Chapter 139: Alignment and Allegiances
The call with Polina echoed in the silence for another thirty seconds. Beth stared at the phone as if it might sprout teeth. Then, with a deliberate slowness, she picked it back up.
“What are you doing?” Damien asked, his voice low.
“What my father taught me.” Her thumbs moved over the screen, typing with sharp, precise taps. “Never let a threat marinate. Apply immediate and disproportionate pressure to the source.”
She didn’t type a novel. Just four lines.
Uncle Dimitri.
Your daughter is aligning with the Kovacs to strong-arm me.
Recall our agreement regarding family.
Handle it.
She hit send. The message whooshed away into the digital ether, headed for Moscow. She placed the phone back down. “And now, we wait approximately twelve minutes.”
Damien watched her, this calculus of cold blood and warmer devotion that was his wife. “He’ll fold her.”
“He’ll remind her.” Beth leaned back, finally taking a sip of her neglected beer. It was probably warm. She didn’t seem to notice. “The Novak business isn’t a democracy. It’s a syndicate with a family tree. She overstepped. He’ll reel her in, or he’ll cut the line. Either way, the Kovacs’ offer will be ash by sunrise.”
She was right. In nine minutes, her phone buzzed once. A single incoming message. She didn’t open it. Just showed Damien the screen.
A message from Dimitri Novak: Done.
“See?” she said, a trace of weariness beneath the triumph. “Amateur hour.”
The Gulfstream cut through the cloud cover over California, leaving the oppressive gray of the New Jersey spring behind for the vast, golden expanse of the Central Coast. Below, the Montgomery Ranch unfolded like a promise.
Marco had his face practically pressed to the window. “Okay, I get it now. The compound is a fortress. This… this is a kingdom.”
Beth smiled from her leather seat, her fingers laced with Damien’s. “It’s home.”
It was. The main house, all pale stone and weathered wood, stood sentinel on a hill. Sunlight glinted off the solar panels lining the stable roofs and shimmered on the surface of the massive irrigation pond. The land rolled on forever, dotted with cattle and horses, crossed by thin ribbons of fence lines. It felt open. It felt clean. It was, in every way that mattered, the opposite of the Rossi compound.
A blacked-out SUV was waiting on the private tarmac. Not one of Damien’s. This one had a simple, stylized ‘M’ etched discreetly on the grille.
Jackson “Mac” was leaning against the hood, arms crossed over his broad chest. He pushed off as they descended the airstair, a slow grin spreading across his face. He caught Dove as she emerged from the driver’s side, pulling her into a one-armed hug that spoke of casual, profound intimacy.
“Took you long enough,” Mac called out, his voice a easy drawl. “Dove was about to send a search party.”
“The pilot disagreed with my preferred flight path,” Beth said, walking into Mac’s waiting embrace. He hugged her tight, rocking slightly.
“Welcome back, boss.” He released her and turned to Damien, the greeting shifting seamlessly. A firm handclasp, a back-clap that was all male camaraderie. “Rossi. Heard you had some pest problems back east.”
“Sprayed and cleared,” Damien said, returning the grin.
Mac’s eyes then found Marco, who was hauling his own duffle, looking uncharacteristically quiet as he took in the scope of the land. “You must be the infamous honey badger.”
Marco’s head snapped around. He shot a betrayed look at Beth. “You told?”
“I tell my security chief everything,” Beth said, innocently. “Mac, Marco. Marco, Jackson Mac. Chief of Security, fiancé to my sister, and general pain in my ass since I was seven.”
Mac nodded, his eyes assessing but not unfriendly. “Heard you handle the wet work. We do things a little drier out here. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Marco asked, intrigued.
“Dustier, at least.” Mac clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon. Dove’s making her infamous brisket. You’ll need the fortification.”
The ride to the main house was a lesson in contrasts. Windows down, the air smelling of hot earth, sage, and livestock. It was quiet, but not the watchful quiet of the compound. This was the quiet of space, of land that breathed.
Marco, sitting in the third row, finally voiced the question. “So, Dove runs the ranch. Mac runs security. You,” he pointed at Beth in the front passenger seat, “commute to the empire. Where’s your shadow? Your me?”
Beth glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I travel with Damien. For security, for logistics, for annoying the hell out of him. Who travels with you?”
“I do just fine on my own.”
Damien tensed beside her. It was a micro-movement, but she felt it.
“Bullshit,” Marco said, friendly but firm. “After the Polina thing? After everything? You’re a bigger target than ever. You can’t just hop on a commercial flight with a briefcase and a scowl.”
“I don’t fly commercial,” she said, a flicker of irritation in her voice.
“You know what I mean.”
Damien’s hand found her knee. “He’s not wrong, mia regina.”
Beth sighed, looking out at the passing oaks. “Dove isn’t my enforcer, Marco. She’s Co-owner. She stepped down to be foreman because she loves the dirt and the animals more than the boardrooms. We’re business partners. Different roles.”
“So you don’t have one,” Damien stated, the worry cutting through his casual tone.
A slow, secretive smile touched Beth’s lips. She looked back at Marco, then at Damien. “I didn’t say that.”
The SUV fell silent.
“What does that mean?” Damien asked, his voice dropping into that calm, dangerous register.
“It means,” Beth said, turning to face the front again, her tone deliberately light, “you’ll meet them tomorrow.”
“‘Them’?” Marco echoed.
“Them,” Beth confirmed.
Damien’s grip on her knee tightened. “Bethany.”
“Damien.” She mimicked his tone perfectly, a tease laced with steel. “Have a little faith. And some brisket. You’re not in New Jersey anymore.”
The SUV pulled up the gravel drive to the sprawling ranch house. The front door was already open, and the scent of smoked meat and spices wafted out, warm and enveloping. It was sanctuary. It was home.
But as Beth stepped out, smiling at Dove who waved from the porch, Damien felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Them. The word hung in the golden afternoon air, a tiny, unexploded piece of shrapnel waiting for tomorrow.
She had an enforcer. One she hadn’t told him about. One she was, clearly, protecting from his scrutiny.
He exchanged a single glance with Marco in the rearview mirror. The same calculation, the same concern, reflected back. The honey badger bet suddenly felt like a parlour game. This was the real stakes.
Beth looped her arm through his, pulling him toward the house, toward the light and the noise and the family. “Stop plotting,” she murmured, her lips close to his ear. “You’ll love them. Probably.”
He forced a smile, kissing her temple. “I trust you.”
It was the truth. But it was also the problem. He trusted her with his life, with his soul. But he didn’t trust the world around her an inch. And now, a new player was on her board, and she hadn’t even let him see the piece.
Tomorrow, then.
He followed her inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the unknown settling in his bones.