The private dining room was silent.
Veyra’s hands were still on the table. Her fingers were curled around the edge of the white cloth. Her heart was pounding.
Wesley’s eyes were serious. The playful glint was gone. His face was calm, but there was something underneath it. Something cold.
She stared at him.
"You’re the leader," she said slowly. "Of the Ravenwood Syndicate."
Wesley’s smile returned. It was thin. Polite. "You’re very perceptive."
Veyra’s stomach dropped.
She looked at him. The tailored suit. The polished manners. The easy charm. He looked like a businessman. Like someone who spent his days in boardrooms and his evenings at galas.
But underneath that veneer was something else. Something dangerous.
She thought about his restaurants. His connections. His influence. The way people seemed to fear him even when he was smiling.
It all made sense now.
"You’re an underworld kingpin," she said.
Wesley laughed. It was a genuine laugh. Warm. Almost affectionate.
"I prefer the term ’businessman,’" he said. "But kingpin works too."
He reached into his jacket.
Veyra’s breath caught.
He pulled out a gun.
It was large. Black. The barrel was long. The grip was textured. It looked heavy in his hand.
She had seen guns before. She had held one. She had even used one.
But this was different.
This was in his hand. Pointed at her. His finger resting on the trigger.
The safety clicked off.
Veyra froze. Her hands stopped moving. Her lungs stopped working.
She looked at the barrel. Then at Wesley’s face. Then at Dorian.

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Story doesnt even make sense...