Chapter 4: Closer to the Edge

The SUV glided silently through the rain-slicked streets of Midtown, the city lights blurring against the slick windows like streaks of molten gold. The rhythmic swipe of the wipers was the only sound, a steady metronome marking the minutes until everything changed.

Edward adjusted his tie again, the fabric feeling tighter around his neck with every mile closer to their destination. But it wasn't just the tie choking him—it was the weight of what waited ahead.

The meeting.

With him.

"You know," Emmett said, breaking the silence, his voice casual but edged with tension, "if you keep fiddling with that thing, they're gonna think you're hiding something."

Edward shot him a look, his fingers pausing mid-adjustment. "It's a tie. It's supposed to feel like it's choking you. Yours looks like it was tied by a toddler."

Emmett grinned, tugging dramatically at the knot. "At least I'm not wearing it like a noose. Relax, little bro. You're acting like this is the first time we've done this kind of shit." He shifted, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off invisible pressure. "Remember Simon?"

Edward's jaw clenched slightly at the memory. "Yeah. But this time it's not just Simon." His gaze drifted to the blurred skyline beyond the rain-streaked window. "It's the bosses. It's Charlie Swan."

The name hung between them, heavier than the tension in the car.

Since the start of their undercover assignment, Simon had always been the buffer. The middleman. The gatekeeper. They'd never been in the same room as Charlie, until tonight.

Emmett's grin faded slightly, his bravado slipping just enough to show the edge beneath. He exhaled slowly, glancing out the window. "I'm thinking about Rose, actually. Wonder what she and Jamie are up to right now."

Edward's tension eased slightly, the mention of family grounding him in something real outside of wiretaps and surveillance reports. "Let me guess—Jamie's terrorizing someone, and Rose is keeping her in line?"

"Probably," Emmett chuckled, his voice softening. "That kid's got enough energy to power the city. She's got Rose's fire, stubborn as hell. Rose says it's karma for all the crap I pulled in high school."

Edward smirked, the familiar banter loosening the tight coil in his chest. "She's not wrong. You've been a handful since you were sixteen. Now Jamie's your karma."

Emmett laughed, but there was a wistful note buried beneath it. "Yeah… Rose always said I was the storm, but she was the anchor. As you know, since senior year, she never takes shit from anyone."

Edward grinned. "Sounds like true love." And it was, watching them feels like you are intruding to something private.

Emmett replied with a soft laugh. "it's the real deal. She's the only person who ever made me believe I could be more than the screw-up everyone expected. And Jamie…" He shook his head, his expression softening even more. "That kid owns me. I thought I knew what love was, then she came along, and it wrecked me in the best way."

The car grew quiet for a beat, the sound of the rain filling the space where words had been.

"You miss them," Edward said quietly.

Emmett nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. Jamie's only two, Ed. Every time I'm gone, it feels like I'm missing years, not months. And Rose… she's running the shop, juggling everything without me. I don't know how long she can keep doing it."

Edward swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "She's got your back. Always has. Mom and Dad know it too. Esme used to say Rose was the only one tough enough to handle you—and smart enough to keep up."

Emmett chuckled, the memory softening his features. "Yeah. And Mom would've spoiled Jamie rotten. No doubt about it."

Edward's smile faded into something quieter, more fragile. "She'd say it's karma for everything you put her through."

The laughter that followed was brief, a temporary shield against the weight pressing in on them.

After a moment, Emmett straightened his tie, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, here's to not screwing it up tonight."

Edward forced a smirk, but his heart was already racing.

"Yeah," Edward murmured, more to himself than to Emmett. "Let's not screw it up."

They met Simon in front of the building, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't say much—just a nod, a quick glance, like they were nothing more than pieces moving on a board he'd already played a dozen times.

Inside, the lobby was exactly what Edward expected. Black marble floors polished to a gleam, gold accents running along the edges like veins of power carved into stone. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and old money, with just a trace of something sharper—polished wood, leather, control. This wasn't just a lobby. It was a statement.

The elevator ride was silent, but Edward's mind wasn't. His thoughts raced with every mechanical hum, every flicker of the floor numbers lighting up like a countdown. He'd seen Charlie Swan's face more times than he could count—photos, surveillance footage, interrogation tapes. He knew the man's history, his voice, the tilt of his head when he didn't like an answer. But this was different.

