Page 16 of One Rule
“Is that a question, or am I missing something here?” Leaning forward, I place both hands down flat on my dark-colored desk. “Explain.”
This entire space is the antithesis of my future wife’s office. Where hers is light and what she callsboss babechic, mine is dark woods and black-paneled walls with gold trim throughout. From the flooring to the furniture, everything within is a play on my favorite color: black. The only artificial light source in this room comes from a chandelier she chose after I took over for my father, claiming to hate the previous one, while the floor-to-ceiling windows on the right side takes care of the daylight hours.
We’re a Yin and Yang.
Darkness and light.
“Micah, it’s more complicated—”
“I won’t ask again. What. Is. Going. On?”
Lionel exhales roughly while looking away, rubbing a harsh hand down his face and in these last few minutes, he’s changed. Gone is the relaxed yet strong man with political ambitions I know.
This isn’t the same man who entered my office gloating in his amusement—the knowledge that I’m held by a set of vows I’d only break for one reason: her safety.
The kind his answer could present.
“I’m asking because if she were, you’d already know.”
“I would.” No point in hiding it. He knows I keep track of her movements. “But so would you.”
“At the moment, she’s not under direct threat, but I’m worried, Micah. Things aren’t as clean as my father wants them to appear.” Eyes so much like his sister’s meet mine again. They show real worry. A hint of fear. “He pissed someone off.”
“Is that why your mother’s condo was robbed? Why two men were hired to take her safety deposit box?” I ask, but it comes across as a clear accusation. At the moment, I’m holding myself back from standing and wrapping a hand around his throat. From going after my rebel’s father; I’ll deal with him after.
Her safety comes first.
Nothing matters more than that.
That’s something her brother knows and I give him credit for; Lionel keeps his emotions under control for the most part. Very little reaction, but a wave of anger that matches my own comes through loud and clear when you’re good at reading people. His concern is replaced by ire, even if it’s contained. It’s there in the way his hands clench—the flaring of his nostrils and the slight tick of his jaw as his teeth grind.
Because everyone has a tell, and emotional displays don’t differ that much from one person to the next when you know what you’re looking for. It’s why liars get caught. Why happiness and anger, extreme opposites on the spectrum, hold one thing in common: facial expressions.
Be it the tightness around the eyes or a curl of the lips, no one can stop these twitches from happening. Even the most even-keeled have a moment of weakness before they return to their stoic demeanors.
“When?” One word, but it’s spit out through clenched teeth.
“Do Alfred Castillo and Herbert Mullaney ring any bells?”
“No. Who the fuck are they?”
“They were caught on my ship. Two low-level thieves with high aspirations and idiotic tendencies.” Standing from my seat, I push my chair back and walk around the desk—away from him and the desire to react violently. There’s a mini bar near the opposite wall and I make my way over, grabbing two glasses from the next shelf down. Like me, Lionel drinks whiskey and I pour us each a couple of fingers’ worth. “Caught one in my vault and the other on a Jet Ski heading toward the lowest hydraulic exit. He’d taken Liliana’s ring and a hard drive—they were hired by the same people who struck against your mother.”
“Son of a bitch.” It’s loud, as is the knocking back of his seat. The action is hard enough it nearly slams into the wall, but Lionel is lucky it doesn’t. Because of this, I don’t say anything about the mistreatment of my furniture, giving him this reprieve while holding out his drink. He knows this and gives me a nod, following me a second later by knocking back his own drink as I pour myself a second.
Had he alerted Liliana to something being wrong…
“I’m not going to give you a warning.”
“I know.” Holding out his glass, he tips it and I pour. This one we don’t drink from, holding them as the sound of a ship leaving the dock filters through the thick glass. My building sits close to the main port, and day in and day out, the sound of horns, engines, and heavy machinery has become a background playlist. One that I tune out for the most part, but right now, it’s loud and the crescendo only grows as fire pulses through my veins. “And you’ll get full cooperation from me on this. Dad messed up by making promises he can’t keep, Micah. This is his clusterfuck, but he’s not prepared to deal with the fallout.”
“What did he do?” Each word leaves me on a barely controlled growl as the hold on my glass tightens. A small crack appeared near the top of the rim by my thumb. “Why is the Armas family being targeted?”
“He pissed off a major campaign donor by not granting him the fast multi-billion dollar purchase and approval to build upon a state park. The area has manmade beaches, but connects to Biscayne Bay and has a lot of eyes on it. He’s not the first to want the state-owned land, but the governor hasn’t approved—”
“But he trusts your father.”
“He’d sign off eventually after getting a cut without a second thought if Dad was backing it.”