Chapter 49

Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Across the city, Dominic sat in the dim confines of a nondescript warehouse near the docks. The place reeked of oil, rust, and the ever-present dampness of sea air. Heavy beams loomed overhead, casting long, fractured shadows as light filtered in through a broken window high on the wall.

Grigor was already there, leaning against a steel column, smoking something foul and too strong for the early hour. His leather coat hung open, revealing a gun holster and a low-slung blade strapped to his hip.

"Your girl looked shaken," Grigor muttered without looking at him.

Dominic didn’t reply. His fists were already clenched. There was something dangerous about the stillness in his jaw, the twitch in his temple, like violence brewing in silence.

Grigor took another drag, exhaling smoke that danced like ghosts between them. "You think Viktoria sent them?"

Dominic turned to him with a glare. "If she did, I’ll put a bullet in her head myself."

Grigor raised a brow. "That wasn’t a denial."

"It wasn’t a question."

There was a beat of silence. Then Grigor chuckled, low and sardonic, but his eyes sharpened.

"She’s still obsessed with you, you know. My daughter won’t like being replaced."

Dominic walked up to him, close enough to smell the smoke on his breath. His voice was quiet but laced with steel. "This isn’t about obsession. Someone wants to send a message. But they’re forgetting who the fuck I am."

Grigor studied him. "You’re softer now. Love does that. Makes you slow. Weak."

Dominic didn’t flinch. "I’m not weak. I now have something to lose. They shouldn’t step on me now. Not even Viktoria, or you."

Grigor’s grin widened slightly. He tossed the cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot. "Now that’s the Dominic I know."

Dominic reached into his coat and pulled out a small black USB drive. He walked past Grigor to a rusted desk in the corner where an old laptop sat collecting dust. It powered on with a groan, and Dominic inserted the drive.

The footage loaded slowly. Grainy civilian security cam footage from an apartment hallway. It showed two men in black masks appearing down the hall, and stepping from a blind corner with cold precision. Seconds later, the door was kicked open.

Grigor leaned in, his casual posture gone. His arms folded, and his brows furrowed as he watched the footage play out. The men didn’t steal anything. They only overturned things. Searched, and left a deliberate mess.

"They weren’t there for the girl," Grigor muttered. "They were there to send a message."

"Exactly," Dominic said. "They wanted her scared. They wanted me to be pissed."

Grigor reached into his coat and pulled out a small hip flask, unscrewed the top, and took a long swig. He passed it to Dominic. Dominic declined.

"This wasn’t Viktoria," Grigor said finally. "If she wanted to hurt her, there’d be blood. She doesn’t do half-measures."

Dominic said nothing.

"And it sure as hell wasn’t me. If I had something to say, you’d hear it from my mouth. You know that."

"So who the hell was it?"

Grigor paused. He rubbed his jaw slowly, like something bitter sat in the back of his throat.

"It’s been eight years," he said. "Eight fucking years since anyone from the underworld pulled a move like that. We went quiet. The cartels went quiet. After your little disappearing act, most of them thought you were dead or gone legit."

"I didn’t disappear," Dominic said. "I just stopped playing the same game."

Grigor shrugged. "Yeah, well, someone just invited you back."

Dominic locked eyes with him. "You think it’s them? The old alliances?" He was beyond pissed, and wouldn’t mind putting a bullet into anyone’s head at the moment.

Grigor looked away, eyes distant now. "Maybe. Maybe not. But it smells like cartel. That neat, calculated fear? That’s not street work."

"Are you sure you’re not sitting on anything?"

"If I was, you think I’d be here talking to you?"

Dominic clenched hisbfist, and stared down at him, trying to believe him. For all their history, the blood, the betrayals, the shared graves, Grigor would never lie to his face. Never needed to but he still wasn’t buying it.

While his legal team were on the case, he decided to come back to the root of it all.

"If someone touches you," Grigor said slowly, "they touch me."

Dominic looked at him. "Why the hell would you care?"

Grigor shrugged. "I didn’t kill my father for someone who would die quickly, stupid. I still have to scratch your back on that."

Dominic nodded. "Then we have a problem."

Grigor leaned back against the column, expression shifting. Thoughtful. "You remember the Santiago hit? The cartel’s little tantrum after you pulled out of their gun pipeline?"

Dominic lips lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes "That was eight years ago. We burned that bridge."

"Exactly," Grigor said. "No one’s heard from the underworld in years. Not since we took control of the ports and you vanished into suits and clean money."

Grigor didn’t speak for a long time. Then he ground out the cigarette beneath his boot and straightened. "If someone’s coming for you, Dom, they better be ready to take me too. We might not see eye to eye, but no outsider touches my blood."

Dominic tilted his head. "You still consider me that?" He asked the question like what Grigor just said was utterly suspicious.

Grigor smirked. "You? Always. You fucked my sister."

"And you left her to rot in a psych ward."

The silence between them chilled.

Grigor eventually nodded to the screen. "We’ll need to talk to Petrov. He’s the only one with ears in the south docks still. Maybe even reach out to Dax."

Dominic clenched his jaw. "I told you. I don’t trust Dax."

"Trust is for monks and children," Grigor muttered. "We use who we need."

He lit another cigarette. "You said you had something to lose now, huh?"

Dominic didn’t reply.

Grigor looked over, almost amused. "It’s been eight years, Dom. Since we had blood on our boots. Are you sure you’re ready to drag her into that world?"