Page 82 of Goldflame

But the words stick in my throat, tangled in the complex web of emotions that Adrian Harrow has always inspired in me.

Instead, a strangled sound escapes—a primitive expression of everything I can’t articulate. Without another word, I drop into my chair with enough force to rattle the silverware.

Adrian leaves.

Lorenzo watches me with sympathetic eyes but says nothing. Roby, bless his innocent heart, immediately launches into a story about a frog he found in the garden last week, oblivious to the tension swirling around the adults.

I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. Maybe I only imagined the change in Adrian. Maybe last night was just another manipulation, another performance designed to get my cooperation. Or maybe he simply can’t maintain that kind of emotional vulnerability for long—theweight of decades of repression crushing any attempt at it.

I stab a piece of fruit. The problem is my own naïve heart—still stupid enough to hope after everything I’ve endured.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

DANTE

The numbers flow across my computer screen. DeMarco’s distribution networks in North Seattle show a seventeen percent increase in revenue this quarter—concerning but expected after Vincent’s elimination. Gregory Whitman’s gambling enterprise has expanded into three new locations. Sergio Castellano’s human trafficking operation remains stable despite border patrol issues.

Every data point represents lives corrupted or destroyed, arranged in neat columns that would look innocuous to the untrained eye. But I see them clearly for what they are: the infrastructure of evil, the skeleton supporting the Consortium’s diseased flesh.

I’m going to cut it all away before it spreads.

“He’s getting impatient,” Lorenzo says, sliding his phone across my office desk.

I turn from my monitor and pick up Lorenzo’s phone. Julian’s text glares back at me:

Where are the photos? I paid for my Golden One to be broken. Show me proof.

My eyes twitches. He’s treating Aurelia like a whore and I can’t fucking stand it.

But calculated precision has always served me better than emotional response. Three breaths. In. Out. Control.

My muscles relax and I return Lorenzo’s phone.

“Gideon could manipulate some images,” Lorenzo suggests, leaning back in the leather chair across from me. “Create something convincing enough to satisfy Julian.”

“No.” The word emerges too sharp, so I moderate my tone. “Julian would detect the deception. He’s impulsive but not an idiot.”

Lorenzo sighs. “Then what? He won’t wait forever.”

“Let him wait.” I stand, moving to the window to stare out at the green lawn. “We need more time.”

“I don’t think we have time. We need to put more pieces into motion.”

I clasp my hands behind my back, studying the perfect symmetry of the garden paths below. “The Consortium’s strength flows from five main points: DeMarco’s drug distribution, Whitman’s gambling network, Castellano’s human trafficking, Smith’s money laundering, and Marlowe’s law enforcement corruption. Six if you count the overarching power of the Harlow’s.”

“Your point?”

“You do understand that dismantling it requires precision?Each support must be weakened simultaneously to prevent them from simply filling in the gaps. The trouble with the Consortium is that it’s more than points of power. There are many secondary families eager for influence and willing to do whatever it takes to be at the top. We can’t simply start hacking and hope for the best. Those secondary families are strong branches of support.” I turn back to face him. “I’ve been working on this longer than you.”

I still remember the exact moment everything changed for me. I was sixteen. It was the day I watched my father put a cigarette out on my mother’s arm while Julian and I stood in silence. It’s not like I hadn’t seen such a thing before, but that moment damaged something. It was the final straw. I knew then what we were becoming. I knew I wanted to stop it.

Ever since, I’ve done what I can to create small weaknesses in each family’s operation. Those wounds never stay open for long, though. The Consortium is too good at bandaging them.

I sit back down at my desk and tap my computer screen. The screen displays financial records, shipping manifests, falsified licenses.

Lorenzo leans forward, eyes scanning the data. “So how long are you suggesting we continue to wait? I’m getting anxious.”

“DeMarco’s distribution relies on three key supply routes through Arizona. I’ve bribed border officials to increase inspections when I give them specific dates, which will coincide with their largest shipments. Whitman’s new casinos operate on licenses obtained through falsified paperwork—paperwork that will mysteriously findits way to legitimate authorities. When the time is right.”

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