28. Vogue

My eyes aregritty from exhaustion after the casino night last night. But I'm here, and I shuffle into the café near campus; my senses are alert. The aroma of coffee blends with the distant sound of milk steaming, and the low hum of conversation fills the space. I spot my contact, Alex, immediately seated at a table by the window, his gaze fixed on some point outside. His posture is relaxed, but there's an undeniable tension about him. I can tell he's ready for this meeting as much as I am. We connected last night, and this is a power move on my behalf that the guys aren't aware of yet. I needed to feel him out first and make sure that it will lead somewhere. Sneaking out of the penthouse was no easy feat, but I'm here, and I'm ready.

"Morning, Alex," I greet, sliding into the chair across from him. "Nice spot you've picked."

"Morning, Vogue," he replies, his eyes meeting mine. There's a flicker of something in his gaze—respect, challenge, or perhaps both—before he speaks again. "I thought it best to meet on neutral ground for our discussion."

"Smart thinking," I nod, keeping my tone even. I don't miss the way his eyes scan the room, just like I did moments before. Trust doesn't come easy in our world, where we're constantly sneaking around, being part of the mafia picture. It's a delicate dance, one wrong move and everything could crumble.

We order coffees—black, no sugar—and that's when we get down to business. "So, about this alliance," I start, leaning forward. "The Crowned Syndicate needs your group's commitment. We're not here to play games."

Alex stirs his coffee methodically, not looking up. "And you'll offer what in return? Protection? Resources?"

"Both," I say. "Plus, a cut from our operations on campus. Fair's fair. You saw what last night did. It was big."

His eyes lock onto mine, and I see the calculation behind them. "We need more than promises, Vogue. We've got our own interests to consider."

"Understood." I'm unflinching, though inside, I'm weighing every word. "Let's talk numbers then, percentages. And exclusivity."

"Exclusivity?" He raises an eyebrow. It's a battle of wills now. "That's asking a lot. What's to stop us from making side deals?"

"Because you know we can offer you more security than any random crew could," I shoot back. "We have the muscle and the connections. You want in on that, you play by our rules."

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The sound of the bustling café surrounds us—a backdrop to the silent stand-off at our table. Then, Alex leans back, folding his arms.

"Alright, let's hear these terms of yours," he says, a trace of respect threading through the scepticism in his voice. "But remember, we're not just going to roll over."

"Wouldn't expect you to," I reply, feeling the tension between us like a live wire. This game of tug-of-war isn't just about striking a deal; it's about laying out who holds the real power, and I intend to win.

Taking a slow sip of my coffee, bitter and scalding, I watch Alex's crew from the corner of my eye. There's a rhythm to their movements, a language in their glances I can't ignore. Two guys at the far end of the table share a look that lingers too long, a silent conversation I'm not privy to. My gut tells me to dig deeper.

"Who are they?" I ask, nodding toward the pair without making it obvious. It's all about subtlety in these games.

"Them?" Alex follows my gaze, casual as anything. "That's Marcus and Jonah. Tech wizards. They could hack into Fort Knox if we asked nicely."

"Sounds useful," I say, locking the names in my mental vault. But it's the twitch in Marcus's shoulder when he laughs, the way Jonah's eyes dart to the door and back, that grabs my attention. Useful, sure, but trustworthy? The jury's still out on that one.

"Very," Alex agrees, then turns to introduce me to the next in line—a girl with sharp eyes.

"Vogue, meet Jess. She's our inside track on the administration." Alex gestures to the woman I met on my first day, who greets me with a nod so subtle it's almost invisible.

"Hey, we've already met," she says with a quick half-wave. Her smile is brief, her manner guarded. I file away her measured response like currency; it might buy me something later.

I'm guessing her coming over to me in class was a strategic one. It seems everyone knows who I am, or rather who my father is when I didn't. "Yep."

She doesn't give much away, but I can see the cogs turning behind those sharp eyes.

"Seems like you've got all bases covered," I comment, but what I'm really thinking is how every piece fits into the bigger picture. How can I leverage these assets for The Crowned Syndicate's gain while keeping one eye open for any knife aimed at our back?

"Almost all," Alex says, bringing my focus back. "We're good at what we do, but with your organisation's power? We could run this place together."

‘Could' being the keyword. Opportunities are just pretty words until they turn into cold, hard cash. I lean back, mirroring Alex's earlier pose, letting the silence stretch for a heartbeat or two. This alliance is a chess match, and I need to be thinking three moves ahead.

"Let's hope it comes to that," I say finally, the words smooth, but inside my mind races, piecing together every scrap of info, every half-hidden glance, because in this world, it's not just about making allies—it's about figuring out which ones will stab you in the back before they get the chance.

I scan the room as I sit back in my chair, the chatter of the café creating a backdrop to the hushed tones at our table. The members of the student group are talking amongst themselves now, their laughter a touch too bright. I catch a look here, a too-quick smile there; it's like watching a play where everyone knows their lines except me.

"Everything alright, Vogue?" Alex asks, but I barely register the question.

"Fine," I reply, my gaze still roaming. My gut twists, a silent alarm that says something's not lining up. Trust is currency in this world, and right now, I'm feeling short-changed. "Look," I add as an afterthought, "if there's a leak in this ship, better to patch it up before we all drown, right?"

