He frowned at his phone, staring at the single text from her. Just two words: Thank you.
He didn't know why, but it unsettled him. Something felt off.
Instead of replying, he looked away and focused on the fresh tire tracks in the dirt—the car that had just pulled away. Two of his men had gone to get her what she wanted.
Exiting the chat, he switched to his contacts and dialed a number. The line barely rang once before Damon picked up.
"Yes, boss."
He got straight to the point. "Don't leave that place unless she looks okay."
From the passenger seat where he sat beside Leonardo, Damon frowned—until the meaning clicked. His eyes narrowed.
"Make sure she's fine. Do I make myself clear?" Knight added sharply before Damon could respond.
Damon nodded, even though the call had already ended. He pulled the phone away from his ear and slid it back into his pocket.
Leonardo glanced over with a smirk. "What now? Want us to wrap the little one in bubble wrap so no one breathes too close?"
Damon sighed deeply.
"She's going to become his weakness…" he muttered, ignoring Leo's joke and gazing out the window at the passing scenery.
Leo scoffed. "Is that a joke?"
Damon turned slightly, and Leo kept going.
"She's not going to be his weakness. She already is. Have you forgotten what he did to Veronica?"
Damon rolled his eyes. "That brat had it coming."
Leo laughed, remembering the venom between Damon and Veronica. It had never been sexual tension—far from it. They just genuinely hated each other. Though, if they had ever slept together, they'd probably kill each other right after.
"I never thought Knight would punish Veronica like that for any woman," Leo mused. "Genesis isn't the first girl she tried to hurt. The others? They just vanished. He never batted an eye. Didn't even flinch. But this one…?"
"She didn't even get a real punishment," Damon grunted.
Leo laughed again. When the amusement faded, the car fell quiet for a beat.
Then Damon spoke again, low and serious. "You're right. She's already his weakness. And God help us if anything happens to her… because I don't think the Feds are ready to pick up a body every damn day."
Leo gave him a sideways glance and nodded slowly. If that day ever came, they'd just make sure the cleanup was quiet. That was their job.
Knight turned away from the garage doors as they sealed shut behind him with a heavy metallic thud. The air inside the warehouse was dim and stale.
He approached a man standing near a stack of crates—Marco, a longtime associate with connections from the ports to the black-market bazaars.
Without a word, Knight flipped the lid off one of the crates. The scent of gun oil hit him instantly. Inside, a precise lineup of assault rifles and handguns gleamed, untouched, unregistered.
"This all of it?" he asked, voice calm but edged like a knife just under the skin.
Marco nodded quickly. "Full batch. Heat-sensored, no serials. Straight from Eastern Europe. Second shipment comes next week through the other port."
Knight didn't respond. He moved to another crate, pried it open. This one wasn't weapons—it held rows of amber-colored bricks, vacuum-sealed tight.
"Peruvian amber," Marco added quickly. "Tested. Pure. Came in with the produce trucks, like you said. Dogs didn't even sniff."
Knight gave a curt nod.
"Any trouble at the border?" he asked, lifting one of the bricks and testing the weight.
"Just one hiccup. Border cop got nosy. We handled it. He won't be nosy again."
"Good," Knight said, dropping the brick back into place.
He crossed to a third set of crates—tighter seals, heavier locks. Inside: high-end watches, stolen jewelry, and rare gemstones looted from a private auction weeks ago. Priceless. Untraceable.
Marco shifted slightly. "Auction pieces are already sold. Singapore buyer. Private jet. No trail."
Knight ignored him. He was already dialing another number.
When the line clicked, his voice dropped to a low, firm tone.
"Everything's in. Schedule the moves. Clean drops. No mess."
He hung up without waiting for a response and finally turned back to Marco.
"I don't want any delays this week," he said, voice clipped. "I've got other things to handle."
Marco raised an eyebrow, half-curious. "And what are—?"
Knight shot him a look that made the words die in his throat. It wasn't anger. It was something worse—cold and final.
"Handle the product," Knight said, tone sharp.
Then he turned, striding back into the warehouse shadows, his coat billowing behind him. His silence was louder than any threat.
Outside, another black car rolled in, headlights off. More cargo. More secrets.
But Knight's mind was somewhere else entirely.
Master Ballet Studio
Genesis pushed open the studio door and stepped inside. The scent of sweat and rosin filled the air, mingling with the soft echo of ballet slippers brushing the floor.
Across the room, Stacy and Calista were sipping water, chatting casually as they prepared for the next round of rehearsals. The moment they spotted her, they lit up and rushed over.
"Where were you?" Stacy asked, eyeing her with mild concern. "You were in the restroom forever."
Genesis smiled, her expression calm, her hair neatly rearranged to hide the chaos of a few moments earlier.
Before she could react, Calista jumped in, practically buzzing.
"Forget that—why didn't you tell us you have a hot brother?"
Genesis' smile froze, then slowly fell away. Her brow furrowed.
"He's so cute!" Calista gushed. "He came looking for you, but Miss Reneta told him to wait in the lounge. He's so tall—"
She didn't notice the way Genesis had gone pale, the blood draining from her face like a light switch had been flipped.
"Genesis?" Stacy reached out, steadying her as she wobbled slightly. "Are you okay?"
Before Genesis could process it all, Miss Reneta's voice rang out from the front of the studio.
"Genesis, please come here."