Page 122 of Fractured Allegiance
The club is colder than usual tonight. Not physically, but atmospherically. Something’s off. Tighter. Like the walls are listening harder.
There’s a girl at the door who doesn’t smile when she takes my coat.
Inside, Dom leans against the bar like a man who owns everything he sees and likes to remind the furniture of it. His arms are crossed. He doesn’t move when I enter, doesn’t speak; he just nods toward the back hallway like I already know where I’m expected.
I do.
I walk past the main floor, smoothly bypassing the dancers, the dealers, the eyes pretending not to follow me. I pivot at the end of the corridor and open the door to Drazen’s private room.
He’s seated.
As always.
Black-on-black suit. Tie loose, collar open. Drink in hand like it was poured before I walked in. He looks like a painting that someone smudged at the edges. Perfect until you stare too long.
“Silas,” he says, lifting the glass. “Take a seat.”
There’s no chair.
I don’t comment.
I stay standing.
His mouth twitches like that amuses him.
“There’s a problem,” he says.
“Always is.”
“Not like this.”
He gestures behind him at the stack of files on the table, manila folders with no names. Just numbers. Case IDs. Surveillance tags.
“You know what these are?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
Because I do know.
They’re files that shouldn’t be here. Bureau files. Some of them mine.
“Someone’s leaking,” Drazen says. “Not the cops. Not the feds. Something in-between.”
I fold my arms. “That’s vague.”
“That’s the point. I need someone who understands shadows. Someone who knows how to disappear while making others reappear in cuffs.”
He leans forward.
“And you… my friend… are very good at pretending to be no one.”
I meet his eyes.
Say nothing.
“Find out who’s watching me,” he says. “Find out who thinks they can breach my loop.”
My spine stiffens.
