The morning sun barely pierced the thick, gray fog rolling off the Atlantic. At Pier 14, the air tasted of salt, rust, and impending violence. Black SUVs sat idling in a neat row, their exhaust plumes rising like ghosts in the cold air. Alejandro stood perfectly still at the edge of the dock, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of a long, charcoal wool coat. To any onlooker, he looked like a billionaire inspecting his shipping empire. But to the men standing behind him, he was a predator waiting for its prey. "He's late," Lucas muttered, checking a heavy gold watch. "Vance is trying to play a power move, Boss." "Let him play," Alejandro said, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion. "A dead man has no use for time." A sudden sound of a car door closing from behind made Alejandro freeze. He didn't just turn around; his entire posture sharpened into a lethal stance. His hand instinctively reached inside his coat, gripping the hidden firearm beneath his lapel. But the moment he saw who stepped out of the bulletproof SUV, his grip relaxed, replaced instantly by a wave of furious disbelief. It was Sarah. She walked down the damp wooden planks with her signature calm grace. She had traded her midnight-blue gala dress for a sleek black trench coat and flat boots. Her expression was cool and unbothered, even as fifty heavily armed mafia soldiers blinked in shock at her arrival. "What are you doing here, Sarah?" Alejandro’s voice was dangerously quiet as he strode over to her, his long strides covering the distance in seconds. He grabbed her by the upper arms, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to force her to stop. "I told you to stay at the estate. This isn't a gala. It's a war zone." "Good morning to you too, Andro," Sarah said smoothly, tilting her head up to look into his stormy dark eyes. She didn't flinch at his terrifying aura. Instead, she reached up and patted his cheek. "You left your coffee on the counter. And more importantly, you walked out the door thinking I'd let you walk into a trap alone." "I am the trap," Alejandro growled, his jaw clenching. "Lucas! Why is she here?" Lucas bowed his head, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Sir, Miss Sarah told the drivers that if they didn't bring her, she would take a standard taxi to the docks. I couldn't risk her in an unprotected vehicle." Sarah gave Alejandro a sassy, victorious little smile. "See? Lucas understands logistics. Vance is old school, Andro. He expects you to bring an army, but he doesn't expect you to bring me. If things get ugly, he will hesitate because he won't know my role. Use it." Alejandro looked down at her, a war raging behind his obsidian eyes. He hated her being within a mile of this place. She was the apple of his eye, his ultimate weakness—the one thing his enemies could use to break him. But looking at her calm, serene expression, he also knew she was right. Her presence completely disrupted Vance's psychological playbook. Before he could order her back into the car, three heavy luxury sedans tore down the pier, screeching to a halt fifty yards away. The doors flew open, and Old Man Vance stepped out, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed guards. Vance looked exhausted, his face twisted in a bitter snarl. Behind him, his son Viktor sat in the front seat of the car, his arm bound in a heavy white cast, glaring at Alejandro with pure hatred. "Alejandro!" Vance bellowed, his voice echoing off the shipping containers. "You break my son's bones in front of the high council, and then you demand my shipping lanes? You've gotten arrogant, boy!" Alejandro didn't answer right away. He slowly stepped in front of Sarah, his massive frame completely shielding her from Vance’s line of sight. When he spoke, his voice was like ice cracking on a winter lake. "You are breathing my air because I allow it, Vance," Alejandro said, his tone shockingly casual. "Your son put his hands toward what is mine. The price for his life is your ledger. Give it to Lucas, or we can see how many of your men survive the next sixty seconds." Vance’s eyes narrowed, his gaze trying to peer behind Alejandro's shoulder. He caught a glimpse of Sarah’s midnight-blue trench coat. "Who is that behind you? Is that the little girl my boy was talking about? You brought a woman to a blood negotiation?" Vance scoffed, a mocking laugh bubbling up. "You really have grown soft, Don Alejandro." The moment the word soft left Vance’s mouth, the atmosphere on the dock shifted. The temperature seemed to plummet. Sarah, sensing the impending bloodbath, gently pressed her palm against Alejandro’s back. "Andro," she whispered, her voice a calm anchor cutting through his rising demonic rage. "Don't waste the bullets. Just take the ports." Alejandro took a slow, deep breath, his muscles relaxing just a fraction under her touch. He raised a single finger. Suddenly, red laser dots appeared on Vance’s chest, his forehead, and the chests of every single one of his bodyguards. Snipers, hidden high up on the shipping cranes, locked their targets. Vance’s laughter died instantly. He went pale, his breath catching in his throat. "I don't play games, Vance," Alejandro murmured, taking a slow step forward, pulling a heavy silver fountain pen from his pocket and tossing it at Vance's feet. "Sign the territory transfer papers Lucas has in his hands. Or my snipers will paint this pier red before your body hits the ground."

A Sovereign's Gambit