Ivy didn't realise she'd been pulled out of the club hall until the night air hit her face and the club doors closed behind them. The noise inside dulled, replaced by the distant wail of sirens and the low hum of the city. She wrenched her arm free, turning on Dora with disbelief sharp in her eyes. "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "Derrick is still in there." Dora didn't answer immediately. She took a few steps away from the entrance, then stopped and turned back to Ivy. Her expression was composed, but her eyes were alert. "Staying back would have made things worse," she said calmly. "You shouting at Halvorsen wouldn't save Derrick. It would only give him more reason to dig in." Ivy's breath came uneven. "So what? We just leave Derrick?" "No." Dora shook her head. "We step back and think. And then we act to save his sorry ass." Just as the words landed, Ivy's anger faltered, replaced by the sick churn of fear she'd been holding at bay. She glanced back at the club doors, i

The Lorenzo family study was vast, lined wall to wall with sturdy dark wood shelves filled with ledgers, contracts, and leather-bound volumes that smelled faintly of age and a great deal of polish. Heavy curtains muted whatever lights would have come from outside, leaving the room bathed in a low amber glow from the expensive chandelier overhead.It was the kind of room built for making decisions that ruined or built business empires.At the center of the room stood Madam Lorenzo. Her back was rigid, one hand braced against the edge of the long table. Across from her was Moses–Ivy's cousin and her grandson. Around him sat his mother, Ivy's parents, and other members of the Lorenzo family. Only Pa Lorenzo and Ivy were absent at the time.Moses stood tall, chin lifted in stubborn defiance, and suit rumpled in a way that spoke of everything but honest work. Papers were scattered across the long table–balance sheets, transfer documents, and deeds bearing the unmistakable seals of the Lo

The silence that followed Derrick's declaration was one of disbelief. Even Madam Lorenzo didn't speak. Her eyes remained fixed on Derrick, as though she were weighing him the way one might assess the capacity of an unfamiliar weapon–deciding whether it would cut clean or turn in the hand and draw blood. She managed to clear her throat. "And what opportunity are we talking about here?" "Blacksite Ops," Derrick replied calmly, his voice steady enough to anchor the large room. "The company is actively seeking a strategic partner. Equity sharing. Talking of long-term cooperation here."Just then, Moses let out a sharp, humourless laugh from the floor. "Now I believe he's lost his freaking mind," he sneered, pushing himself up one elbow. "The last time I checked, Blacksite Ops is owned by the one and only Dominic Santiago. He isn't one to partner with groups like the Lorenzo's. You think you can just walk in and–"The rest of his words were perfectly crushed out of him. Derrick's boot

For a fraction of a second, Ivy's mind went completely blank–a clear uncharacteristic lapse for someone who lived and breathed negotiations. She had prepared for numbers, even veiled hostility. But not...this. "My relationship?" she echoed, buying herself even more time as she carefully set her coffee cup down. Her fingers betrayed her slightly as it tightened around the porcelain. She forced them to relax. Dominic Santiago watched her with patience, his expression open but attentive. But he didn't press. He just waited to see what she would reveal. "Well," Ivy began slowly, carefully choosing her words, "our marriage was arranged by our elders. A sort of strategic union." She let out a soft, self-conscious breath. "We hadn't met properly before the engagement. Not in a meaningful sense, that is."Dominic nodded once, neither approving nor disapproving. He seemed to be merely acknowledging. "Go on," he said. The simplicity of it unsettled her more than any sharp business interr

It was now clear to Derrick that there was no coincidence behind the black sedan's movement. So he glanced at Ivy, letting out a faint smile before he looked away again. She was humming now, her fingers drumming lightly on the wheel, blissfully ignorant of the tightening net behind them. That's good, Derrick thought. Getting Ivy alarmed would surely send them to their graves sooner. His mind was working quite fast, old instincts sliding right into place like muscle memory. He estimated the distance before the next intersection, noting that side streets were narrow enough to discourage speed, but wide enough to maneuver. He glanced at the mirror again. They weren't shooting yet. Which meant two things–either they wanted him and Ivy alive, or they were just being patient and professional. Neither option was comforting. Resting an arm casually along the door, Derrick adjusted in his seat. He assumed a posture loose enough not to alarm Ivy. Then he let out a slow breath. Alright,