Chapter 129: Chapter 129
Landon opened the door with a smirk already twisting his lips. He was prepared to mock whatever annoyance his receptionist had promised was waiting for him.
However, when his gaze settled on the man standing there, every ounce of smugness sharpened. He tilted his head, half-surprised, half-amused.
"Carlos," Landon drawled, his voice lazy but the muscles in his jaw tightening with recognition. "Well, fuck me. Grigor wasn’t joking."
Carlos stood stiff in the doorway, aged but unbowed. His lined face carved with authority that time hadn’t managed to strip from him. His eyes didn’t wander. He didn’t blink at the expensively furnished office or the glass walls that overlooked the glittering sprawl of the city. He came with a single purpose, and Landon saw it immediately.
"I have a message for your uncle, Dominic," Carlos said flatly. His tone was as heavy as iron. There was no greeting, nor courtesy from him. Just the weight of what he carried.
Landon shut the door with a slow click and leaned back against it, letting his eyes rake over Carlos like he was studying a prey that had wandered too close to the wrong den.
"My uncle," he repeated, savoring the words. He moved toward the desk, deliberate, dragging his fingers along the polished surface of a mahogany chair as if marking territory. "Do you know he’s planning to buy deeper into China imports? More shares. More pipelines. And every drop that crosses every border turns to gold in his hands. The man sneezes, and the entire market bends. And you come here, empty-handed, to deliver him a ’message.’" He let out a sharp scoff. "Tell me, Carlos, are you outdated? Because if you don’t know this, you’re already behind the times when it comes to Dominic Cross."
Carlos’s jaw flexed. His hands clasped behind his back with military precision, though Landon caught the faint flicker of irritation in his eyes. "He is impressive. Powerful. That much I know. Lately, I’ve only seen him in photographs. He’s clean and polished, and on pages of glossy magazines. A king paraded before the public." His lips pressed tight. "But I remember what made him."
Landon chuckled, dropping lazily into the leather chair behind his desk. He spinned a tumbler in his hand though it was empty. He lifted it in a mock toast, a gleam of provocation in his eyes. "Whiskey?"
Carlos didn’t move. He didn’t even answer.
"Suit yourself." Landon said, and poured amber liquid into the glass. The rich burn of alcohol filled the air, and he raised it toward his visitor before downing it in one smooth gulp.
He slammed the glass on the desk with a sharp crack, leaning forward with his elbows resting wide, staking his ground. "Before you tell me whatever nonsense you’ve come to say, I have one from Grigor to you." His lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "We knew you’d come. Dominic did piss you off with Theresa this time. You left Italy to London. Wow, I’m impressed."
Carlos’s face remained impassive, though his stare sharpened like a blade.
"You drink too much," he said, his voice a low cut of disdain.
Landon’s laughter was sharp and humorless. "And for someone who keeps testing my uncle’s patience, I expected you to be scarier. Dominic doesn’t move like he used to. He moves higher now. Do you realize how far he’s risen? Legal friends. Even government friends. He sits at tables men like you only circle."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the city below was nothing but white noise against the razor tension stretched between them.
Carlos finally stepped closer. His lined face hardened, and the weight of his years etched deeper as he spoke. "Do you want me to be the reason you go to jail?" His lips curved. Not kindly, but with quiet menace. "The police would love to hear about your little trafficking ventures. Your routes. Your numbers. I’ve done my research. The prices are good, Landon. You’re really your father’s son. Also, don’t forget, im the reason why he walks freely."
The words cut into Landon skin. Landon’s knuckles whitened against the armrest of his chair. But his laugh came anyway, low and edged with venom. "Men like us don’t go to the police, Carlos." He reminded.
Carlos’s eyes gleamed. "Don’t be so sure." He leaned in slightly, and his voice dropped like poison into the air. "My message for your uncle is simple. Your uncle already knows about the gas. There’s a poisoned gas stockpiled and locked under Sicily’s soil. He’s kept it contained for years. And he fought to keep it out of the wrong hands. But I have men who can take it. They’ll release it, and five thousand civilians will choke and die in the streets before anyone can stop it."
Landon froze. For the first time in the entire exchange, his mask slipped. His jaw dropped open, disbelief cracking through the arrogance.
"We don’t involve civilians," he spat. His voice, usually smooth and mocking, was jagged with outrage. "You want to start a fucking war with Dominic? With all of us?"
Carlos’s smile. His smile was empty of warmth. "The balance of power between us must be equal. Dominic plays king, but he knows balance sustains empires. I have contacts in the government who will make it vanish into silence. I’ll walk away untouched. And if Dominic accepts my proposalary, our families will not only survive. We’ll thrive together." He straightened, his presence commanding the room even as he turned toward the door. "If he refuses, the streets of Sicily will run with gas and death. Tell your uncle. Make him listen. The throne he clings to is more fragile than he believes."
He reached for the door, and turned the know. "Have a good day, Landon."
The door closed with a sharp click behind him.
For a long moment, Landon sat frozen, the words clawing into his skull. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
"This will be fucking interesting," he whispered to himself, his laughter spilling into the empty room, low and rough. "Seems like Dominic’s throne will be mine faster than I planned."