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‘Just about,’ she smiled at the charming man.

Santi chuckled.

Behind him prowled the rest of the hermanos .

Xander greeted his squadron with quick hugs and a flash of his beautiful teeth, demonstrating they were more brothers than anything else.

Still, she clocked the power he and they held, quiet, edged, freakin’ electrified.

Xander introduced them, his timbre carrying across the boardroom in a honey-and-smoke drawl that ratcheted her pulse. ‘Savvine, meet the Signet strong guard.’

They stood around the long obsidian table like carved legends, broad shoulders, coiled grace, easy menace softened by half-smiles.

Xander gestured to the man closest to her. ‘You’ve already met Santiago Alvarro, my XO.’

Santiago inclined his head, his hair slicked back, stubble lining his sculpted jaw.

His toned physique strained against the crisp tactical shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal wrists thick with power and a sliver of blade ink down one forearm.

Savvine smiled and raised a chin to him.

His grin was lazy and confident as he sat in a chair and slung his boots on the table, to Xander’s huff.

The Signet leader moved down the line. ‘Next to him is Mak Essen. Our in-house lawyer and a mean shot with a Darsk rifle. He’s also a direct descendant, the firstborn son of the Sauvage dynasty, and graces us with his presence purely by choice.’

Savvine’s brows rose.

The Sauvage Family was one of the most influential families in the convoy, and their titles and fortune were beyond measure. Its coffers were not quite up to Bianchi’s sizable wealth, but were comparable.

The formidable cartel clan was also one of the most secretive and ruthless, keeping to themselves and unknown to many.

Mak was tall, lean, and smoldering, his violet sable hair and beard neatly cut. His face belonged on the cover of a holo zine posing as a film lead actor who made women weep.

His eyes were striking, an unusual gold and gray rimmed with dark lashes, unreadable and precise.

Gilded black ink spiraled across his collarbones, disappearing under a fitted, charcoal suit that screamed bespoke but moved like armor.

His boots were mirror-shined. His posture was all coiled readiness.

He gave her a brisk nod. ‘Chief.’

‘Mak,’ she echoed.

Damn . No wonder they won their trials and Syndicate legal battles with aplomb.

Xander nodded toward the next man. ‘Rigo Aldana’s our money man. Strategy, bribes, logistics, he sees the game five moves ahead.’

Rigo’s olive-gold skin and high cheekbones were stroke-worthy.

His amber eyes appeared flecked with amethyst shades, and he trained his eyes on her like he could see her ledger.

His hair was deep violet, short on the sides, and tousled up top, as if he never bothered to smooth it after pulling off a heist.

Shifting formulas, codes, and sigils were inked on his arms.

He wore matte onyx trousers and a collared shirt that was open at the throat, revealing a hint of clavicle and gold jewelry.

He winked. ‘Welcome aboard, Chief Bianchi.’

Xander kept going. ‘Zev Cruz is our weapons and resources fixer.’

Zev nodded once, his wild violet locks to one side of his shaven head, worn in defiance of convention.

His eyes were obsidian-black with a glint of crimson. Beneath his caramel skin, shimmering gems pulsed at his temples and the base of his neck, living tech embedded into flesh.

His jacket was sleeveless, revealing lean arms traced with schematic tattoos, and he wore utilitarian boots that appeared weathered by far too many planets.

Somehow, despite the chaos of his look, he radiated control.

‘You need it? I get it,’ he rasped, sitting down.

Xander pointed to the last two.

‘Boaz Garcia, our engineer. Makes miracles out of wreckage.’

Boaz was a tank of a man, massive and scarred. Even his hands were the size of a forge hammer.

His skin, carved with old battle burns and tribal code work ink, was sun-bronzed even in space’s sterile light.

His dark orchid tresses were caught in a coiled bun, above a strong brow.

He wore loose cargo pants, a thermal vest, and a faded flight jacket half-unzipped.

His hazel gold eyes were kind, a striking contrast to the rest of him.

Boaz grunted a greeting. ‘Good to have you here.’

‘Last but not least,’ Xander said with a glance that carried an edge of fondness, ‘Kaal Essen. Mak’s younger brother.

Head of security. He prefers to stay anonymous as does Mak, thus the last name Essen instead of Sauvage, choosing us instead of an incredible fortune, inherited wealth, and fokk -you privilege. ’

Kaal leaned against the table’s rim, chewing a toothpick, golden war-ink trailing across his brown skin like fire gods etched it.

His amethyst and sable hair was shorn and shaped in a cropped cut.

His eyes were electric amber, feral and intelligent, with just enough amusement to make Savvine wonder whether he’d start a fight for fun.

He wore combat-grade trousers, an open utility waistcoat over a bare chest, because, of course, he did, and unusually sexy unlaced boots.

Savvine raised a brow. ‘Security, huh?’

Kaal grinned and growled in a timbred rumble. ‘We’re kindred spirits, jefa .’

Fokk this men and their way of turning a moniker into a seductive promise.

Yet, as Savvine stood among this motley, deadly crew of warriors, thinkers, hackers, and ghosts, she sensed their mettle and readiness.

She’d worked with myriad security and military personnel, from fast-talking blusters to the menacing real deal.

This pack was the latter, perhaps even the most lethal she’d ever met.

Her gut told her she could trust them to have her six in a firefight.

Then came the unbidden thought. Were they all shifters like Xander?

Xander’s eyes tracked her assessment of them all with a slight turn to his lips as if provoking her to discover otherwise.

She shivered, for there was no doubt these men weren’t thugs hiding behind guns.

This squad of elite warriors was deadly and ruthless to the core. Calculated, fierce, and disciplined.

