Zayne’s POV
The text I sent to Silas was short, no pleasantries, no context.
“We need to talk. Now. Usual spot.”
I didn’t bother waiting for a reply because I knew I’d get one. And right now, I needed to see his face.
I just needed to know if he still thought he could treat people like chess pieces, Isla included.
The café we usually met at was high-end and quiet, tucked into the corner of the business district with more glass than walls and waiters who pretended not to listen. It used to be our meeting point whenever we planned fundraisers or poker nights.
I arrived ten minutes early, partly to avoid being seen walking in with him. One of the waitresses still recognized me, of course, most people did. “Your usual, Mr. Bellandi?”
I nodded, taking a seat by the window. My reflection
