The smoke lingered between them, thick and stubborn, curling into the single lightbulb that humd above.
The table between Dominic and Grigor was scarred with burn marks, half-empty glasses, and packs of cigarettes no one cared to put away.
Grigor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He finally exhaled, his tone ca out steady, and almost too calm when he spoke.
"I’m not scared of Carlos," he said. "And I don’t hate you."
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He shifted his weight slightly, his hand brushing over the edge of the glass but not lifting it. A quiet sigh escaped him before he answered, voice low.
"You should be."
For a mont, neither spoke.
Grigor gave a half-smile, almost amused. "You think fear is the only thing that keeps n alive? I’ve survived longer than most of Carlos’ n combined. Fear never kept breathing. Strategy did."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "And where does your strategy put you now? With , or with him?"
The question lingered. Grigor didn’t take the first bait to answer.
Grigor didn’t flinch. He stubbed his cigarette against the ashtray, the hiss filling the silence before he leaned forward. His voice softened, "You don’t trust ."
Dominic t his gaze, unblinking. "I don’t trust anyone."
Grigor chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "I’ve stood beside you when most n would’ve run. I’ve taken bullets for your na, Dominic. But suddenly I hear you speak like Carlos has already poisoned your head against ."
"Don’t twist this," Dominic muttered. His temper was coiled tight, just beneath his skin. He tapped the table lightly. "I know what Carlos is, and I know what he’s trying to do. But I need to be certain where you stand."
Grigor’s smile faded. His voice dropped. "Careful. Keep questioning like that, and I’ll start asking myself the sa about you."
The words sat between them. Dominic’s hand stilled. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t lash out. At least, not yet.
He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, his voice cold and sharp. "Carlos isn’t just going to co for . He’s going to co for everyone connected to . That includes you. You don’t get to play both sides."
"And you don’t get to decide how I survive," Grigor shot back.
Sowhere outside, a car engine rumbled past, then faded into the distance. Grigor’s jaw clenched once more.
Dominic stared at him, searching. He’d always known Grigor was dangerous—but this was different. This wasn’t loyalty laced with sharp edges. This was a man weighing his options, calculating, and deciding.
It unsettled him.
"If you ever doubt ," he said quietly, almost too quiet, "then you’re already gone."
Grigor didn’t move. He just lit another cigarette, watching the smoke curl. "And if you keep doubting ... maybe you’re already gone too."
The silence after Grigor’s last words pressed down on him, like a hand around the throat. The smoke in the room felt heavier, clinging to their skin, their clothes, and their lungs.
Neither of them blinked. Neither of them moved. The whole city could’ve burned down outside, and neither man would’ve turned his head.
Dominic’s fingers drumd once against the table. Then, he stopped. His jaw flexed as he spoke, each word carved with precision.
"You forget yourself, Grigor."
"No," Grigor countered, his voice steady, almost daring. "I rember exactly who I am. And I rember exactly who you are. You’re Dominic Cross, the man everyone fears because he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, and doesn’t bleed." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, with his eyes narrowing. "But tonight, I see a man looking at like he’s not sure anymore. That’s new."
Dominic’s stare darkened, but he stayed silent. He hated when Grigor spoke like that. He hated when Grigor kept on cutting into truths no one else dared to say out loud.
Grigor took a drag from his cigarette, then let the smoke drift lazily toward the ceiling. His lips curved into a humorless smile. "You said Carlos is coming for everyone connected to you. Maybe that’s true. But maybe Carlos already got to you first. Because you don’t sound like the Dominic I know. You sound... rattled."
Dominic’s hands tightened into fists against the arms of his chair. Grigor’s last line landed like a slap on his cheek.
"Say that again." He challenged.
Grigor didn’t blink. "Rattled."
The bulb flickered again, casting their faces in and out of shadow, like the room itself couldn’t decide who to betray.
Dominic stood slowly, the scrape of his chair against the floor sliced through the tension. He leaned forward, hands pressing into the table, looming over Grigor with eyes that promised death. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Careful. You’re dancing on a little too carelessly, and I don’t have the patience for clowns tonight."
Grigor’s grin widened, though his eyes stayed hard. "Good. Because I’m no clown. And I don’t dance for anyone— not even you."
For a long beat, they just stared at each other. Two predators, neither blinking, neither willing to step back.
Dominic finally leaned in closer, his words laced with venom. "I built this ground. Every man who breathes under this roof breathes because I allow it. Don’t ever mistake my silence for weakness. Don’t ever mistake my patience for doubt. And don’t ever, ever, question if I’m rattled."
The last word cut sharp.
Grigor held his gaze. Then, slowly, he exhaled, letting the tension drip out with the smoke. He leaned back, casually again, as if Dominic’s fury had washed right over him without leaving a mark.
"That’s the Dominic I know," he said softly. "Cold. rciless. And Untouchable. Don’t lose him. Because the mont you do..." He tapped the ash into the tray, his eyes gleaming. "...that’s when Carlos wins."
Dominic straightened, his shadow stretching long against the wall. He didn’t answer.
Finally, Dominic stood, the chair legs scraping against the floor. He picked up his coat, pulling it over his shoulders with practiced ease.
His phone rang, and when he looked at the icon, it was Celeste calling. That was his cue to leave. He stared at Grigor hard one last ti, and went out to speak to her.
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