Chapter 61
2208words
Zurich | Hotel Belvedere | Suite 1107
Early Afternoon (CET)
The call came just after lunch.
Kristina was sitting on the edge of the bed, damp hair towel-draped over her shoulder, scrolling halfheartedly through briefing notes when Eli’s phone lit up across the room.
Lucian Sinclair.
Eli glanced at her. “It’s him.”
Kristina held out a hand. “I’ve got it.”
Eli tossed her the phone, and she caught it one-handed. There was no hesitation as she answered.
There was a pause—half a breath of static silence—and then Lucian’s voice, low and even. “Just checking in.”
A softness crept into Kristina’s expression. “We’re okay.”
“I figured. Still…” A pause. “Had to hear it.”
Kristina let herself lean back slightly on the bed. “You always call after lunch?”
Lucian’s tone almost smiled. “I call when I want to hear your voice.”
That made her eyes drop, lips pressing faintly together.
There was a quiet moment—still, but not strained. Then Kristina asked, carefully, “Did you know?”
“About what?”
She tilted her head, letting the silence stretch just enough to carry weight. “About the storm. About Eli being there.”
Lucian didn’t answer right away. A breath passed on the line. Then another.
“I wasn’t sure it would rain that hard,” he said finally.
Kristina’s brows lifted faintly. “But you knew I’d be afraid.”
His voice was gentler now. “Yes.”
Her tone stayed quiet. “And you sent him with me.”
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
There it was—unadorned. Not a confession. Not quite a plan. Just truth.
Kristina didn’t reply right away. She didn’t need to.
Lucian added, softer still, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Let the warmth of his voice settle against something still aching in her chest.
Then: “You were.”
Lucian didn’t reply immediately. The pause was intentional, not hesitant.
And that stillness said everything.
Kristina adjusted the towel on her shoulder, her voice softer now. “You knew I’d break if I was alone.”
“I knew,” Lucian said quietly.
She exhaled, not sharp. Not bitter. Just… understanding.
“And you trusted him to be there.”
Another silence. Longer this time. But not empty.
Kristina swallowed once. Then, carefully: “I think it helped. More than I expected.”
Lucian didn’t speak right away.
When he did, his voice was quieter. Not uncertain—but reverent. “I’m glad.”
From across the suite, Eli stayed quiet, out of view but not out of mind. He wasn’t eavesdropping. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t secrecy—it was space. And he respected it.
Kristina shifted slightly, curling one leg under her as she leaned further back against the pillows. Her voice was almost a whisper now. “You knew what I needed before I did.”
Lucian’s tone was level. “I just listened.”
“To what?”
“To you. Even when you weren’t saying it.”
That hit somewhere deep. Somewhere that had carried too much weight in too many silences.
“Thank you,” she said.
Lucian’s reply was simple. “Always.”
Kristina almost smiled. Not bright. Not light. But real.
She hesitated, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of Eli’s phone. Then, more gently: “You doing okay?”
On the other end of the line, Lucian leaned back in his chair—still in his dark t-shirt, hair slightly mussed, a mug of untouched coffee cooling on the desk beside him. The master suite was quiet, save for the hum of the estate just waking up.
“I’m fine,” he said, though not in the reflexive way people used when they weren’t.
“Are you sleeping?” she asked.
Lucian’s lips curved faintly. “When the house is quiet.”
“Have you eaten?”
A pause. “Vex tried to make eggs.”
Kristina actually laughed. “That bad?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
A soft beat of shared quiet passed between them. The kind only people who had survived storms—real and otherwise—could share.
“I miss you,” Kristina said finally.
Lucian closed his eyes. “I know.”
And for a moment, that was enough.
Then—just as the silence began to fold over again—Kristina added, “You want to talk to him?”
Lucian’s eyes opened. He hesitated.
Then: “Only if he wants to.”
Kristina glanced toward the far side of the suite. “I’ll ask.”
She didn’t wait for a response—just lowered the phone slightly and called across the room, “Eli?”
He stepped into view, towel around his shoulders, a light gray shirt pulled halfway on.
“Lucian wants to know if you’d like to say hi,” she said, holding out the phone.
Eli looked at her. Then at the phone. Then back at her.
And slowly, he nodded.
