Page 46 of Retaliation

As she took a seat opposite him, she couldn’t help but notice the air of authority that seemed to emanate from him. He was a formidable figure with sharp features, olive skin, and piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed facade. He was rich, handsome and could make any girl with daddy-issues swoon—if he wasn’t a ruthless killer.

“Don.” She dipped her chin, greeting him.

“Miss Sloan,” he replied with a nod. “Please, take a seat,” he offered with a wave at the brown leather couch in front of him.

She took a seat, leaning onto her elbow on the armrest. She might have been respectful, but she wouldn’t let him see any sign of intimidation.

FIFTEEN

“What brings you here today?” the Don asked, straight to the point, leaving no room for pleasantries. His gaze bore into Poison, one eyebrow arched in a manner that suggested he was already displeased.

She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, but she kept her voice steady as she replied, “I hear there’s been some misunderstanding regarding recent events.” She forced herself to maintain eye contact, even as she felt his scrutiny. “I wanted to set the record straight.”

The Don leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he watched her with an expression that revealed nothing. He was studying her, assessing her every word, her every movement, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Misunderstanding, you say?” His tone was deceptively casual, but she knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

She nodded, determined to project an air of confidence despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. “Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering.

“And what exactly was misunderstood?”

She took a breath, choosing her words carefully. “I assure you, I had nothing to do with Tidal’s untimely demise. In fact, I was as shocked as anyone to hear of his passing.” She held her posture steady, but inside, she braced herself for his reaction.

The Don leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peel away the layers of her façade. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise?—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the usual cold calculation. There was a silence that stretched between them, heavy and tense, as he considered her words.

“Demise?” he repeated, the confusion clear in his voice. “I have no such recollection. To my knowledge, my recruit was kidnapped from my very own establishment right after he met you in the ring.”

Her heart sank. She’d miscalculated—badly. The Don didn’t know Tidal was dead. She had just made herself look guilty of something far worse than what she’d originally come to discuss. She tried to keep her face neutral, but she could feel the tension building inside her, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

She forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the pressure. “Don, the only reason I know this is because he was on a stretcher being pushed into the hospital with a gaping bullet hole in his chest. I was there, being treated myself.”

“And why should I believe you?” the Don asked with skepticism. His gaze never wavered from her, searching for any sign of weakness.

She drew herself up, meeting his gaze with a resolve she didn’t entirely feel. “Because I value the peace between us, Don,” she said, her voice firm. “I have no desire to see it disrupted by senseless violence. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” The truth was, the very idea of a war with the Don sent a chill down her spine.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he weighed her words, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, the silence between them felt unbearable. Then, his lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but there was no warmth in it. “Why were you at a hospital seeking treatment when I told you before there is medical personnel on-site?” His sounded almost casual, but she could hear the accusation lurking beneath it. “Do I need to remind you that we do not need unnecessary attention drawn to us?”

She felt the tension in her shoulders tighten further. The realization hit her. He was looking for a reason to pin something on her, to make her seem guilty. The voices in her head, the ones she tried so hard to silence, began to whisper again, telling her to be careful, to watch her step. She needed to get out of this, and fast.

“And as I’ve told you before, Don, that is very kind of you,” she said, refusing to let her voice falter, “but I will again have to respectfully decline. You’ve already kept your doors open to me and my crew. Let your staff worry about your own men.” She forced a smile, one that she hoped conveyed her lack of interest in further discussing the matter. The last thing she wanted was to owe the Don any favors, especially not one that involved something as personal as her health.

The Don’s eyes narrowed further, and for a moment, Poison feared she’d pushed too far. But then, his expression shifted, and there was a hint of grudging respect in his gaze. “Let me remind you, Miss Sloan,” he warned, pointing a finger in her direction, “public general hospitals are public health care providers.” He emphasized the word public, making it clear that he didn’t appreciate the potential risks.

She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his point. “I understand your concerns, Don, but I assure you, we are discreet and would never want to cause you any trouble.” Her voice remained steady, though her nerves were frayed beneath the surface.

To her relief, the Don nodded, his expression softening just enough to signal that he was willing to let the matter rest. “Very well,” he said, his tone measured. “But know this, Miss Sloan. If I discover that you’ve been less than forthcoming with me, there will be consequences.”

She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what those consequences would be. She nodded, her jaw set in determination. “Understood,” she replied. She would have to be more careful, more guarded. The Don was not a man to be trifled with, and she had just barely escaped his ire this time.

The Don gestured toward a side table adorned with crystal decanters, indicating that their meeting was at an end. “Perhaps a drink to seal our newfound understanding?” he suggested, pouring a generous measure of amber liquid into two crystal glasses.

She hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the glass he offered. It was a sign of respect; one she couldn’t afford to refuse. She raised the glass in a silent toast, meeting his gaze before taking a sip. The fiery liquid burned down her throat, warming her from the inside out, but it did little to ease the tension wrestling within her.

As she set the glass down, she knew that this meeting had been a dangerous game. She had walked a tightrope, balancing between truth and deception, and for now, she had survived. But the Don’s warning lingered in her mind, a reminder that she would need to tread even

more carefully in the days to come. The stakes were higher than ever, and one wrong move could bring everything crashing down.

The air in the room shifted as the tension between them eased slightly. Poison’s mind raced with questions, each one vying for attention as she sought to unravel the mystery surrounding Tidal’s death.

“May I ask, Don?” she began, curiosity getting the better of her. “What exactly happened to Tidal? And the men who took him from the Quarry?”

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