Alex's eyes flick up to meet mine, and there's a flash of something that screams trouble. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, but now I'm certain—he's holding cards he hasn't played yet.

"Alright," I concede with a nod, letting the conversation drop. For now. If there's one thing I've learned, it's patience. The truth always floats to the surface, eventually. I'll just have to wait for the tide to turn.

The café continues to buzz with the chatter of students, but I might as well be in a vacuum for all I care. Only Alex and his next words matter.

"Look, we need clear terms," I start, tapping my fingers on the tabletop. "Who's in, who's out. Who does what, when, where, how? We can't walk blind into this."

Alex leans back with a smirk. "Vogue, you're asking for the blueprint to our operation. You know it doesn't work like that."

"Trust goes both ways," I shoot back, my voice low and steady. "I'm not about to hang my crew out to dry without some insurance."

"Insurance?" A laugh escapes Alex, short and sharp. "You think we don't need the same?"

"Then let's talk loyalty?—"

"Commitment to The Crowned Syndicate is non-negotiable," he cuts me off, the defensiveness in his tone raising the hair on the back of my neck.

"Non-negotiable? Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘blind faith'." I lean forward, narrowing my eyes. "That's a lot to ask for without offering something solid in return."

"We have our reasons to keep our cards close to our chest," Alex says, but there's a flicker of something in his gaze, a shadow that wasn't there before.

"Reasons or secrets?" I prod, feeling the tension coil between us like a spring.

"Call it what you want," Alex retorts, pulling at the collar of his shirt as if suddenly too tight.

The hiss of the espresso machine and the clatter of cups interrupts our standoff. It gives me a moment, just a beat, to glance around the room. My gaze catches on two members of the student group huddled close, their heads almost touching as they murmur to each other.

I strain my ears, catching fragments of hushed conversation. "...not according to plan..." one whispers, a note of urgency in their voice. "...need to act fast before..."

They break off as they sense my attention, casting nervous glances my way before falling silent. A cold realisation washes over me. These plans, whatever they are, they're not for us—for The Crowned Syndicate. They're moving against us.

"Okay, Alex, let's cut the crap," I bite out, my voice low but sharp as a knife. "You've got a mole in your circle, and if you think I'm going to sit back while they screw us over, you're dead wrong."

Alex leans back, his expression unreadable. "That's a heavy accusation, Vogue. You better have proof to back it up."

I lean in, bracing my hands against the worn wood of the table. "Proof? How about common sense? Your group whispers behind closed doors, and now you're stonewalling me on every damn term we try to negotiate. What am I supposed to think?"

Alex's eyes harden, and his jaw sets. "You want transparency? Here it is—I don't trust you any more than you trust me. The Crowned Syndicate isn't exactly squeaky clean."

"Trust goes both ways," I shoot back, feeling the heat rising in my chest. "But right now, it looks like your house needs cleaning first."

"Look, Vogue," he starts, his voice low. "There is a lot of shit going down right now. We've got bigger shit to worry about than our turf war."

"Like staying alive?"

"Exactly." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration I recognise all too well. "Let's put the bullshit aside. I'll find this mole, if there is one, and plug the leak. Agreed?"

"Agreed." There's no room for ego when your life's on the line. And right now, I need him as much as he needs me because he's right. Shit is getting real, and whether it was always here and I'm just joining the party isn't a concern for right now.

"I'll be in touch," he says and rises, walking out without a look back, his guys and girls on his tail. I watch Jess. She's good at the acting thing. She had me fooled, but she is in this mafia shit deep.

"You are in so much fucking trouble, princess," Callum states from over the top of my head in the opposite direction. "Do I need to keep a tracker on you?"

Turning to him with a wicked smile, I say, "Try and find out what happens. Spoiler alert: your dick doesn't get wet, at least not by me."

He narrows his eyes at my obvious fish. "Then it doesn't get wet."

Those words are commitment coming from the guy who has killed for me, rescued me, intimidated me and fucked me senseless, not necessarily in that order.

He bends to give me a kiss on the top of my head and then takes my hand to help me up. "You don't go anywhere alone."

"It took you long enough to find me. You're not very good at guard dogging."

He snorts at the word dogging, and I feel my cheeks heat up. "We can go dogging if you want, princess. Maybe we'll grab the van later and meet some guys I know out in the woods."

Leaning over to press my lips to his, I murmur, "Would they happen to be Thayer and Harry?"

"Maybe," he replies slyly. "But maybe not."

My heart pounds at the provocative nature of this conversation. I decide to call his bluff. "You're on then."

His mouth drops open in surprise, but then he presses his lips together and gives me a searching stare. "You're naughtier than you let on, aren't you, Vogue?"

You have no idea.

"Let's just say I have my secrets, and you are going to have to work harder to learn them."

"Oh?" He arches an eyebrow.

I give him an innocent smile and push that from my mind, buried deep where it stays. There's no need to drag all that up right now. Not when shit is about to hit the fan. "Let's go."

He links our fingers, and he leads me out of the back door of the cafe, where I assume he came in, we walk across campus, enjoying this feeling of being wanted when the feeling of abandonment still cuts across my soul, deeper now than ever.