This wasn't a file. This wasn't a briefing. This was real.

At the top floor, the doors slid open with a soft chime—too cheerful for what waited beyond.

The double doors ahead were carved with intricate patterns, dark wood gleaming under soft lights. Decorative, sure. But Edward had no doubt they were reinforced beneath, just like everything else in their world.

Two men in tailored suits flanked the entrance, their eyes sharp, cutting right through the pretense. They didn't ask questions. They didn't need to.

Simon knocked once and the doors opened.

The room hit Edward like a wall.

Power wasn't just in the people sitting at the long mahogany table—it was in the air itself. Thick. Heavy. Like it had to be carved through just to breathe.

The space was all sharp edges and dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows casting a cold glow over polished surfaces. The city stretched out beyond the glass, glittering and distant, like a reminder that out there, people lived normal lives. Not in here.

His eyes went straight to the head of the table. Here it is. Charlie Swan.

His posture was relaxed like he had nothing to prove—but his eyes said otherwise. Sharp, cold, the kind of gaze that measured people in worth, not in words. His strong jawline, sharp nose, and deep-set eyes mirrored Bella's so clearly that Edward's breath hitched for just a second. But where Bella's eyes held warmth, Charlie's were carved from stone.

To his right sat Caius, the underboss, lounging like a man who could snap in an instant. His pale blond hair slicked back, icy blue eyes glinting with something that wasn't quite an amusement. His fingers tapped against the table—not impatient, just calculating, like he was keeping time with thoughts he'd never say out loud.

On Charlie's left was Marcus. Quiet. Observant. His dark brown eyes didn't flicker. They just watched. Still. Unblinking. Like he already knew everything he needed to know and was just waiting to see if you'd prove him wrong. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him the air of someone who'd seen it all—and didn't care to be impressed by any of it.

The rest of the table was filled with shadows. James. Victoria. A handful of lieutenants with sharp suits and sharper eyes. Simon gestured for them to sit.

Edward's heartbeat was steady, but it felt too loud in his chest. Charlie's gaze flicked over them like they were nothing more than names on a ledger. Assets. Liabilities. Not people. Edward had studied that face for months. He knew the facts, the stories, the rumors. But none of it prepared him for the weight of being in the same room.

Because this wasn't just a meeting.

This was a test.

And failure wasn't an option.

Charlie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers laced together. The soft gleam from the chandelier above caught on the gold signet ring he wore—a family crest, maybe, or just a symbol of power. His charcoal suit was perfectly tailored, sharp against the crisp white of his shirt, the subtle sheen of fine fabric hinting at understated wealth.

His voice cut through the room, low and controlled. "Let's get down to it. We've got a shipment coming in three days. This one isn't like the others. Diamonds. High-grade, straight from South Africa. The kind of haul that turns heads and will bring a lot of money, and that's the problem."

Before the words had fully settled, Caius leaned back in his chair with the kind of casual elegance that felt rehearsed. His dark suit was razor-sharp, the thin lapels hugging his lean frame, complemented by a deep burgundy shirt left unbuttoned at the collar. A slim gold chain peeked from beneath the fabric, catching the light when he moved. His hair, pale blond and slicked back with meticulous precision.

Caius flashed a smile, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Before we get too deep, let me say, grazie for being here," he said smoothly, his Italian accent faint but noticeable. He glanced around the room acknowledging the men gathered at the table with a slight nod. "It's good to see loyalty still means something in this business." Why would he say something like that, like the people in this room had necessarily a choice not to be here?

The smile faded as quickly as it appeared. His eyes found Edward and Emmett, sharp and cold now, like flipping a switch.

"The Feds have been circling the docks for weeks," Caius continued, his tone shifting to something clipped and precise. "Someone's been whispering about our routes. We've shut a few mouths, but the attention hasn't gone away."

Marcus spoke next, his voice calm and deliberate. Where Caius dressed like he wanted to be seen, Marcus was the opposite—dark, understated suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back neatly, but there was nothing polished about the way he watched people. His dark brown eyes were sharp, and unblinking, as if he saw through more than just appearances.

