Page 225 of Fractured Allegiance
Silence drapes the table, thick enough that I hear the tick of the old wall clock. Lydia doesn’t look at either of us. Her eyes fix on the stripe of sunlight carving through the blinds, as if the answer might be hiding in the dust motes floating there.
Finally, she speaks. “Why does this feel like a competition? Look, I don’t care which one of you thinks you’re smarter. I just care that Drazen doesn’t get another shot at me. So stop fighting over who gets to guard the cage and start figuring out how to break it.”
Her voice is steady, carved from stone, and it makes something dark and proud twist in my chest.
Elias exhales, then looks at me. “She’s right. You want to play protector? Fine. But make no mistake, Ward. If you fuck this up—if she bleeds because of your pride—I’ll put you down myself.”
I meet his stare without flinching. “Get in line.”
His smirk is thin, humorless, but he doesn’t argue.
The room settles into an uneasy truce. Lydia shifts in the chair, tugging my shirt tighter around her. She doesn’t notice how my gaze pins her, how every thought I have keeps circling back to the same truth.
The Bureau. Drazen. Elias. It doesn’t matter who tries to claim her.
She’s mine to protect.
Mine to keep.
And if that means burning everything—every bridge, every allegiance, every law—then let it burn.
I’ll walk through the ash with her in my arms.
Elias clears his throat, breaks the tension. “Come on, Lydia. You need food before you collapse.”
She narrows her eyes at both of us like she’s not done, but she lets him steer her toward the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open, Elias muttering about eggs and coffee, Lydia answering with that sharp edge she saves for men who think they know better.
I stay in the living room.
The quiet presses in heavy. Too heavy. I reach into my pocket, brushing the burner. Naomi’s number glows on thescreen like a dare. If I don’t make the call, she’ll come looking. If I do, she’ll smell the blood.
I hit the dial.
One ring. Two. Then the line clicks—her voice cutting in, clipped, and cutting like a blade.
“What now?” Her voice cut out blunt and loud, I don’t bother adjusting the volume, even though I know her end of the conversation may be loud enough for Elias to hear.
I lean back in the chair, eyes on the blinds striping the floor. “Dom’s dead.”
Silence. I can hear her typing, probably cross-checking half a dozen feeds while I sit here.
“How,” she says. Not a question. A demand.
“Crossfire at the penthouse,” I answer. “He didn’t walk out.”
“You’re alive.”
“Observation skills intact, I see.”
She exhales, sharp enough to sting even over the phone. “Do you have any idea of the noise that will make? Drazen loses his right hand, every rival with a grudge thinks it’s open season. The Bureau will want answers. And you just put yourself in the middle of it.”
“I was already in the middle.”
Her tone hardens. “What have you done? Silas—”
“No,” I cut in. “Listen. I’ve been thinking, and remember that leaks we discussed? Drazen having someone inside the Bureau feeding him intel? That’s why he has always been one step ahead. You know it. I know it. So don’t act like my report is the only problem. The real problem is you’ve beencompromised, and I’m the only one still breathing close enough to cut him down.”
Another pause. Longer this time. I can almost picture her going stone-still, her eyes narrowing in that way she gets when she’s already filing the paperwork on a man’s grave.
