Page 29 of Shadow Waltz

“Or perhaps you're losing focus,” Sokolov suggested, his tone carrying just enough threat to be noticed. “Allowing personal feelings to compromise professional judgment. That's a dangerous path for a man in your position.”

The warning was clear: he'd identified what he saw as vulnerability and was prepared to exploit it. In his world, caring about anything was a weakness that enemies could weaponize, a crack in the armor that let in killing blows.

“Roman,” I said quietly, my voice carrying the kind of calm that came before storms. “I've always appreciated your directness, so let me return the favor. My business decisions aren't subject to outside review or approval. If you have concerns about market competition, I suggest you focus on improving your own acquisition strategies.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Sokolov's bodyguards shifted slightly, hands moving closer to weapons hidden beneath their jackets, but their boss held up a hand to stop them.

“That seems like an overreaction to a simple business inquiry,” Sokolov said, but his smile had lost its warmth.

“Not an overreaction. A clarification of boundaries.”

Sokolov leaned back in his chair, that gold-toothed smile spreading wider. “You know, Prince, I think success has made you soft. Sentimental. Perhaps it's time for new leadership in this territory.”

The words hung in the air for exactly three seconds before I moved. The letter opener from my desk found its way into Sokolov's throat with the kind of fluid motion that came from fifteen years of surviving in a world where hesitation meant death. His eyes went wide with shock, blood bubbling from his lips as he tried to speak.

His bodyguards reached for their weapons, but they were too slow. I'd planned for this possibility the moment they'd walked into my territory. The concealed snipers I'd positioned on the building across the street put bullets through the reinforced glass and into their skulls before they could clear leather.

“The boy is under my protection,” I said quietly to Sokolov's dying form. “Anyone who forgets that fact joins you.”

Sokolov's body slumped forward onto the marble table, blood pooling around the letter opener like a crimson lake. I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Carina.

“Clean-up crew to conference room one,” I said when she answered. “Three bodies. Make it look like a territorial dispute between the Russians and the Colombians.”

“Understood,” she replied without hesitation. “Any other instructions?”

“Send a message to Sokolov's lieutenants. Their boss died because he threatened what's mine. They can choose to respect that boundary or join him.”

I hung up and looked down at the corpse that had been Roman Sokolov. For the first time in fifteen years, I'd killedsomeone not just for business or survival, but for daring to threaten something I'd claimed as mine.

The realization should have concerned me. Instead, it felt like a logical extension of protecting valuable assets.

When I returnedto Ash's suite an hour later, I found him sitting at the marble table with an empty plate beside him. He'd eaten the food, and relief flooded through me—a reaction that caught me off guard. When had I started caring whether he took care of himself?

“You're back sooner than I expected,” he said, noting the slight disarray in my appearance that came from supervising corpse disposal.

“Business concluded more quickly than anticipated,” I replied, straightening my tie and checking my reflection in the dark window. I was more rattled than I wanted to admit—not by the violence, but by how much I'd wanted to get back to him.

“Messily, I'm guessing.”

Ash's perceptive comment made me pause. Most people would have asked what kind of business. Ash observed first, questioned later. “What makes you say that?”

“Blood under your fingernails. Scuff marks on your shoes that suggest you were moving around something heavy. And you've got that particular kind of calm that comes right after violence.”

I looked down at my hands, noting details I'd missed in my hurry to return to him. His observational skills were even sharper than I'd anticipated, but more than that—he wasn't afraid of what he'd observed. Most people would have beenterrified to be alone with someone who'd just committed murder. Ash was analyzing it like data.

“Very good,” I said, genuine admiration coloring my voice. “What else do you see?”

“You're testing me,” Ash replied, standing and moving closer with careful, measured steps. “But not in the way your previous tests worked. This feels different.”

“Different how?”

“Like you actually want me to pass.” His ice-blue eyes studied my face with that unsettling intensity. “Someone challenged your authority, probably about your expensive purchase last night. You killed them to send a message, but you came back here immediately after. That wasn't about business efficiency—that was about making sure I was safe.”

The accuracy of his assessment hit me like a physical blow. He'd seen through not just my actions, but my motivations, reading emotions I'd barely acknowledged to myself.

“You're not just intelligent,” I said quietly. “You're intuitive. That's rarer than you know.”

Something shifted in Ash's expression—surprise that I'd admitted vulnerability, that I'd praised him without expecting anything in return.