Page 103 of The Silent War
“I don’t have to. I own the ground under your feet.”
I watched the math click behind his eyes. Syndicate. Dynasty. Crow. He hadn’t decided which part of that scared him yet. That was fine. Fear was a slow burn.
I stepped back and exhaled smoke. “You’ve been measured,” I said. “Now you’ll be moved.”
He adjusted his watchband. “You can’t clock a man out of a life he chose.”
“You didn’t choose this one. It doesn’t belong to you.”
He started toward the elevator. I didn’t move. He had to stall shuffle sideways to give me space. I let him brush a shoulder—just enough contact to feel bone under my arm. The doors slid open. He hesitated with a last little smile, the kind of thing men do when they think they’ll see you again.
“You won’t like what happens if you keep standing in other people’s rooms,” I said softly.
He swallowed. “Whose rooms?”
I didn’t answer. The doors closed on his face.
I didn’t say her name. Didn’t need to.
He was already a problem in motion. And I was the hand that would pin him to a wall when the time came.
I stepped into the second elevator. I took it to the lobby, walked outside. The ports were leaking. Something to feed the fire inside me until I could put my fist through the right person.
I texted Luca:Measured. Move him.
He sent back two:Already moving.
I smiled and I headed for the docks.
Chapter Thirty-Two
LUCA
By the time Bastion’s elevator hit street level, the city was already in my hands.
I don’t kill men first thing. I move their mornings. It costs them longer.
Step one was simple: duplicate and poison the access he didn’t deserve. The keycard he’d been using, by noon had a silent error. The real doors would still open; his wouldn’t. It would take him exactly three humiliations to realize it was personal.
Step two, the elevator. I tied a loop to the lobby call button that sent him to Floor 42 for one heartbeat on every ascent—nothing obvious, just a ghost stop. A three-minute leak of time. It would make him miss coffee by seconds, meetings by inches.
Step three, mornings. Emilia wakes quiet. Mornings are sacred for our girl. No voices allowed. I reassigned the concierge on her floor, replaced the security on the east stairwell, reprogrammed the housekeeping route so no cart rolled past her door before nine. If he liked to hover, he’d hover into empty air.
I didn’t tell her. She needed sleep, not systems.
Rome called. I let it ring twice, then answered.
“You’re up early,” he said, voice rough like he’d spent the night enforcing the club’s snd streets.
“Didn’t sleep,” I said
“Ports are bleeding,” he said. “You want me or you?”
“Bastion’s already en route. You get the trucks. I’ll get the paper.”
“Copy.” He paused. “You’re angry.”
“I am.”
