Page 96 of Shadow Waltz
“We have solutions to everything,” Ash replied, and his smile carried enough edge to remind everyone in the room that beautiful didn't mean harmless. “The question is whether you're serious enough about partnership to implement them.”
For the next hour, Ash presented analysis that was both comprehensive and strategically sound, answering questions with the kind of expertise that slowly shifted our guests' expressions from skepticism to grudging respect. I watched him command the room with growing satisfaction, seeing the moment when they stopped seeing him as decoration and started recognizing him as a genuine threat to their negotiations.
When we called a break, the older man approached the refreshment table where Ash was reviewing notes. I was halfway across the room when I saw it happen—the younger visitor moving behind Ash, hand reaching out to trace the line of hiscollar with the kind of casual presumption that suggested he saw the leather as an invitation rather than a warning.
“Beautiful piece,” he said, fingers brushing Ash's throat. “How much for a night with your pet?”
The world went silent except for the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I watched Ash tense, saw the way his body went rigid with violation and fury, and something inside my chest snapped with the sharp finality of a bone breaking.
I moved without conscious thought, crossing the room in three strides. My hand closed around the visitor's wrist—the same hand that had dared to touch what belonged to me—and twisted until I heard the satisfying crack of small bones separating.
“I'm sorry,” I said, voice carrying the kind of deadly calm that preceded executions. “Did you just touch my partner without permission?”
The man tried to pull away, but my grip was absolute. “It was just—I didn't mean?—”
“You didn't mean to disrespect me in my own building?” I asked, twisting his wrist another degree until sweat beaded on his forehead. “You didn't mean to put your hands on someone who belongs to me?”
The older visitor took a step forward, hand moving toward his jacket, but froze when he saw the look in my eyes. He'd survived decades in this business by recognizing when violence was inevitable, and whatever he saw in my expression told him that interference would be fatal.
“Please,” the younger man gasped, trying to drop to his knees as his wrist ground against itself. “I'm sorry, I didn't know?—”
“You didn't know that touching another man's property without permission is a capital offense?” I released his wrist and stepped back, giving him just enough time to think he might survive this.
Then I drew the Glock from my shoulder holster and put two rounds center mass before he could draw his next breath.
The sound of gunfire in the enclosed space was deafening, but what followed was the kind of silence that came after irreversible lines had been crossed. The younger visitor crumpled to the expensive carpet, blood spreading beneath him in patterns that would require professional cleaning to remove.
I turned to face the older man, gun still in my hand but pointed safely toward the floor. “I apologize for the interruption,” I said, voice steady despite the adrenaline singing through my veins. “As you can see, I take questions of respect very seriously.”
The older visitor looked between me, the corpse at my feet, and Ash—who was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. When he spoke, his voice carried the kind of careful respect that came from witnessing sudden, decisive violence.
“Your reputation for protecting your interests is well-deserved,” he said finally. “I believe we can reach mutually beneficial arrangements without further... misunderstandings.”
“Excellent.” I holstered the gun and straightened my tie as if I hadn't just committed murder in front of international business partners. “Ash, would you mind calling building maintenance? We'll need the conference room cleaned before our next appointment.”
Ash nodded, pulling out his phone with hands that were steady despite what he'd just witnessed. But I caught the way his eyes lingered on me, the way his pulse jumped visibly at his throat, and realized that seeing me kill for him had affected him in ways that went beyond simple shock.
The meeting concluded twenty minutes later with terms that were significantly more favorable to us than they had been before the shooting. Amazing how witnessing sudden death could motivate people toward reasonable compromise.
“Impressive negotiation technique,” Carina said after our guest had left and the body had been removed by our cleanup crew. “Though perhaps excessive for a simple boundary violation.”
“There's nothing simple about someone putting their hands on Ash,” I replied, watching her expression shift as she processed the implications. “And there's nothing excessive about making it clear that such behavior has fatal consequences.”
Later,in the privacy of my office with the city glittering below us like a circuit board made of ambition and broken dreams, I found myself studying Ash with new concern. He stood by the windows where I'd first seen him truly defiant, but now his presence felt different—charged with the aftermath of violence and the knowledge of what I was capable of when pushed.
“How does it feel?” I asked, settling into the chair that gave me the best view of both him and the door. “Knowing that I'll kill anyone who touches you without permission?”
Ash was quiet for a long moment, and I could see him processing emotions that went beyond simple gratitude or horror. When he spoke, his voice carried weight I hadn't expected.
“It feels like being valued,” he said finally, turning to face me directly. “Like discovering that someone considers me worth protecting with lethal force.”
The admission hit harder than it should have, because it revealed exactly how little protection he'd received throughout his life, how revolutionary the concept of someone willing to commit murder for his safety really was.
“You are worth protecting,” I said, meaning it more than I'd meant anything in years. “With lethal force or any other kind of force necessary.”
Something shifted in his expression then, recognition passing between us like a shared secret. He'd seen me kill, seen the violence that funded our luxury and maintained our security, and instead of fear, I saw something that looked dangerously close to worship in his ice-blue eyes.
Ash moved away from the window, crossing the office with that fluid grace that had first caught my attention at the auction. But now his movements carried different weight—not the careful self-preservation of someone trying to avoid notice, but the confident stride of someone who knew they were protected by lethal force.