Page 51 of Stalked
“What about his financial movements?” I ask.
Xavier nods. “Landon's been tracking them. Nothing irregular there either.”
“I don't trust him,” I say flatly. “Something about the way he negotiated felt off. Too eager to agree to our terms.”
“Because we're offering good money,” Knox points out.
I shake my head. “No. It's something else.”
“I've got eyes on his hotel,” Landon says. “And I've tapped his phone. He's made three calls back to Moscow in the past two days, but they're speaking in code. My Russian contact is working on it.”
“Double the surveillance,” I suggest. “After the Hunt, I want to know every breath that motherfucker takes until our shipment arrives.”
Xavier gives me a measured look. “Already done. But we need to be careful. If he suspects we don't trust him?—”
“He'll be insulted,” I finish. “I know. But better insulted than betrayed. We have more to lose if he's playing us.”
Xavier raises his hand, silencing the table. It's a subtle gesture, but one we've all been conditioned to respect since childhood. One raised palm from our eldest brother, and the discussion ends.
“We'll increase surveillance, but discreetly,” Xavier decides, his tone leaving no room for debate. “And we stick to the original plan unless I say otherwise.”
I nod, swallowing my impulse to push for more aggressive measures. That's the thing about our family dynamic—we all have our roles, our strengths, but at the end of the day, Xavier's word is final. Always has been, always will be.
“Understood,” I mutter, not entirely satisfied.
Landon catches my eye, giving me a look that says,let it go. He's always been the peacekeeper between Xavier's calculated stance and my aggressive stance.
“The Hunt takes priority for now,” Xavier continues, setting his empty glass down with finality. “Business with Orlov resumes after. Vane, I need your head in the game, not split between Lia and our Russian problem.”
“My head is exactly where it needs to be,” I counter, bristling slightly at being singled out.
Xavier's steel-gray eyes lock onto mine. “Is it? Because your obsession with Lia Morgan has been a fifteen-year distraction. If I thought it would compromise our operation?—”
“It won't,” I cut in, then immediately regret my tone. “It won't be a problem.”
His expression softens marginally. “Good. Because while I've allowed this Hunt arrangement and your... pursuit, if I determine at any point that it jeopardizes what we've built?—”
“I know.” I drop my gaze first—the universal sign of deference in our brotherhood. “Your call. Always has been.”
Xavier nods, satisfied with my acknowledgment of his authority. The tension around the table dissolves slightly as Knox signals for another round.
This is how it's always been with us: Xavier leads, we follow. Even in my wildest moments, I've never truly challenged that fundamental truth. The Blackwood empire exists because Xavier built it from nothing, and none of us—not me, not Landon, not Knox—would ever forget that.
21
LIA
Ismooth down the emerald green silk of my dress, appreciating how it hugs my curves while still allowing freedom of movement. Of course, Vane would choose this exact shade—his signature color. A not-so-subtle way of marking me as his before the Hunt even begins.
Around me, five other women fidget with their dresses—each in a different color. The journalist in red keeps checking her lipstick in a compact mirror, her hands trembling slightly. Bianca, whom I know in passing from Elliot, is wearing blue and paces up and down, muttering something under her breath. None of them looks particularly comfortable.
“Nervous?” I ask the woman in white standing closest to me.
She nods, eyes wide. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just a little.” I offer a reassuring smile. “It's going to be intense, but remember you signed up for this.”
“You seem calm,” she observes.
