"Five million." My attention shifted to Randy Dalary, whose face was as ugly as the soul that hid behind it. He had been the clan's arms dealer for as long as I can remember. But right now, he was testing the limits of our relationship with a demand that bordered extortion.

"I want cash," Randy added, his voice as grating as ever.

"That's absurd," I countered, masking the anger that was surfacing, just as the waiter arrived with another dish for me to taste ahead of the restaurant's inauguration this evening, the latest addition to my family's empire. The aroma of truffle oil filled the air as he placed a plate of seared scallops in front of me. The contrast between the elegance of my surroundings and the brutal business at hand couldn't have been more obvious.

Randy's threat hung between us, unspoken but clear—if I didn't meet his price, the weapons that should have fortified the Maxwell clan's dominance would instead find their way into the hands of our enemies. It was a dangerous game, one that Randy seemed all too eager to play.

This was a test. A test of my ability to take over the syndicate, the delicate balance of power my father had spent decades maintaining. Over the years, I had learnt the ways of the brutal world I was born into; where power was won and lost in the blink of an eye.

"The price is non-negotiable, Conrad," Randy said, his tone dripping with condescension as he addressed me by name. The audacity of it was striking. He was making it clear that he no longer answered to me, that he had already made his decision to leave the clan behind. His defiance was a death sentence, one he seemed oblivious to. By turning his back on us, he had forfeited any loyalty we owed him. For the first time, I no longer saw a reason not to empty a magazine into his thick skull. Randy had betrayed the clan—worse, he had insulted my father's legacy.

"I can take my business elsewhere. And believe me, there are plenty of others who would jump at the chance to get their hands on what I'm offering." He continued with a sly smirk playing on his chapped lips.

I picked up my fork, slicing into the scallops with deliberate precision, never breaking eye contact. The flavors burst in my mouth as I savored the delicate balance of the dish. It would be perfect for an appetizer, a small taste of the decadence that awaited our guests tonight.

I set the fork down gently, wiping my mouth with a linen napkin before leaning forward slightly. "Let me make this clear, Randy," I began, my voice steady, cutting through the tension like a knife. "You've been useful to us for a long time, and my father has given you more business than you deserve. But don't mistake that for dependency."

"You have until tonight," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms, signaling that our conversation was over. "Deliver the weapons, or don't bother showing your face again. But know this, Randy—cross me, and you'll wish you had taken that five million and run."

Randy's smirk faltered, just for a moment, and I knew I had him. The flicker of doubt in his eyes was all I needed to see. He was a man who thrived on fear and intimidation, but now he was confronted with the reality that he had overplayed his hand.

His attempt to strong-arm me had failed.

"Don't for a second think your new friends will have your back." I warned him, studying the worry etched on his face.

Before Randy could respond, a middle-aged man approached our table with a bright, misplaced enthusiasm. "Mr. Maxwell! A pleasure to meet you!" he said, extending his hand. "I'm Greg. Greg Conrad. Funny how we share the same name."

From the corner of my eye, I saw my security personnel shift into alert mode. I signaled them with a slight gesture, and within seconds, Greg was lifted from the ground by my guards.

"Sir! I just wanted to thank you for letting me be here today! It's an honor to be in the same room as you!" His voice trailed off as he was carried away, his protests fading into the hall.

Who let him in?

My irritation mounted. The disruption was a reminder of the chaos that sometimes accompanied our high-stakes world. But for now, I had bigger concerns—like making sure Randy understood the cost of betrayal.

"I don't have all day, Randy. If you think I'm going to sit here and persuade you with flowers and chocolates, you're wrong," I said, staring at him as he sat there like a mad duck whose bread had just been stolen.

"You're making a mistake," he replied, his voice shaking and wavering. I was slightly amazed by his newfound confidence but encouraged him to continue.

"Why do you say so?" I asked, just as my plate was cleared and a new one was set before me, this time accompanied by a rich sauce. I waited patiently as the waiter poured it around the steak, the strong aroma hitting my face.

"Prince, I apologize for interrupting." Nate, my confidante and consigliere, joined us at the table. I knew he wouldn't interrupt unless it was important.

"Speak," I commanded.

Nate briefly glanced at Randy before revealing his news. "It seems that Randy's new friend is an old acquaintance." He handed me a picture of Randy talking to the captain of the police department. A smirk crept onto my face. He had committed the ultimate act of treachery.

