Page 133 of Fractured Allegiance
My heels click behind them. Steady. Unapologetic. A sound meant to disarm, not seduce.
We stop at the back of the lounge. A room separated from the main floor by glass and money. I’ve been in here twice before. Once to deliver a message. Once to receive one.
Neither ended cleanly.
There’s a man already seated.
Dark skin. Thinning hair cropped close to the scalp. Gold ring too wide for his finger. One scar under his jawline, curved and mean, like a smile that got punished for being too honest.
I know him.
And he knows me.
But not as Lydia.
Not as this.
His mouth twitches, and for a second, I think he might laugh.
Drazen gestures toward me like I’m part of the menu.
"This is Lydia. She handles negotiations when words matter more than force."
Professional. Direct.
The man — Ravik, I remember — looks at me with the kind of assessment that's measuring threat level, not attraction.
Then he says: “She used to have a different name.”
My throat tightens.
Drazen doesn’t react.
That’s worse than if he had.
“I’ve had a lot of names,” I answer before Drazen can.
Ravik grins, leaning back, satisfied. “Yeah. But you always did wear black.”
I don’t sit.
Not yet.
Drazen takes the seat beside Ravik, pours them both something from the decanter on the table, then gestures to the chair across from them.
“Sit.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I do.
Ravik’s eyes linger too long. “I didn’t think I’d see her again. Not after the file got buried.”
“What file?” Drazen asks, smooth, casual.
“The one that got her blacklisted.”
My blood goes cold.