Kristina passed the phone to him, fingers brushing lightly as they exchanged it. No urgency. No tension.
Just… something that stayed.
Eli lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey.”
Lucian’s voice came steady. “Hi.”
The silence between them wasn’t awkward. Just weighted.
Eli cleared his throat. “She’s okay.”
“I know,” Lucian said.
“You did good,” Lucian added, voice lower now.
Eli didn’t answer immediately. “You knew it would happen like this?”
“No,” Lucian admitted. “But I hoped.”
Eli leaned against the wall, one hand bracing above him. “She’s strong.”
“She is,” Lucian said. “But even the strong deserve to be held.”
Eli’s throat tightened at that.
Lucian continued. “You didn’t let her go.”
“I never would.”
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Then Lucian’s voice came through again. Softer. “Whatever happens next… just stay honest with her. That’s all I ask.”
Eli nodded, even if Lucian couldn’t see it. “I will.”
Lucian’s voice didn’t waver. “Good.”
And then, with a quiet exhale, he added, “Take care of each other.”
“We will,” Eli said.
Lucian didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t need to.
The call ended with a click, quiet and final—but not cold.
Eli lowered the phone.
Kristina watched him.
And for a second, there was just the stillness again. A new kind. The kind that knew something had shifted—but not broken.
Something had held.
Wednesday | January 19, 2011
Zurich | Brasserie Kronenhalle Restaurant
Noon (CET)
The Brasserie Kronenhalle was quiet.
Not empty—never empty—but hushed in the way only truly powerful places could be. Crystal chandeliers glittered above oil paintings worth more than most homes. Conversations were soft, respectful. Waitstaff moved with quiet efficiency, not a step wasted, not a glance misplaced. This wasn’t a restaurant—it was a room where things happened, quietly.
Kristina sat at a table near the tall frosted windows, a study in composed intent.
She wore tailored black slacks and a silk blouse the color of a midnight ocean—dark enough to absorb the light but smooth enough to reflect it in all the right places. Her blazer was cut sharply at the waist, the line of her shoulders just structured enough to suggest she was no stranger to power. Minimal jewelry. A slim silver watch. No earrings. Her hair was pulled into a sleek low twist, not quite a bun, not quite casual—controlled, with just enough softness at the edges to disarm. Not delicate. Deliberate.
Her posture alone told the story: she was not here to impress. She was here to be listened to.
Eli sat beside her, silent but not idle. His presence was more understated—no sharp lines, no overt displays of status. But there was weight to him. The tailored black dress shirt was buttoned neatly to the collar, sleeves rolled once at the forearms, revealing the edge of a plain steel watch that looked more practical than decorative. No tie. No jacket. Just quiet control. His shoulders were relaxed, but his gaze wasn’t. He scanned the restaurant once, noting exits, reflections, patterns. His hair, still damp from a morning shower, fell in soft waves that refused to stay neatly combed. He hadn’t tried to fix it. He rarely did.
To anyone watching, they didn’t look like a couple.
But they didn’t look like strangers either.
Kristina leaned slightly toward him, voice low. “They’re late.”
Eli’s eyes didn’t leave the far doors. “They want to control the pace.”
Kristina gave a faint, unreadable smile. “Let them.”
The maître d’ appeared beside them, posture perfect, smile diplomatic. “They’ve arrived.”
Kristina nodded once. “Send them over.”
The words were cool. Professional. But Eli heard it—the subtle shift beneath her tone. Not nerves. Not fear. Just… precision.
Moments later, three figures entered the room. Two men, one woman. All three impeccably dressed, all confident in the way only money and reputation could teach. They didn’t need to raise their voices to carry weight. Their silence did that just fine.
No handshakes. No greetings.
Just the presence of unfinished history, walking toward them.
Eli stood. So did Kristina.
The lead man—silver at the temples, smooth voice, predatory smile—stopped just short of the table.
“Miss Alonzo. Mr. Voss,” he said smoothly. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
Kristina tilted her head. “Let’s hope it’s worth it.”
No one sat first.
Then the man nodded, once, like granting permission.
The group took their seats. Menus were ignored.
Kristina glanced at Eli.
He gave the smallest nod.
She turned back toward the strangers.
“Let’s begin.”
