Page 67 of Shadow Waltz

Ash scrolled, fingers sure, mind already parsing out patterns. “Why are you showing me this?”

I sat on the arm of the chair, close enough to see the play of calculation across his face. “Because I want to know what you’d do. No leash, no orders—just your instincts.”

For a moment, I saw something like hope flicker through his eyes. He closed the files, then reopened a different tab, pulling up shipping manifests, coded routes, cross-referencing names with threat reports.

“You missed a cluster,” he said, tapping a section highlighted in blue. “Whoever flagged this as low risk is missing the pattern. See these?” He traced three shipments, mapped on different routes but scheduled within an hour of each other. “You’re being squeezed. Someone’s setting up a decoy—drawing your resources away from the real threat.”

I watched him work, fingers flying over the keys, his body humming with focus. For the first time, I saw what he musthave looked like before—when he was just Ash, before the world broke him and remade him in steel and scars.

“Give me some time,” he said, not looking up. “I’ll have a plan.”

Something twisted deep in my chest—pride, maybe, or something more dangerous. I leaned in, close enough to speak in his ear. “You’re not just property, Ash. Not anymore. This is your world too, if you want it.”

He didn’t flinch. He turned, meeting my gaze, his hand closing over mine where it rested on the laptop.

“If you’re serious about partnership, then trust me to act. Otherwise, keep me as decoration. But don’t ask me for both.”

There it was—the line drawn in the sand. I let him see the decision play out on my face, the warring impulses: to own, to protect, to keep him safe, and to unleash him on my enemies.

Finally, I released my grip, letting the laptop go.

“Surprise me,” I said.

He flashed a crooked smile, all sharp angles and sudden confidence. “I will.”

The intercom crackled with Carina's voice, cutting through the intimate atmosphere with crisp professionalism.

“Detective Reddick is here for his appointment,” she announced. “Conference room two is prepared, and Troy is in position.”

I'd been expecting this meeting for days, ever since Reddick had reached out through intermediaries requesting a face-to-face discussion about “matters of mutual concern.” The detective had been circling my operations for years without finding anything solid enough to justify an arrest warrant, but his persistence suggested either admirable dedication or dangerous obsession.

“Time to find out what our friend in law enforcement wants,” I said, stepping back from Ash with reluctance that surprised me.

“Should I—” Ash started, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

“You stay here. Troy will keep you company while I handle this.” I adjusted my tie and checked my appearance in the window's reflection, transforming from the man who'd been studying his collared acquisition into the Prince who never showed weakness to enemies.

“Is this about me?” Ash asked, and there was tension in his voice that suggested he understood exactly what kind of leverage he represented.

“Everything's about you lately,” I replied, which was more honest than I'd intended to be. “But Reddick's been hunting me long before you arrived. This is probably just another fishing expedition.”

As I moved toward the door, Ash called after me. “Luka. Be careful.”

The concern in his voice was subtle but unmistakable, and it sent warmth spreading through my chest in ways that had nothing to do with possession and everything to do with being cared about by someone who had no obligation to feel anything for me beyond what the collar required.

“Always am,” I replied, though we both knew that careful men didn't build empires on blood and shadow.

The walkto conference room two gave me time to shift mental gears, transforming from whatever I was becoming with Ash into the cold, calculating businessman who'd survived fifteenyears at the top of a pyramid built on violence. By the time I opened the door, my expression was perfectly neutral, revealing nothing about my thoughts or feelings or the way my pulse had quickened when Ash showed genuine concern for my safety.

Detective Isaiah Reddick sat with his back to the window, a position that would have been strategically disadvantageous if this were an interrogation room instead of my territory. He was exactly what I'd expected from his reputation—late thirties, well-built despite a desk job, with the kind of eyes that missed nothing and forgot less. His dark skin was marked by stress lines that spoke to a man carrying burdens heavier than his badge suggested.

“Detective,” I said, taking the seat across from him with casual authority. “I understand you wanted to discuss matters of mutual concern.”

“Mr. Markovic,” Reddick replied, and his voice carried the particular weariness of a cop who'd seen too much and saved too little. “Thank you for agreeing to meet. I know this isn't your usual operating procedure.”

“I'm always willing to assist law enforcement,” I said with a smile that carried just enough irony to remind him exactly who was in control of this conversation. “When their requests are reasonable.”

Reddick leaned forward slightly, studying my face with the intensity of someone reading a map of dangerous territory. “How long have you been in the human trafficking business, Mr. Markovic?”