Page 9 of Dangerous Liaisons
She looked over her shoulder in amusement at Kira who shrugged, no other emotion on the woman’s face. “Your connections are drying up, your father’s contacts dying in jail or afraid to come even two feet of you. All that’s left before me is a son unable to live up to his father’s image.”
“I am trying to be reasonable aboutthis.”
“No, you are attempting to be something you are not,” she sighed. “Take my advice, Diego. Marry, have some kids, and leave your father’s memory in the past along with his mistakes. I have controlling interest over the gun trade now, there is nothing you can do about it. The Crimson Legion works with me, and I hope the same will happen with the other clubs.” She didn’t glance at the two MC members to catch their response to her statement. “In two months’ time, you will either be on a beach somewhere having taken my advice, or you’ll be dead. It is your choice.”
“You are making a mistake. I don’t wish to be at war.”
“Should that be the choice you’re making, I can do nothing to stop that. I’ve survived bigger threats than you, Diego; you will not be the thing to bring me down.”
“I have contacts within your organization. I have people that will side with me.”
With a sigh, Isabella rose to her feet. “Your veiled threats hold no weight with me. Take my advice. If I see you again, the conversation will not end as cordially.”
Had the tension not been so intense at that moment, she would have found amusement in the sight of the two bikers who looked on the verge of bursting into laughter.
She motioned at Kira, who hadn’t moved from the wall. Her eyes were locked on Diego. “We’re done here.”
Kira bared her teeth at Diego before she moved to follow, neitherignoring the fact that his own bodyguard had sat there the entire time, not speaking. He remained silent; his eyes locked on his boss.
Xavier crouched over the gleaming chrome of his motorcycle, the smell of oil and metal filling the surrounding air. The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm light across the garage and illuminating the scattered tools and parts littering the workbench. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, focusing on the task at hand as he adjusted the carburetor.
Each twist of the wrench was a reminder of the freedom he had fought to reclaim. After years in prison, he had emerged into a world that felt both familiar and foreign. The roar of an engine was more than just sound, it was a lifeline, a way to carve out a new identity away from the shadows of his past.
He leaned back, taking a moment to admire the bike—a custom build that had consumed his thoughts and energy over the past few years. It was more than just a machine; it was a symbol of his rebirth. He remembered the first time he rode a bike after getting out; the wind rushing past him, the feeling of speed and liberation. It had felt like shedding chains. But the freedom was bittersweet. His past still lingered, a constant reminder of the choices that hadled him to prison. He thought about the people he had left behind; the friendships forged and lost, and the weight of guilt that crept in. He had made mistakes, but he was determined not to let them define him.
As he tightened the last bolt, he caught sight of a photo pinned to the wall—a snapshot from a happier time, filled with friends and laughter at a bike rally. A pang of nostalgia hit him. He had been so carefree then, before everything had unraveled. This was his chance to start fresh. He wouldn’t squander it. With each bike he rebuilt, he was also rebuilding himself.
He stood up, stretching his back, and looked out at the open road visible through the garage door. He could almost hear the engine’s growl calling to him, promising adventure and escape. But tonight was different. He had a cookout to attend, and Isabella Romanov would be there.
The thought made him pause. Their business discussions had been intense, but there was something electric about her presence. She was strong-willed, unyielding, and he found himself drawn to her sharp intelligence. The cookout fostered goodwill, a way for them to connect outside the confines of negotiation.
With a deep breath, he wiped his hands on a rag and grabbed his helmet. He stepped outside; the sun warminghis skin, and climbed onto the bike. As he revved the engine, the powerful roar echoed in the quiet evening, drowning out the ghosts of his past.
This was a mistake. She fought the wave of anxiety that crashed over her as the car came to a complete stop. She debated ordering Viktor to turn the car around, panicking as Kira grabbed her door handle, but the words got stuck in her throat, the woman swinging open the door. With a sigh, she exited the Mercedes.
“Do you wish to leave?”
She looked over at Kira, loud noises coming from inside the gates, and cleared her throat. “No, I am fine. This is a gesture of goodwill; it must be done.”
With a curt nod, Kira proceeded past the gates. Isabella took a minute to herself. It had been surprising to receive a call from Hunter inviting her to a cookout, but she took it for what it is, a gesture of good faith toward their newly formed business relationship.
Not that she was nervous, but out of her element, Kira having convinced her to wear her favorite pair of faded jeans and a formfitting black lace top. The plan was to be seen as approachable, a wise choice for a business partner before heading out.She didn’t intend to make it a late night, a flight scheduled early the next morning to Russia.
She made her way inside, mindful that Viktor remained with her. She paused just beyond the gate to survey the area, people littering the parking lot with drinks in their hands. A meat smoker was visible in the background, the smell of barbecue and smoke wafting through the air.
“Well, if it ain’t Elsa, come to grace us with her royal presence.”
She frowned as she recognized Lucas, the Spartan Warriors VP. “I may not know you very well, Mr. Doyle, but I’m not surprised you’ve seen that movie.”
“Hey, I got cousins. I know what cartoons are.” He eyed her with a smile as smoke drifted from the cigarette he held loosely in between his fingers. “Hunter said you might come, but I thought he was lying. Come to see how the other half lives?”
“I wasn’t always the head of a cartel. I’m well aware of how many people live.” She glanced around. “I see nothing wrong with this. In fact, it reminds me a lot of where I came from, except it didn’t smell as good.”
He wiggled his nose and took a drag from his cigarette. “What you said the other day with Gaston, did you mean that?”
She let out a laugh as she connected the dots to the fact that he was referring to Diego. “I did. I haven’t received a call from your president; however, should I expect one?”
He shrugged with a small grin.