“Clean enough isn’t clean,” I counter, but there’s a hint of amusement in my tone. “Remember Prague?”
All three brothers grimace simultaneously.
“That was one time,” Vane protests.
“One time that cost us seven figures and a yacht,” I remind him, straightening my cuffs. “Knox, try not to start a fight during negotiations.”
Knox grins, all teeth and trouble. “No promises, brother. But I’ll aim for minimal antagonizing.”
I lead my brothers down the private corridor toward our meeting room. This private lounge exudes power from every corner. Rich mahogany bookshelves line the walls, filled with leather-bound classics that none of us has time to read.
The crackling fireplace casts dancing shadows across plush leather sofas while a custom humidor displays our collection of rare cigars. At the center stands an imposing mahogany desk, its polished surface reflecting the soft lighting—the perfect stage for decisions that will shape our empire and remind anyone who enters exactly who rules this town.
The muffled bass from the club pulses through the walls like a heartbeat. Before I open the final door, Landon catches my arm.
“Knox bet me five grand you’ll threaten to remove at least one body part during negotiations,” he says, deadpan.
I glance at Knox, who grins shamelessly.
“Left pinky finger,” Knox clarifies, wiggling his own. “Very specific bet.”
“You’re betting against your own brother’s diplomatic skills?” I ask.
Vane snorts. “Diplomatic. That’s like calling a shark merciful because occasionally it kills with its first bite.”
“I prefer efficient,” I counter. “And you lost money, Knox. I only remove body parts when it’s necessary. These negotiations won’t require it.”
Knox sighs dramatically. “There goes my new sound system.”
“You have three,” Landon points out.
“Different frequencies for different... activities,” Knox replies with a wink.
I straighten my jacket, preparing to enter the room, when Vane clears his throat.
“By the way, preparations for the Hollow’s Hunt are behind schedule. The contractor states the new maze section won’t be ready.”
This catches my full attention. “It begins in two weeks from now.”
“Hence my concern,” Vane replies. “Though personally, I think you’re overcomplicating things. The women enjoyed being hunted through the regular club spaces last year.”
“Regular isn’t memorable,” I say. “And I don’t do forgettable.”
Knox laughs. “Nothing says ‘memorable’ like being hunted by masked men through a custom-built labyrinth in an underground sex club.”
“It’s tradition,” Landon adds quietly. “Father always said?—”
“Father isn’t here,” I cut him off. “But his standards remain. The Hunt happens as planned. Please inform the contractor that I’ll visit tomorrow. Personally.”
All three brothers exchange glances.
“Poor bastard,” Knox mutters.
“Better him than us,” Vane adds.
I push open the door. Time for business.
I enter the private room with calculated strides, my brothers flanking me like shadows. Three Russians occupy the far side of our mahogany conference table, with a broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit at the center—Ilya Orlov. His eyes follow my movement, searching for weakness.
