"Your brother died in a war he started," my father says bluntly.
Wrong approach.
Reyes' eyes flash, and his guards shift slightly, hands moving closer to weapons.
"My brother died because your friends didn't know when to stop." He points the cigar at me. "But you're marrying into them now, yes? The Raider's daughter?"
"In two weeks."
"Two weeks." He savors the words like wine. "Long time in our business. Anything could happen."
The threat hangs between us like smoke.
I count his men—six visible, probably more nearby.
Calculate angles, exits, possibilities.
I keep my voice level, almost bored. "Is that a threat?"
"An observation." He leans back. "Tell me, what's she like? This woman worth starting a war over?"
"There doesn't need to be a war."
"Doesn't there? Two of mine for two of theirs seems fair."
"Erik and Anders weren't yours," I point out. "They were prospects in a motorcycle club. Hardly cartel material."
"They were boys," he snaps, mask slipping. "Someone's sons, someone's brothers."
"And their deaths accomplish what? Your brother's still gone. The past is written. We're here to discuss the future."
He studies me through the cigar smoke. "You sound like a man with a plan."
"I'm a man with an offer."
"I'm listening."
I lean forward, entering his space. "The Port of Jacksonville. Shared operations. Thirty percent of gross, full access to our Eastern European network."
My father tenses beside me, but stays silent.
We discussed this—I take the lead, he backs my play.
"Thirty percent." Reyes considers, rolling the numbers in his head. "Of everything?"
"Of port operations. The Irish keep their routes, the Russians keep theirs. But anything coming through Jacksonville for the Culebra gets our protection and distribution."
"And in return?"
"The Raiders of Valhalla are off-limits. They're family now. My family."
He's quiet for a long moment, then: "I want to meet her."
"Who?"
"Your bride. This woman you're willing to share territory for." His smile is sharp. "At the wedding. I want an invitation."
My father starts to object, but I hold up a hand.