Page 71 of Bonds of Obsession

Nico clears his throat behind me, and I can only imagine the looks Rafael is getting from my men right now.

“Owen Callahan,” Malcolm intones. The man with the rugged appearance and man-bun gives a slight nod as Malcolm says his name. “There isn’t a border in the world he can’t cross. His smuggling routes have never been compromised, and his discretion is nothing short of legendary.”

Each introduction comes with carefully curated details about their specialties and territories, painting a picture of an organization with tentacles reaching into every dark corner of the criminal world. Malcolm presents them like pieces on a chessboard—each one deadly in their own way, each one positioned for maximum effect.

“Imogen Brooks,” Malcolm says. The woman with striking auburn hair examines me like I’m a particularly interesting insect. “Her casino empire provides an excellent cover for more lucrative ventures. The high rollers at her tables never realize they’re betting against the house in more ways than one.”

Imogen’s lips curve. “And they never seem to remember that the house always wins. Always.”

“And finally…” Malcolm’s voice takes on a slight edge. “Elliot Sands.” The man’s pocked face and hazel eyes seem to absorb the dim light, and it’s clear that his slightly crooked nose has been broken at least once. “His particular expertise lies in… human commodities.”

The euphemism for human trafficking makes bile rise in my throat, but I force my expression to stay neutral. Dad always said the most dangerous people in our world were the ones who could make atrocities sound civilized.

“Charmed,” Elliot says in a tone that suggests he’s anything but. His gaze rakes over me like he’s assessing my market value, and it takes everything I have not to reach for my gun.

My stomach clenches as the full weight of my situation hits me. Every person around this table commands enough power to crush Enigma without breaking a sweat. Their networks span continents, their influence reaches into the highest levels of government and business. And here I am, the leader of a relatively small Detroit gang, surrounded by apex predators who already resent me.

I feel Atlas shift quietly behind me, a subtle reminder that I’m not alone. But even with my men at my back, I know we’re outgunned. The target I painted on myself by using that votum so quickly feels like it’s glowing neon bright.

Still, I keep my shoulders squared and my chin high, channeling every lesson about projecting power that I learned from my father and from leading Enigma. My voice stays steady as I meet each of their calculating stares.

“I appreciate the introductions,” I say, letting just enough hardness enter my tone to make it clear I won’t be intimidated. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

It’s a lie, of course, but it might serve me well in the future. I’d much rather have these people as reluctant allies than outright enemies.

Elliot’s scarred lips twist into something that might be a smile. “I’m sure you do. Assuming you survive long enough for us to work together.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to the rest of the table, his scarred face twisting with impatience. “I called this meeting for a reason, and it wasn’t to welcome our newest member to the fucking book club.”

His hazel eyes are hard as steel as he surveys the room. “I’ve just received word that Arturo Valencia is in Detroit. That slimyfucker thinks he’s here for a quick business deal, but this is my chance to eliminate him permanently.”

The name doesn’t mean much to me, but Malcolm cuts in to explain that Arturo runs a rival trafficking operation that’s been aggressively expanding into Elliot’s territory.

“Valencia?” Rafael leans forward, suddenly interested. “I heard he was still in Colombia.”

“He was.” Elliot’s fingers drum against the table. “Until my contact at Border Control informed me that he entered the country yesterday on a private jet. Apparently, he’s gotten bold enough to travel under his own name now.”

“Or stupid enough,” Imogen adds, her auburn hair catching the light as she shifts. “How reliable is your intel?”

“Very.” Elliot’s smile is all teeth. “I have proof he’s meeting with some of our shared connections and trying to cut deals that would push me out of the Pacific trade routes entirely.”

“So what do you want from us?” Cassandra asks with a petulant sigh.

“We’re going to kill him, of course,” Rafael answers. “But the window of time is narrow. He’ll be in the city for less than forty-eight hours. If we’re going to move, it has to be now.”

“And you’re certain about this timeline?” Malcolm asks, his calculating eyes fixed on Elliot.

“Dead certain.” Elliot’s choice of words sends another chill down my spine. “Which is why I’m calling in my votum. I want every person in this room committed to this operation. With your help, I’ll make sure Arturo Valencia doesn’t leave Detroit alive.”

“I need each of you to play a specific role.” Elliot begins doling out assignments with the precision of a general planning a war. “Rafael, your network will create a fake business opportunity—something too lucrative for him to ignore. Make him think he’s about to cut into our profit margins even further.”

“What kind of numbers are we talking?” Rafael’s charming smile has an edge now.

“Eight figures, minimum. Make it look like you’re ready to undercut his entire Eastern European operation.” Elliot’s scarred face twists. “He’s greedy enough to bite, especially if he thinks it’ll hurt me.”

“Owen.” He turns to the smuggler. “You’ll handle his security detail. I want every member of his protection team identified, tracked, and eliminated before they know what hit them.”

Owen’s man-bun bobs as he nods. “I’ll get my contact at the airport to send over their arrival manifest. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Imogen.” Her auburn hair gleams as she leans forward. “Your casinos will be the backdrop. Make him feel safe there, comfortable enough to let his guard down. Then lock down every exit when the time comes.”

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