The Whispers of the Syndicate
The fashion show was chaos-a mixture of art, noise, and power brokers exchanging whispers. Julian hated it. Too many people, too many distractions.
He guided Isolde through the crowd, never letting go of her waist. She felt perfect against him-sharp angles and soft curves, responding to his grip with a subtle, electric tension. She was a professional weapon, and he was the one holding the trigger.
"There," Isolde murmured, nodding toward a corner booth. "The man with the silver hair. That's Reginald Vance. He controls the majority of the Sterling debt."
Reginald Vance was a ghost-a financial fixer with hands in every shadowy enterprise in London. He was known to be a key lieutenant for the shadowy "Syndicate" that backed Lord Alistair.
Julian walked Isolde directly to his table.
"Mr. Vance," Julian greeted, his voice polite, yet dangerous. "Julian Thorne. And my fiancée, Isolde Sterling."
Vance's eyes-cold, reptilian-swept over Isolde's exposed figure before landing on Julian's scar. "I understood you were indisposed, Mr. Thorne."
"I took a short sabbatical. Turns out, death is overrated." Julian smiled, a hollow, terrifying expression. He didn't ask to sit; he pulled the chair out for Isolde, positioning her with her back to the wall, and took the seat next to her, completely surrounding her.
"My sincerest condolences for your brother," Vance continued smoothly. "Harrison is... a disappointment."
"A shame," Julian agreed, sipping a glass of water. "I wanted to kill him myself. Now, let's talk business. The Sterling debt. You hold twenty million in floating notes."
"They mature next month. With the instability, I may call them in early." Vance's voice was pure blackmail.
"If you do," Julian countered, leaning close, his voice a low threat. "I will call in the fifteen years of tax evasion you filed through your Macau shell corporation-the same one that operates the fighting pits I just escaped."
Vance's face didn't move, but his eyes narrowed to slits. Isolde's elbow twitched against Julian's ribs. She was taking everything in.
"Blackmail, Mr. Thorne? Crude."
"Survival, Mr. Vance. And a proposition. Sell me the Sterling debt for ten percent under market value, and I'll ensure the Macau file vanishes. If you don't, I will sell the full ledger to the Daily Mail before midnight, and you can explain Project Aether to Parliament from a jail cell."
Vance stared at him. The reference to 'Project Aether'-the hidden item from Jax's report-was a perfect, calculated strike. It showed Julian knew the Syndicate's deepest secrets.
After a long, agonizing silence, Vance nodded once, curtly. "My solicitor will be in touch tomorrow morning."
Julian stood up, pulling Isolde up with him. He didn't look at Vance again.
"You should get a gun license, Isolde," Julian whispered in her ear as they walked away. "The game just got real."
