Claimed But Not Owned

Chapter 3

King walked through the halls with several of his men flanking him. His questions were short and precise. Updates on operations, shipments, whether the latest goods had been delivered without trouble. The men answered quickly and carefully, careful not to waste his time.

When they reached the heavy door of his office, the others stopped and turned away. Only Jordan followed him inside.

King shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag as the smoke curled upward. Jordan settled into the seat across from the desk.

“So,” Jordan said, “what do you plan on doing with her?”

King frowned slightly, looking at him through the thin haze of smoke.“Who?”

“The girl you brought.”

King took a long, slow pull on his cigarette. The smoke left his lips in a thick, steady stream.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But the b***h has guts.”

Jordan’s eyebrow lifted.“What kind of guts?”

King leaned forward slightly, fingers locking together on the desk.

“I’m the most powerful Mafia don in Chicago. I built this s**t on blood, fear, knowledge, and power… and she still looks at me like none of it means a thing.”

Jordan scoffed.“Come on, man. She’ll give in eventually.”

He paused, then asked again, more directly this time,

“So what are your plans for her?”

King leaned back in his chair, slowly twirling the cigarette between his fingers.“I already answered you, Jordan.”

Jordan fell silent. He could hear the irritation creeping into King’s voice and decided not to push further. For a moment, the office was quiet except for the soft burning of the cigarette.

Then Jordan’s eyes widened with a sudden thought.“I think I have an idea,” he said.

King looked at him, expression cold.“What?”

“Use the girl. Hide the product in a clean car, let her drive it across to the buyer in Indiana. She drops it off, they load the money into the same car, and she drives it back. Simple, low profile, and easy. If she pulls it off, you get your money. If she doesn’t… then she’s disposable anyway.”

“If she dies, how am I supposed to get my money?” King asked flatly.

“She won’t die or get caught,” Jordan replied. “We’ll plan it properly. No mistakes.”

King stayed quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in his mind. It was clean and practical, but what if it failed and the FBI caught her and she talked— the damage could be serious.

He closed his eyes, fingers interlocked beneath his jaw. The office was silent except for the faint crackle of his cigarette.

When he opened his eyes again, his decision was made.

“Alright,” King said. “Let’s do it. Just don’t f**k it up.”

**********

Across the city, in a quiet apartment, Michael sat at his desk with his laptop open. The screen cast a pale light across his face as he scrolled through files and reports. He was utterly still, his focus fixed on the screen. Empty coffee cups and scattered notes surrounded him.The usual mess of a man who spent more time hunting criminals than sleeping.

His phone buzzed against the desk.

He glanced at the screen, then picked it up.

“Got anything new?” Michael asked.

“The plan is in motion,” the voice on the other end replied.