Page 36 of Shadow Waltz

“Why?”

His fingers moved unconsciously to his wrist, where I knew a small tattoo was hidden beneath his sleeve. “Because they remind me of someone who believed I could fly, even when I'd forgotten how.”

“Enough questions,” I said, but my voice carried warmth rather than dismissal. “Stand.”

Ash rose with fluid grace, and I took the leash from his hands, feeling the weight of it—not as a tool of control, but as a bridge between us. When I clipped it to his collar, the soft click sounded like a promise being sealed.

“Walk with me,” I said, the invitation gentler than a command.

We moved together to the window, where Manhattan sprawled below us like a circuit board of light and possibility. But the act of walking beside him, connected by leather and choice, sent something deeper than satisfaction through me—something that felt dangerously close to contentment.

“Look at that city,” I said quietly, my hand finding the small of his back in a gesture that was protective rather than possessive. “It tried to break both of us, in different ways. But we're still here. Still standing.”

I could feel him processing my words, understanding that what I was offering wasn't just ownership but alliance—two survivors who'd found something worth protecting in each other.

“You're not just mine, Ash,” I continued, voice soft but certain. “You're safe. And anyone who threatens that safety will learn why crossing me is the last mistake they ever make.”

When I unclipped the leash, I let my fingers linger on his collar for a moment longer than necessary—not claiming, but reassuring. The absence of the physical connection felt like loss, but the understanding between us remained.

“You can go,” I said, though every instinct screamed at me to keep him close. “But Ash?” He paused, looking back. “There's a woman named Helena Von Stein. German, old money, collects things she shouldn't. She's expressed interest in meeting you.”

Something shifted in Ash's expression—wariness mixed with curiosity. “What kind of interest?”

“The kind that ends badly for beautiful things,” I said, my voice taking on that dangerous edge that had made grown men reconsider their life choices. “She thinks she can take what belongs to me. She's wrong.”

“Are you going to let her try?”

The vulnerability in his question—the need for reassurance that he was truly protected—made something fierce and protective surge in my chest.

“She can want whatever she likes,” I said, settling behind my desk but keeping my eyes on him. “But she'll have to go through me to get it. And I don't lose, Ash. Not when it comes to protecting what matters to me.”

The emphasis on 'matters' rather than 'mine' wasn't lost on either of us. When he left, closing the door softly behind him, I found myself staring at the monitors that showed his progress through my building, already counting the minutes until I could justify seeing him again.

The black orchid on my desk caught the light, and I realized that Von Stein's message had been perfectly crafted to test my resolve. But she'd made a fundamental miscalculation—she'd assumed that owning something meant being willing to trade it.

What she didn't understand was that some possessions were worth more than money, more than political advantage, more than survival itself. And I was beginning to suspect that Ash fell into that category, dangerous as the admission might be.

The evening lightfiltered through silk curtains in my private dining room, but tonight the atmosphere carried a different weight. Two guests sat at my table—Helena Von Stein, elegant and predatory in her tailored black suit, and Rajesh Mehta, a Mumbai industrialist whose legitimate shipping empire served as cover for less savory enterprises.

“Gentlemen, Helena,” I said, settling into my chair with calculated ease. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

Von Stein's pale eyes studied me with the intensity of a surgeon examining a particularly interesting specimen. “Your message mentioned a business proposition. I confess myself... curious.”

“As am I,” Mehta added, his accented English carrying the confidence of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. “Though I admit surprise at being included in such... select company.”

I poured wine—a vintage worth more than most people's annual salary—and let the silence stretch. Von Stein appreciated theater, and Mehta was learning that patience paid dividends in my world.

“I've been reconsidering some recent decisions,” I said finally. “Specifically, regarding assets that might be better utilized through strategic partnerships.”

Von Stein's laugh was like crystal breaking. “How refreshingly honest. And here I thought you were going to maintain that ridiculous fiction about your pet being a 'business partner.'”

“Ash has proven... more adaptable than I initially anticipated,” I replied carefully. “But adaptability and exclusive loyalty aren't always the same thing.”

Mehta leaned forward, interest sharpening his features. “You're suggesting the boy might be available for alternative arrangements?”

“I'm suggesting that loyalty should be earned, not assumed. And that perhaps a demonstration of where his true interests lie would be... educational for all parties involved.”

Von Stein set down her wine glass deliberately. “Luka, darling, if you're proposing what I think you're proposing, you're either more ruthless than I gave you credit for, or more foolish. I haven't decided which.”