WRITER'S POV:
Cassius hated turbulence.
Not because it frightened him—nothing really did anymore—but because it disrupted precision. It messed with the order he lived by. And right now, he could feel it in the tight clench of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers against the armrest, the subtle ache behind his eyes.
And, of course, there was *her*.
The girl. The flight attendant.
Ivy.
He hadn't wanted to remember her name. But Jason had dropped it with a grin, and Monday had stretched it out like taffy.
"Ivyyyyy," Monday whispered now as they walked across the tarmac, boots crunching against concrete. Their black SUV idled in the distance, windows tinted, a driver already waiting. "So polite. So nervous. So very... distractible. You think she figured out which one of us is most dangerous yet?"
"Definitely not you," Jason said, flicking his cigarette away.
Monday smirked. "She's got those rookie eyes. Like she still believes in customer service. Like she thinks smiling is going to fix the world. It's adorable."
Cassius didn't respond.
Because he had noticed that too.
The way Ivy held the wine glass with both hands, carefully avoiding eye contact until she *couldn't*. The startled flush when he asked her not to touch him. And the faint shiver that followed—not from fear. Something else.
Something dangerous.
"You told her not to hand you the wine," Monday continued, sliding into the SUV like he owned the leather. "That's the coldest thing you've done since you stared down that senator last month. You could've just taken it. But nooo, Big Bad Cassius had to maintain a no-touch policy."
"He was being considerate," Jason muttered from the back seat. "For *her*."
Monday turned, eyes gleaming. "Of course he was. What a gentleman. Our Cassius. He's practically a Disney prince if you ignore the organized crime part."
Cassius finally exhaled through his nose. A low sound. Almost a growl.
"Drop it."
"She works private charters now," Monday said instead, ignoring the warning like it was a personal challenge. "Which means we're going to see her again. A lot."
Jason raised a brow. "That wasn't an accident, was it?"
Cassius didn't answer.
Because it wasn't.
Their driver pulled into traffic, the city folding around them like a mechanical beast. Neon signs flickered outside. The hum of construction buzzed in the distance. It was early evening, and the city was opening its jaws again—ready to be fed.
Cassius looked out the window, jaw clenched. They had a meeting tonight. One of the suppliers had gone rogue. Someone had leaked part of a shipment manifest to the wrong people. It had to be addressed. Swiftly. Quietly. Permanently.
And still, part of his mind looped back to Ivy's voice. Soft. Untrained. Honest.
"You're slipping, boss," Monday said, almost too softly.
Cassius turned his head slowly. Eyes flat. "Careful."
Monday smiled and leaned back, satisfied. "Just saying. You keep staring at that window like you left something behind. Or someone."
Jason snorted. "Let the man breathe. He just got off a plane."
Cassius said nothing.
But Ivy's name pulsed behind his teeth.
And for the first time in years, something was breaking through the static.---The SUV pulled into the underground parking garage of an unmarked building. Their real headquarters—not the ones the city officials knew about. This one didn't have a plaque or a boardroom. It had steel doors, soundproof walls, and floors that had seen both blood and strategy.Cassius stepped out first. Inside, his second-in-command was waiting."They brought him to Room 4," she said. "He's still breathing."Cassius nodded once. He removed his coat, handed it to her without a word, and walked down the corridor like a storm wearing shoes.In Room 4, a man was chained to a chair—sweaty, panicked, bruised. Not broken. Not yet."You sold us out," Cassius said calmly, rolling up his sleeves. The tattoo along his forearm caught the overhead light like a whisper of death.The man stammered. "I didn't know—I swear, I thought it was just a routine manifest, I didn't—"Cassius grabbed a chair and sat across from him. He leaned in, voice low and sharp like broken glass. "You don't get to think. You get to obey."The room chilled."We trusted you with our routes, our codes. You shared them with someone else. That makes you disposable.""Please, Cassius—Mr. Black, please—I have kids—""So do I," Cassius lied smoothly. "They're better off without someone sloppy on payroll."He stood, walked to the counter, opened a drawer. Tools. Clean. Intimate.Monday appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, silently watching. Jason leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, expression unreadable.Cassius selected a pair of pliers and a cloth."I won't kill you," he said, stepping forward. "But you will remember this. Every time you pick up a pen. Every time you look at your hand. You'll remember whose trust you lost."The scream was muffled. Professionally.Afterward, Cassius washed his hands slowly. Ritualistically. His anger was exact. Measured. Never wasted.And as the water circled the drain, he felt it again.A flicker of warmth where the chill should've settled.Ivy.Damn her.She had no idea what kind of man had just told her not to hand him a glass of wine.And if she did...She might still look at him like she did.That was the most dangerous part of all.