Page 143 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

Think.

Think.

Think.

Something clicks.

Pieces suddenly align and I suck in air.

One piece: the party Londyn attended in Hollywood. There were people being sold on stage.

Second piece: Miller texting a Chicago area code. Londyn said he seemed irritated, like someone was keeping him on a leash.

Third piece: Anthony managed weapons in Chicago, all for Victor. Others must manage different operations elsewhere because Victor's reach seems wide.

The last piece: The Navy Caps never fit well with Miller' plan. They're also standing in this room. They're Victor's men.

It all cyclones through my mind in a rush of understanding.

Victor was the one who told Miller to release Londyn, because kidnapping a trending actress would expose Miller's trafficking operations. Victor sent the Navy Caps to scare Londyn into leaving California. He also sent the Navy Caps to Manhattan, likely sensing Miller would make a play again for Londyn. And I'm sure he's the one covering up Miller's other messes, like the raid on that Malibu property.

He doesn't care about Londyn at all. She's just collateral damage.

This entire thing is about fucking Miller.

Victor wants to eliminate a distraction that's pulling one of his men off-task. This is merely business. Cold, efficient business.

"Alan Miller," I say, watching Victor's face carefully.

Those empty eyes narrow. He nods to his men, who raise their weapons. No patience. No humanity.

My heart jumps into my throat and I move to shield Londyn, spinning her so she's between me and a wall. "Teach him a lesson," I say quickly.

Victor's hand pauses mid-air, about to signal his men to shoot. We lock eyes, and it's like staring into the sun. Not because of brightness but because of the sheer overwhelming force of his gaze. It's painful to maintain contact, like something inside me recognizes a fundamental threat to my existence.

But he hasn't given the order to fire.

I still have a chance.

"I used to be a Sergeant," I say. I reach back to take Londyn's hand; she's trembling. "I understand not wanting to train new recruits. You invest time and resources getting your soldiers to operate exactly how you need, so naturally you'd prefer tokeep them. If they mess up, it's better to correct the behavior than start from scratch with someone new. That's just sound leadership."

Victor's jaw flexes once, the only indication that he's even listening. I can feel time slipping away, this tiny window of opportunity closing.

I hurry through my words. "You can kill Londyn, but there will always be another woman. I imagine there have been others, right? Other distractions that made Miller lose focus and cost you money. You can keep eliminating those distractions one by one, but for a man like him, it's pointless. You're wasting time and resources. A better strategy for when your dog misbehaves is to assert dominance and change the behavior permanently."

Victor's jaw loosens an inch, something slight that most people would miss. But I'm trained to read these micro-expressions. He's giving me a little more time. He's curious.

I take the opening, diving straight through it.

"You're busy, so why don't I help?"

The room goes still. Even Victor's men seem to hold their breath, uncertain what this deviation means for them. Shoot? Don't shoot?

Finally, Victor speaks. "And what exactly would you do?"

"Threaten his control. He's a director for a reason. He needs constant attention and praise, so threaten his career. I guarantee you it's more important to him than his obsession with women."

Victor's hands slide into his pockets; now he's engaged instead of simply tolerating me. "Your plan?"

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