"Find them," I ordered. "And when you do…"
I let the silence finish my sentence and he nodded once.
"Everyone out. I need air."
The room cleared fast. They knew better than to linger.
I checked the time when I was left alone. 9:15 PM. Shit. The interviews at Obsidian Room. I'd almost forgotten. I wasn't even planning to show up tonight, but then I overheard Zara was going out and that changed everything. With the way things are going, with the Turkish breathing down our necks and now a rat in our crew, I couldn't risk her being caught in the crossfire.
Zara wasn't just my problem. She was my weakness, and in this life, weakness is fatal.
Nico was waiting outside, arms crossed, leaning against the brick wall like he owned it. When I stepped out, he straightened.
"Heading to Obsidian Room?" he asked, falling into step beside me.
"Yeah. You're coming with."
He gave me a look. "And if she sees you and throws a drink in your face again?"
"I'll duck this time." I gave a humorless chuckle.
We climbed into the black Maybach. Nico in the passenger seat, silence heavy between us as we pulled out onto the street.
"You think the Turkish have anything to do with the rat?" he asked after a few blocks.
"There are two factions. One of them is dirty with trafficking, weapons, the worst shit you can imagine. The other? Well, maybe there's room to negotiate, but either way, if they're poking around, they'll use anyone they can get to." I paused. "And that includes her."
Nico stayed quiet.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the private entrance of Obsidian Room. Two of my men were at the back door, eyes sharp, with guns at their sides. They both bowed their heads slightly as we entered.
The bass from the main floor pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat as I scanned the space, every instinct sharp, looking for her.
No Zara.
Where the hell was she?
We headed straight for the back rooms, where I was supposed to be interviewing a few new security candidates. I needed fresh blood, loyal men. Especially now.
I barely got through the first interview before boredom hit me like a migraine. Some guy with too much cologne talked about his "military experience" like I gave a shit.
My phone buzzed: Kieran.
Dance floor. With Selene.
I didn't even bother replying.
"Go get her and bring her here," I said, turning to one of my security staff posted at the door. "Now."
"Boss, are you sure," the guy hesitated. "She looked like she was—"
"Now."
At the tone of my voice, he left fast. I hated asking or saying anything twice.
"You think she's goanna make this easy?" Nico asked with a raised brow.
"Does she ever?" I sighed.
Five minutes later, the double doors slammed open. Voices echoing.
"I swear to God, I'm going to stab someone with a stiletto!" Selene snapped.
"Let go of me, you assholes!" Zara yelled, storming in like a thundercloud in heels. Her eyes landed on me. Her face turned to pure fury, and I swear, my heart fucking stopped.
Tight black dress. Curves that should be illegal. That fire in her eyes always made me want to ruin her and protect her at the same time.
"You," she pointed, heels clicking furiously as she stormed toward me. "What The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You're. Doing?!"
Each word came with a slap from her tiny purse. I just stood there, letting her get it out. Nico had the audacity to smirk behind her.
"Zara," I said as I caught her wrists gently but firmly.
"No! No, Victor," she snapped. "I was dancing and for the first time in forever, I was having fun. Then you send your goons after me like I'm some criminal?! I'm not your prisoner!"
"You're not a prisoner," I said calmly, holding her wrists. "You're my responsibility."
"I'm not some china doll for you to lock up! I'm not yours to guard like a fucking property!"
"You're wrong, Zara," I said, letting her go, but stayed close. "You are mine and that means I protect what's mine."
"You always say that. Protect me. Control me. Keep me caged," she said as I watched her eyes burn. "I'm so tired of it, Victor. So fucking tired of it."
"You always make the decisions," she continued. "You don't ask. You demand. You don't love me. You just… own me."
Her words cut deeper than they should have.
"That's not true." I said, stepping closer to her.
"Isn't it?" she asked, stepping back.
"Zara—"
"No. I'm done," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "Done trying to make you see me. Done trying to breathe through this suffocation."
"Princess, don't do this." I said, reaching for her cheek, my thumb brushing her skin.
"I'm done, Victor," she said, shaking her head, tears now threatening to fall. "I'm done."
Then she turned and walked out and for the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to do. I just stood there, surrounded by guards, music echoing from the floors below, with the ghost of her perfume still clinging to my jacket.
And the sharp, unfamiliar taste of regret in my mouth.