Deanna

​We stood ten paces apart under the flickering amber lights of the loading dock, surrounded by armed enforcers. Every man had his hand hovering over his holster, the safety clicks echoing like a countdown to execution. ​Across from me stood my father’s sworn enemy—and beside him, the woman who had been orchestrating half the counter-attacks against my shipping lanes for the past six months. ​She looked entirely out of place, yet terrifyingly at home. Dressed in sleek leather and black lace, her highlighted hair catching the dim light, she held a lit cigar between her manicured fingers, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke while her massive Doberman snarled softly at my boots. ​My finger tightened on the trigger of my Glock. My pulse roared in my ears. One twitch, and a full-scale war would ignite across the city. ​Lower your weapons, a gravelly, authoritative voice boomed from the shadows of the upper gantry. ​Both of our fathers stepped out onto the metal walkway, flanked by personal guards. Before either of us could argue, the decree was dropped like a bomb.An hour later, the atmosphere shifted from the damp concrete of the docks to the sterile, high-security boardroom of our family’s skyscraper. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, locking us inside with our respective fathers. The tension in the room was dense enough to choke on. For twenty years, our families have bled each other dry, my father stated, his cold eyes shifting between me and the woman sitting across the glass table. A war right now destroys both our empires from the inside out. The council has deliberated. She crossed one leather-clad leg over the other, leaning back in her chair with a calm, mocking smirk, stroking the thick gold chain collar of the Doberman sitting quietly at her feet. Let me guess, she purred, her voice a low, sultry challenge. Some archaic peace treaty written in blood and marriage certificates?