Given the evidence so far, they probably had the ability to conduct protracted, complex, and challenging operations involving high-level, precise military skills and utilizing the full extent of their available weapons and capabilities.

Still, they operated like a corporation, not a gang, like a unit that rewrote the rules and built a sophisticated command structure.

Impressive.

Miral glided in last, her presence as cool as ever in her synth-flesh form, dressed in a gunmetal suit and boots that hummed as she walked.

The AI wore a midnight blue ensemble glittering with starlight-coded glyphs, her synthetic skin glowing beneath it.

She leaned against the glass wall, arms crossed, amused and observing.

‘Miral.’ Savvine acknowledged her, cautious but polite.

‘Chief Bianchi,’ the AI purred. ‘I’ve synced this room to your bio-sig, and I have a locked-down firewall in operation, no external uplinks. No override access. Nothing you say here leaves the walls unless you want it to.’

Savvine gazed around the room slowly, taking it all in.

The precision. The cohesion.

The unspoken command Xander had in this space.

The loyalty of the men who stood by him without question.

With her omnipotent glow, even Miral deferred to him with a deference Savvine suspected was not the norm.

It appears she and the Bianchis underestimated these kinais .

Not her, not anymore.

Samira crossed her arms and faced the Signet team, meeting their gazes with her steady one.

‘I’m here on behalf of Eugene Bianchi to get a cost and build estimate for a new frigate to replace The Odalon.

We request a fast turnaround, full spec, no corners cut.

We’ve got the funds, and we need it yesterday. ’

‘You would,’ Xander drawled, eyes glinting. ‘The Bianchis are rolling in it.’

She smirked. ‘Seems we’ve been outmatched in the weapons and threat vector security by you folk.’

Santi’s grin widened. ‘Nice to meet our match, then.’

‘You hinted at a ship build in your message to the capitán ,’ Miral said, ‘so here’s a little something we prepared earlier.’

Schematics glowed across the wall as she flicked through holos of a new frigate warship designed to replace the Odalon.

As they spoke, Xander was a patient with her questions; he didn’t interrupt unless needed, but when he said, the room shifted.

His words were measured, timbred, and sure.

When he leaned over her shoulder to scroll through a projected schematic, his scent, smoke, cedar, and some subtle cologne wafted into her nose.

Damn, she told herself, fighting to listen to the conversation.

‘It’ll be a third lighter than the Odalon, but twice as responsive. Designed for interception and speed. Forward cannons, rear shielding tech from Sable,’ Kaal explained.

‘Crew capacity?’ Savvine asked.

‘One sixty minimum. Two hundred max designed on the principles of lean manning and a high degree of automation,’ Boaz replied. ‘Full drone capability, too, if you want to run unmanned missions.’

‘Cost?’ she said, sipping her water.

‘351 million schills.’

Savvine nodded. ‘Have you built in contingencies?’

Xander met her arched brow and piercing eyes. ‘ ?Claro está, Chief.’

He said it even as he leaned over to top her glass.

‘We can start building the ship for you asap,’ he added. ‘Three months, two with overtime. Payment is half upfront, and the rest is due upon delivery. Materials sourced from our stockpiles so that it won’t bleed the flotilla.’

She asked more questions until she had most of the answers she needed. ‘Can we park the discussion until tomorrow after I’ve run the numbers by Eugene?’

Xander gave her a chin raise. ‘ Naam , of course.’

‘One more question, gentlemen, involves broader concerns about the roving mafia clans picking off smaller vessels for supplies, black-market arms trades, and the Lombardis. Are you working with or for them?’

Santi spat. ‘We don’t work with them. Not now, not ever.’

Xander’s jaw ticked. ‘The Lombardi uprising or whateverthefokk they’re attempting is tainting the fleet.

We’re aware they’re trading illegal weapons.

I can assure you it’s not us they’re coming from.

As for whatever insurrection they’re planning, we must find a way to quell or incise it.

Tis why we agreed to meet you, Chief Bianchi.

In the hopes that Signet and the Bianchi clan can collaborate. ’

His declaration whisked away any final doubts, which married with Abby’s confession about her skewed intel.

Savvine nodded and scanned the strong guard.

She found no cracks or contradictions. Just loyalty, to each other, to their people, and to an ideal of freedom she was beginning to believe in.

Also, Xander. Always Xander.

She couldn’t help but grow mesmerized by even the slightest aspect of him.

The way his fingers tapped the edge of the table when he was thinking.

How his gaze swept the room like he was cataloging every possible threat.

The utter support of his people, leading from behind and not above them. He operated with earned respect, which now needed to be afforded to him.

‘I’ll take your statement under advisement, and should this ship-building process prove seamless, perhaps we can find a way to work together. Right now, we’re listing out there and can’t defend our ark ship as well as I’d like, so the sooner we’re well armed again, the better.’

They wrapped up with a tentative agreement in place and plans to keep talking.

As everyone filed out, Xander lingered by the door, waylaying her. ‘Any thoughts on dinner?’

‘I wasn’t sure where I was eating.’

He gave her a slight, half-smile. ‘Second night on my ship, and I won’t let you ride solo. Let me take you out to a little hole in the wall you won’t regret.’

She lifted a brow. ‘A pity invite?’

He laughed, a bass rumble, rich and warm. ‘Not even close.’

Savvine tilted her head. ‘ If I say no?’

Xander stepped closer, that smoky voice sliding under her skin. ‘Then I’ll leave you to your devices, order their enticing takeaway and eat it shirtless on my terrace while you salivate.’

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the frisson of desire that snaked through her.

Also, ignoring his little hint that he’d seen her peeking at her the night before. ‘Tempting.’

‘ Nada , you got to see this place to believe it.’

She met his eyes and arched a brow. ‘Now that you’ve talked it up, it’d better deliver.’