Page 51 of Ruthless Arrangement

“Tell me,” Lea murmurs, leaning closer to be heard over the music. “Why would you show me this? Isn’t this the kind of thing that would destroy you if it came out in my article?”

I guide her toward the bar, signaling the bartender with a subtle gesture. Without a word, he slides two crystal tumblers of amber liquid toward us.

“That depends,” I reply, lifting my glass in a small toast before taking a sip, “on whether you think exposing this would help or harm Chicago.”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Look around, piccola.” I gesture with my free hand. “What do you see?”

“Corruption,” she says. “Collusion. Crime.”

I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “I see peace.”

She jerks back, skepticism etched across her features. It’s this, her stubborn refusal to accept easy narratives, that first drew me to her. That, and the fire in her eyes when she challenges me.

“Peace?” she repeats. “You call this peace?”

“Before I established this place, these same people met in back alleys, in warehouses where bodies could be buried, in locations where violence was the first resort, not the last.” I take another sip, letting the whiskey burn a path down my throat. “Here, they sit five feet apart. They drink the same liquor. They remember they’re all human beneath their various titles.”

Lea’s gaze sweeps the room again, this time with more calculation than shock. I can almost see her reassessing, questioning her initial judgment.Good. That’s exactly what I want her to see beyond black and white morality into the complex shades of gray where I operate.

“And what’s your role in all this?” she asks. “What do you get out of it?”

Before I can answer, a waiter materializes at my elbow, leaning in to murmur, “Ms. Vega has arrived. She’s asking for you in the VIP section.”

I nod my acknowledgment, then turn back to Lea. “Isabel Vega doesn’t attend fundraisers or public nightclubs. Our discussion requires a level of discretion even Purgatorio can’t guarantee. This neutral, untraceable ground is the only place she’ll discuss matters of this sensitivity. You’re about to find out what my role is.”

We weave through the crowd, my hand never leaving her back. I feel her tense slightly as we approach the roped-off VIP area, where a woman sits alone in a corner booth, swirling an amber drink in a crystal glass.

Isabel Vega, liaison for one of Colombia’s most sophisticated cartels, radiates lethal grace in her tailored black pantsuit. Diamond studs wink from her earlobes, the only ornamentation she permits herself, apart from the custom Beretta I know is holstered against her ribs. Her black hair is pulled back in a sleek twist, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face.

She rises as we approach, lips curving into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nico,” she purrs, the accent of her native Medellín adding texture to the word. She leans in for the customary cheek-to-cheek greeting.

“Isabel,” I respond, matching her formal warmth. “May I introduce Lea Song? She’s shadowing me for a journalistic piece.”

Isabel’s eyebrows rise fractionally. “A journalist? How unexpected.” Her gaze slides to Lea, sharpens, and lingers perhaps a beat too long, her assessment shifting from neutral curiosity to something more focused, appreciative. I feel an unwelcome flicker—irritation? No, a disruption. Control slipping. “Especially given our shared aversion to publicity,” Isabel finishes, her eyes still holding Lea’s.

I feel Lea stiffen almost imperceptibly beside me, preparing for rejection. Instead, she extends her hand with perfect poise.

“Ms. Vega,” she says smoothly. “I assure you, my focus is on understanding complex power dynamics, not exposing individuals. Mr. Varela has been quite clear about the boundaries of what I can report.”

Isabel’s smile warms slightly as she accepts the handshake, her thumb brushing lightly across Lea’s knuckles. Another flicker inside me, this one colder. A possessive instinct I refuse to name. “Has he now? How fortunate for all of us.” She gestures to the booth. “Please, join me. I’m curious what kind of journalist earns Nico’s trust. And catches his eye. They’re typically such messy creatures.”

We slide into the plush semicircular booth, Isabel deliberately indicating Lea should sit between us. Strategic, yes, but it also places Lea closer toher. I signal for fresh drinks, then settle back, draping one arm casually along the back of the seat behind Lea. Not touching, but reinforcing my claim, my presence.

“I was just telling Nico about some potential investment opportunities in the shipping sector,” Isabel continues, her attention ostensibly on business, though her gaze keeps drifting back to Lea. “The Panama expansion has created interesting openings.”

“Shipping?” Lea inquires, her tone neutral, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent. “That seems rather conventional for a private meeting in an underground club.”

Isabel’s laugh is crystal sharp. “Conventional investments rarely require such discreet negotiation, Ms. Song.” Her smile, when directed at Lea, is notably brighter. “But perhaps you understand that better than most, given your mother’s expertise in international relations.”

I feel Lea’s body tense beside me, though her expression betrays nothing. Impressive control. I hadn’t mentioned Eunji Song to Isabel, which means she’s done her homework on Lea. The depth of that research now feels pointed.

“My mother’s academic work focuses on theoretical power structures,” Lea replies evenly. “I doubt it has much application to shipping investments.”

“Theory and practice often intersect in surprising ways,” Isabel counters, swirling her drink, her knee subtly brushing Lea’s under the table. Accident? Unlikely. Isabel is never careless. “Much like journalism and…what shall we call it? Mediation?”

I intervene before Isabel can push further, steering the conversation back to firmer ground while subtly increasing my proximity to Lea, my shoulder now a breath away from hers. “Isabel has been exploring alternative routes for certain specialty imports,” I explain. “The challenge is ensuring these routes remain uncontested.”

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