Page 80 of High Reward

We sit in silence, two predators assessing the situation, neither willing to show weakness first. The kitchen clock ticks loudly in the quiet. Finally, I set my glass down.

“Fine. Let’s talk.”

My father twirls the tequila in his glass, ice clinking against crystal. The kitchen feels smaller with him in it. “You think this is just about territory,” he says. “It’s about respect. About who holds the power in this city. Right now, no one knows. That makes Vegas vulnerable.”

“The Russians aren’t stupid enough to start a war here.” I refill my glass, needing the burn. “Too much heat, too many eyes. Maybe not everyone knows, but enough of the right people know who we are and what we control.”

“They won’t call it a war. They’ll call it business.” His fingers tap against the counter, a rhythm I remember from childhood discussions, always preceding a lesson. “They’re already moving pieces. The mayor’s resignation opened doors. Your friend Draven’s apparent death created a sense of urgency. They’re going to move before their resources dry up.”

I lean against the refrigerator, keeping distance between us. “You’ve got a lot of information for someone who lives in Mexico.”

“Information is survival.” He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Something you used to understand.”

The implied criticism hangs in the air. I let it, refusing to defend myself.

“Your brother tells me you’ve gone soft. Playing at legitimate business. Building a life.” He glances toward the living room, where evidence of Lili and Grace surrounds us. “I told him you were just being smart. Diversifying.”

“I don’t care what Andres thinks.”

“You should. He’s the one who brought this Grace Marsh connection to my attention.”

My hand stills on the glass. “What connection?”

My father’s eyes narrow slightly, sensing my surprise. “You don’t know.” It’s not a question. “Interesting.”

“Know what?” I keep my voice steady despite the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Your little sandwich shop girl. She has a history with Griffin Price.”

The name hits like a punch to the gut. Griffin Price. The man who’s been trying to get into business with me and my partners. The one I have a terrible feeling about.

“What kind of history?” My voice is too tight, too controlled. He’ll notice.

“The intimate kind.” My father watches my reaction carefully. “I’ll spare you the details. She wouldn’t tell you anything about it. Not and risk what she’s found with you.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I recognize her type.” His tone is dismissive. “Pretty, damaged, looking for a protector. She found one in you. Just like she found one in that Lindon couple before you.”

My fingers tighten around the glass. “If you’re implying she’s some kind of plant…”

“I’m implying nothing. I’m stating facts.” He sets his drink down. “Griffin Price has been watching your club for months. Watching you. The question is why.”

The pieces click into place. Grace’s stalker. The flowers. The car sabotage. Could Price be involved? The timing fits. The escalation pattern fits. But why target her specifically if they have history? And why would Grace hide it from me?

Unless my father is lying to get a reaction out of me.

“This is what you came to tell me?” I ask, voice hard. “That one of my women might have connections to an enemy? So does Liliana. It comes with the territory.”

“I came to tell you that you have rats in your walls.” He stands, moving to the window that overlooks the backyard. “Price. Draven. The Russians backing them both. Your city is being infiltrated, and you’re playing house with your friends instead of dealing with it properly.”

“And what would you suggest? A bloodbath? That worked so well two years ago when Ernesto Trentini was killed. Or when you tried to take over another cartel’s territory.”

His back stiffens at the reference to the cartel war that cost us dozens of men. “I would suggest you remember who you are. What our name means.” He turns, eyes cold. “Draven needs to disappear. Permanently. Price too. Clean. Quiet. Final.”

“And have the Russians send replacements? What’s the endgame?”

“Send a message. Make it clear that Las Vegas remains neutral ground, but with conditions. Our conditions.”