The private room at Brasserie Kronenhalle carried the kind of elegance that didn’t need to be explained. Eli and Kristina had already established their presence—calm, quiet, unreadable—as they took their seats across from the Kessler Group.
Across from them, three representatives from the Kessler Group sat like players trying not to show their cards too soon. Lina Rehn sat in the center—cool, polished, calculated. The men on either side of her were harder to read, but not unimportant.
“Miss Alonzo. Mr. Voss,” Lina said with a smooth smile. “Thank you for taking the time.”
Eli gave a short nod. “Lucian appreciates initiative. He doesn’t reward desperation.”
That wiped the smile off the younger man’s face to her left. But Lina held hers, albeit tighter. “Then I’m glad we’re here to discuss opportunity.”
Kristina glanced at her, but said nothing.
“We understand,” Lina continued, “that Sinclair Dominion is consolidating several intelligence corridors between Asia and Western Europe. We believe our networks could complement yours.”
“You believe,” Eli echoed flatly, “but you don’t know.”
“We’d like to explore what a partnership would look like.”
“That depends on whether you’re worth partnering with.”
Lina’s expression didn’t shift, but her tone sharpened. “And how do you define worth?”
“Clean records. Clean routes. No ghosts. No unfinished business.” Eli leaned back slightly. “Lucian doesn’t build alliances off speculation.”
Lina offered a practiced nod. “We anticipated those concerns. Our portfolio’s been reviewed—”
Eli cut in, calm but firm. “Reviewed by you. We’ll review it ourselves. Until then, this isn’t a negotiation. It’s a screening.”
That landed harder than she wanted to show.
Kristina watched Lina closely now—not with hostility, but calculation. She said nothing, but her silence was a weight in itself. She was here, but she wasn’t taking the lead. That was intentional. That was Eli’s.
Then Lina shifted slightly—subtle, practiced—and turned her attention fully on him.
“I have to admit…” she said, voice softer, “I didn’t expect you to be the one Lucian sent.”
Eli didn’t miss the subtext. “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
“And Miss Alonzo?” Lina smiled politely. “Is she your second, or your shadow?”
Kristina’s tone was cool, but it cut. “Neither.”
A quiet beat passed—until Kristina added, still watching her:
“Last time one of your people dealt with Eli, he was threatened. A gun was involved.”
Lina blinked, thrown for just a half-second.
Kristina didn’t flinch. “You might not be the ones who pulled it, but you still carry the stain. Don’t mistake our presence here for amnesia.”
The man on Lina’s right raised an eyebrow. “So you’re his bodyguard?”
Before Kristina could answer, Eli’s voice cut through—calm, steady:
“She’s Lucian’s bodyguard.”
Kristina glanced at him, then back to the Kesslers. “But I protect everyone around Lucian. Including Eli.”
That landed. Sharp. Final.
“What we want,” Lina said after a pause, smoothing a hand over her napkin, “is access and infrastructure. In return, we’re offering discretion, long-range transport corridors, and a twelve-year clean record out of Poland and the Balkans.”
“And what do you want in return?” Eli asked, not unkindly.
“Minimal oversight. First refusal on mid-tier European ops. Equal cut on high-revenue drops.”
Kristina raised a brow.
Eli didn’t blink. “No.”
Lina’s composure cracked—just a hairline fracture. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t offer equal terms when you bring nothing equal to the table,” Kristina said quietly. “You want protection. That comes with rules.”
“We’re not a liability,” Lina returned.
“Then prove it,” Eli said, calm as ice. “We don’t trade promises. We trade results.”
Silence followed.
Kristina tilted her head just slightly. “Unless that’s a problem.”
Lina glanced at her, then back to Eli—coolly. “Lucian has a great deal of trust in you.”
“That’s not something I explain,” Eli said. “Especially not to people still trying to impress him.”
Another long beat passed.
Then, finally, Lina leaned back in her seat, folding her hands. “Fine. We’ll deliver proof. Routes, records, timelines. You’ll have them by Friday.”
Eli nodded once. “Then maybe we’ll keep talking.”
Kristina didn’t move. But when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and certain.
“Next time, leave the games at the door.”
Some power isn’t taken. It’s earned in silence, measured in who doesn’t flinch first.
—To be continued.