Nothing could save him now.

I returned the photograph and dismissed Nate, my focus completely on Randy, the delicious steak in front of me forgotten.

Randy started sweating, a sliver of hope still in his eyes. From the corner of my eye, I saw that the restaurant's manager had now joined us, most likely to ask my opinion about the lavish menu. But he could wait. I had had enough interruptions today.

"I swear! I didn't say anything! Forgive me. Forgive me, please!" Randy pleaded, giving the performance of his life.

As I watched him, I caught a whiff of the most flowery perfume, one that my mother would love. I then caught sight of the source- the most beautiful brunette I had ever seen.

The dangerous kind of beautiful.

Who is letting all these people in?

For a moment, I had forgotten all about Randy and his web of deceits.

Her long, chocolate brown hair cascaded down, framing her face like curtains, and her eyes were large and almond-shaped, with brown irises to match. Her nose was sharp and cute, and lips naturally full and plump. Her skin looked soft as a feather with a light tan.

She screened the room, carefully assessing everyone, the waiter, the manager and Randy.

And then there was me, the center of her scrutiny. I met her gaze, noting the momentary falter in her composure. It was as if my presence alone was enough to disconcert her.

I had always been aware of my effect on people, but this was different. Her eyes roamed my face and mine hers. I noticed the dip in her shirt, where her sunglasses hung; the top of her cleavage clear as day for anyone to see.

I could feel her gaze lingering, a silent assessment that was both disarming and intriguing.

When she spoke, her voice was measured, betraying a hint of uncertainty despite her authoritative stance. "Mr. Conrad?"

I nodded in acknowledgment, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her reaction was telling; it was clear she was more affected by our interaction than she intended to show.

"Can I help you?" I asked, clearing my throat.

As she responded with a delayed "Yep," I could see the resolve hardening in her eyes. It was clear she had a purpose, and my appearance, though distracting, was not going to deter her from it.

I prepared myself for whatever was coming, knowing that this encounter was far from over.

The wine, a ruby-red vintage, hit my face like a surging wave, drenching my face and then my crisp white shirt. My black Beretta was within my reach, safely tucked in the back of my pants. The metal, though a symbol of my potential and decisiveness, now felt out of reach.

Normally, an act like this would have resulted with the other person cold and lifeless on the ground. Through countless encounters, I had quickly earned the reputation of serving quick justice for offenses like these.

Why didn't I do that? Now that was a question I didn't have the answer to.

It was only seconds after the liquid hit my face that I saw my security approaching, prepared to act on my command. They were ready to slice her throat, but they knew better than to assault a woman. This was a strict rule my father had imposed on the clan, regardless of the situation. His influence ensured that even in the heat of the moment, this principle was adhered to. The clan's respect for this rule was unwavering, demonstrating a commitment to honor and restraint, even in the most intense and potentially violent circumstances.

Before I knew it, my hand spontaneously made a discrete wave, ordering them to stand down. My body was out of control and my mind no longer conjured rational thoughts.

What. The. Fuck.

As the wine trickled down my jaw, I sat there, rooted to my spot. A new tension rose in the room, one between me and the gorgeous woman that stood fearless in front of me, challenging my authority.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. Mostly with me mesmerized by her. It was like witchcraft.

One moment I'm standing just a breath away from her, and the next, she flips her soft hair, its silky strands brushing against my face. As she walks away, I can't help but notice the way her hips sway with a pendulum-like motion. Her sexy curves become more pronounced with every step she takes and her strut is confident and deliberate, leaving a lasting impression as she moves out of sight.

I knew instantly she'd be a hard one to forget.

"Find out everything about her. I want to know every little secret. Leave nothing." The words hung in the air, laden with a command that brooked no argument. I picked up the anklet from the floor, the delicate piece of jewelry having slipped off her ankle unnoticed. As I held it, the tiny stones embedded in the silver chain sparkled under the light like constellations.

The anklet was a delicate thing and the stones, undoubtedly diamonds. I turned it around, playing with the little charms, as if they would reveal the identity of their owner if I stared at them long enough.

"And get rid of him."

I could only hear Randy's pleas as he is taken away and the thoughts of the mysterious woman filled my mind.

END OF CHAPTER THREE: RED ACCORD
1898 words

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