Chapter 9 - Bourbon and Confessions
The fallen enforcer was dragged out of sight behind a heavy velvet sofa, tied securely with cords ripped from the window drapes. Vance locked the suite's heavy oak door from the inside and pulled the deadbolts home with a dull, echoing thud. The room was cast in deep shadows, illuminated only by the neon glow of the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Downstairs, the muffled strains of the string quartet had shifted into a low, rumbling murmur of wealthy patrons gathering for the charity gala.
Vance poured two fingers of amber bourbon from a crystal decanter resting on a mahogany sideboard, handing one glass to me without a word. I took it, my fingers brushing against his silver wristwatch as I gripped the cool glass. The liquor burned all the way down my throat, settling like a hot coal in my stomach and chasing away the bitter chill of the stairwell.
"My father built this organization from the dockyards up," Vance said softly, breaking the heavy silence as he stared out through the glass at the glittering towers of the downtown skyline. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his reflection ghosting across the dark windowpane. "He thought respect was earned through absolute control. He believed if you held every thread, nobody could ever pull them out from under you."
I sat down on the edge of the velvet armchair, pulling my knees up and keeping my eyes locked on his profile. "And Marcus?" I asked.
"Marcus was the brother I never had," Vance replied, his voice hardening like winter ice. "Or so I thought. He grew impatient with the old ways. He wanted a seat at the national table, and he figured the best way to get it was to eliminate me, take over the board, and blame it on a rival faction. Planting that bomb under our table wasn't just an assassination attempt. It was a declaration of war against anyone loyal to the old code."
He turned away from the window, walking slowly across the room until he stopped directly in front of my chair. The amber light caught the sharp angles of his face, the dark, slicked-back hair, and the unwavering intensity in his dark eyes. He knelt down on one knee so we were at eye level, his gaze holding mine with a terrible, beautiful vulnerability.
"When I pulled you out of that restaurant, I thought you were just a liability," he murmured, his voice husky and low. "A witness I had to manage so the police wouldn't start digging into my ledger. But you didn't run. You didn't break. You stayed right beside me through the mud, the checkpoints, and the blood."
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I swallowed hard, feeling the last remaining walls around my heart crumble away. "I didn't have anywhere else to go," I whispered.
"You have me," he said, and the words weren't a threat or a command. They were a vow, spoken in the dark of a room suspended above a city of wolves.
