Page 77 of High Reward

“That went well,” Owen says dryly, opening the trunk and pulling out a first-aid kit.

Matteo stands a few feet away, phone in hand, presumably updating Luke on our progress. His expression is neutral, professional, but the tension in his shoulders tells me he’s not happy with how things played out.

“He was pushing my buttons,” I say, not quite an apology.

“That was the point.” Owen takes my hand without asking, cleaning the wounds with an antiseptic wipe that stings like hell. “And you let him succeed.”

I don’t pull away, letting the pain sharpen my focus. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if he’d talked about Bellamy like that.”

Owen’s hands pause briefly before continuing their methodical work. “I’d have wanted to. But I’d like to think I’d have controlled myself.”

“Liar,” I say, but there’s no heat in it. “You almost beat the shit out of Tobias over her, and he wasn’t even your enemy or trying to hurt her.”

Matteo rejoins us, tucking his phone away. “Luke says everything’s quiet at the club. Carter has the place locked down tight.”

“Good.” I watch as Owen wraps gauze around my knuckles, securing it with medical tape. “What’s your assessment of our friend in there?”

Matteo considers the question. “He’s deflecting. Trying to buy time. But for what, I’m not sure.”

“Agreed,” Owen says, packing away the first-aid supplies. “He’s waiting for something, or someone. That comment about being set up is interesting.”

“Bullshit designed to create doubt,” I argue. “We have him dead to rights on the kidnapping alone.”

“True,” Matteo acknowledges. “But we didn’t get much about the broader picture. Who else is involved, why they’re targeting us specifically.”

I flex my bandaged hand, testing Owen’s handiwork. “So, we go back in. Different approach.”

“Not today,” Owen says firmly. “He’s expecting it now. We let him stew again, and come back when he’s had more time to think about his situation.”

The desert sun beats down on us, the temperature rising with the morning. In the distance, the city shimmers like a mirage, deceptively peaceful.

“We need to talk about what happens next,” Matteo says carefully. “After we get the information we need.”

I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. “Nothing’s changed. He doesn’t walk away from this.”

“Victor…”

“No.” My voice hardens. “This isn’t up for debate, Matteo. Turning him over to the police isn’t an option. Not anymore. He has too many connections, too much influence. He’d be out before the paperwork was filed.”

Owen leans against the car beside me. “And killing him? That’s your solution?”

“Yes.” The simplicity of it feels right. Clean. “He tried to kill Lili. Trinity is in a wheelchair because of him. He threatened Grace. Those aren’t things I can forgive or forget.”

“It’s not about forgiveness,” Matteo argues. “It’s about smart business. We’ve worked for years to build legitimate operations, to minimize the risk to ourselves and our people. This kind of action…”

“Is exactly what’s needed,” I cut him off. “Sometimes the only way to end a threat is permanently.”

Matteo doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes search mine, looking for something, doubt, perhaps, or willingness to compromise. He finds neither.

“We should take this discussion back to the others,” he says finally. “This affects all of us.”

“Agreed,” Owen says, stepping between us. “Let’s table it for now. We need to get back to the club, check on the women, see if there’s any update on Harper.”

I nod, accepting the temporary ceasefire. “Fine. But my position won’t change.”

Matteo’s lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t argue further, but the subtle shift in his posture tells me everything I need to know. This conversation isn’t over, it’s just postponed.

We climb into the car, Matteo taking the wheel again. The silence is different now, charged with unresolved tension. Owen busies himself with his tablet, likely updating security protocols or reviewing surveillance footage.