Chapter 4 Malcolm's POV

Malcolm's POV

Power didn't only lie in money, blood, or allegiances. It was in the air, thick, suffocating, clinging to the room like an iron-plated noose.

The expanse of mahogany table between us gleamed under the dim light of the warehouse lights, polished to such a sheen I could distinguish my own reflection in its depths.

A reminder of who I was. What I was. A Slade. A man born into a world that needed control, needed precision.

We were not supposed to be here together. The six of us were fated to be adversaries, our families had seen to that.

They built our dynasties on blood, on past saturated with generations of revenge. They wanted us separated, sharpening our knives for one another. But they misjudged us.

They underestimated the kind of bond that is created when you stand in the trenches with someone, when you fight the same wars and bleed under the same moon.

We were hardened by war, forged in fire. Bound together by a goal far greater than the trivial pursuits our families reached for.

This wasn't a social visit. This was tactics. And tonight, I was the one under the microscope.

Yves Iverson exhaled a slow drag from his cigar, his smirk the kind that said he already knew the answer before he asked the question. "So," he drawled, tapping the cigar against the ashtray, "you're really doing this?"

Across from him, Matteo Vaughan scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "A contract marriage, Slade? You're a traditionalist now?" His Italian accent sharpened the words, amusement barely veiling his curiosity.

Hayden Sawyer, the quietest of the lot of us, swirled the whiskey in his glass, unreadable. Always watching, always thinking, never the first to speak but the one whose opinion meant the most.

Aiden Wellington leaned back in his chair, the dim light reflecting off the edge of his smile. "So, tell us, Malcolm... what do you get out of this?"

He puffed on his cigar, exhaling in lazy spirals. "Because you don't drop ten million dollars on a woman just because it's necessary."

Ethan Kane leaned forward, elbows on the table, ice-blue eyes glinting with interest. "And don't bullshit us with strategy. We all know better." He tilted his head.

"She's not from our world. That alone makes her a liability."

I endured the weight of their attention, but my face was cold, unyielding.

"She doesn't need to be from our world," I said to them. "She just needs to have a purpose."

Hayden finally shattered the silence, voice low but biting. "And what might that purpose be?"

The room was silent. This was the moment to lie. To tell them it was deliberate, a move on the chessboard. On paper, that was the truth.

It was a strategy. A means to an end, to abolish my father's suspicions, to consolidate power.

But these men weren't idiots. They'd known me too well for too long to believe I'd burn ten million dollars on a woman for convenience.

I exhaled slowly. "Control."

Yves's smirk intensified. "Control," he purred, rolling the word around his mouth like it was too tasty to spit out. "And what are you trying to control, Slade?"

My jaw clenched. "Everything."

Ethan laughed low. "That desperate, huh?

I shot him a warning look. He just smiled.

Aiden propped his elbows on the table, eyes now intent. "Let's get real, Malcolm. We all know Patrick Slade is breathing down your neck for that House seat. He needs you perfect, polished, the ideal heir." He drank his whiskey, his tone almost bored. "So what do you do when you lose control?

The words hit harder than they should. Because that was the real fear, wasn't it?

That this scheme, this cold, logical decision, would slip out of my control. That Iris Taylor would become something more than a pawn.

I wasn't stupid. I'd seen it happen to other people. A deal. An exchange. A woman who was meant to be temporary.

And then, suddenly, she's in your head, in your blood, unraveling all the things you thought you had secured.

Yves saw the flicker of something in my expression, and his smirk turned openly amused. "Oh," he said, settling back in his chair. "This is going to be entertaining."

Hayden, the observer he was, emptied his glass and set it on the table with a soft clunk. He did not look at me right away.

He ran his hand over the moisture on his glass, as if he was taking great care to consider his words. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Watch yourself, Malcolm." His voice wasn't teasing or joking like the others. It was quiet, even deadly serious. "The moment she's more than a contract, you've already lost."

I didn't say anything, because for the first time, I wasn't sure they were wrong.

Matteo reclined in the chair, swirling the amber drink in his glass before taking a leisurely sip. His gaze, cold and unyielding, locked onto me.

"So, what's this I hear about the previous shipment being short?"

My jaw was clenched. "Fahad called. Said there was missing ammunition".

The tension in the room changed. A muffled crack, like the initial fragmentation of ice before it shatters.

"It was complete when it left here. I saw that shipment leave myself. It was packed."

"Then where the devil did it go?" Ethan growled, furrowed brow.

No one answered. Because we all knew there was only one explanation.

"Fahad is not the type of man to lie to me," I said, my voice low and cold. "If he tells me something got lost, then someone made it so."

Aiden exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the table, a predator calculating his next move. "That means there's a traitor in our house."

Silence stretched between us. The weight of betrayal was heavier than any enemy outside these walls.

"The South is making moves." My voice cut through the quiet. "Spies are everywhere."

Hayden, always the one to put the pieces together faster than the rest of us, leaned forward. "The South... and a contract marriage. I see where this is going."

His knowing glance met mine. He knew more than I wanted him to.

Yves raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Hayden?"

Hayden breathed deeply and shook his head. "The South never plays by the rules. Human trafficking, gun running, selling out to their enemies-those guys play dirty."

He turned to me. "And isn't Slade betrothed to their 'princess'?"

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of my drink. "Formerly betrothed."

"And now?" Ethan asked, watching me closely.

I leaned back, allowing the burn of the whiskey time to catch up in my chest before I spoke. "Now, I'm making my own damn decisions."

Matteo breathed sharply and shook his head. "Too bad, anyway. The South is getting too arrogant. I do not approve of it."

"Then it is time we let them know who is at the helm of the affairs here and who they report to," Yves growled, his smile slow and evil.

The air grew poisonous. We were not heirs. We were monarchs of a world founded on blood, and when anyone betrayed us, we burned their empire to the ground.

"The rats in our house will be dealt with," I stated, my voice unyielding. "There is no room for betrayal in the syndicate."

My brothers all nodded at the table. And thus, the South's days were numbered.