"We've had to reroute to a private pier in Staten Island," Marcus said, his fingers steepled in front of him. "It's a risk, but it's the cleanest option we have right now."

Caius leaned forward, pulling a stack of papers across the table: blueprints of the pier, maps dotted with red markers, and surveillance photos were spread out like puzzle pieces.

"This is where you come in," Caius said, tapping the documents with two fingers. A sleek watch glinted on his wrist. "Two teams. One will manage security at the docks. We need eyes everywhere, no one sees, no one hears. The other will handle transport." His gaze flicked to Edward. "That's you."

Edward's eyes dropped to the blueprints, scanning the layout with practiced precision. Entry points marked with red Xs. Camera placements circled in black ink. Blind spots highlighted in yellow. Another map showed routes leading from the pier to a safe house upstate, the paths spiderwebbed with notations about traffic flow, police presence, and risk points.

But it was the photos that made his stomach tighten. Faces scattered among the maps—some blurry, some faces. FBI agents. He exchanged a brief glance with Emmett. Just a flicker. But it was enough. They knew. And now they had to pretend they didn't.

Charlie's voice broke the tension like a blade. "Masen. Will." His eyes locked on them, sharp and unreadable. "You'll be on transport. You'll work with James and Victoria to ensure the shipment gets where it needs to go. Two convoys. Separate routes. We're splitting the load to minimize risk."

"And if something goes wrong?" Emmett asked, his voice steady, just the right edge of professional curiosity without tipping into hesitation.

Marcus answered before anyone else could. "It won't," he said simply, like that was the end of the conversation. But after a beat, he added, "If it does… you'll handle it. Quietly. No trails. No questions."

Caius chuckled softly, the sound like broken glass under velvet. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his other hand tracing the rim of his glass. His gaze slid to Edward, sharp enough to cut.

"Think you can handle it?" he asked, his voice smooth, but there was an edge beneath it, a challenge hidden under the charm.

Edward met his gaze without flinching, though he could feel the tension coiling beneath his skin. "Absolutely."

Caius's smile returned, thin and cold. "Good."

Charlie's voice cut through again, final and firm. "This shipment isn't just about the money. It's about sending a message." His fingers tapped lightly against the wood, rhythmic and deliberate. "If anyone so much as whispers about it, they'll regret it."

He stood slowly, straightening his suit jacket with a subtle pull at the cuffs. "You've proven yourselves so far," he added, his gaze lingering on Edward for a second longer than necessary. "Don't make me regret bringing you into this."

The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.

As the meeting adjourned, the room began to empty. Most of the lieutenants filed out quickly, murmuring among themselves. Simon was leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed, watching Edward and Emmett with a faint smirk.

Charlie stood, walking around the table to where Edward and Emmett were rising from their seats. He extended his hand again, this time holding Edward's gaze a beat longer.

"You've done good work," Charlie said. "That warehouse job, the shipment last month, you've proven you're not just here to take up space. That matters to me."

Edward shook his hand firmly, keeping his expression steady. "We appreciate the opportunity, boss. We're here to make sure things run smoothly."

Behind Charlie, Caius and Marcus exchanged a brief look. It was subtle, but Edward caught it. Caius's lips curled into a faint smirk, while Marcus's expression remained unreadable. They were watching, weighing, waiting. Charlie released Edward's hand and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Keep this up, and there's no telling how far you'll go. But don't forget, trust is earned, not given."

"Understood, sir," Edward said, his voice even.

Charlie nodded, then turned to Emmett with a similar gesture. "And you, keep your brother in line. I've got a feeling about you two. Don't make me regret it."

Emmett grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As Edward and Emmett walked toward the elevator, the sharp click of their footsteps echoed against the polished marble floor. The heavy doors at their backs began to close, sealing them off from the tension-filled room but not fast enough to block out the low murmur of the boss' voice.

Edward's ears caught the shift in tone before the words even registered—a softness that didn't belong to the man who had commanded the table like a king overseeing his court. He glanced over his shoulder.

Charlie stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the city's lights. The phone was pressed to his ear, his stance relaxed, almost casual; an unfamiliar contrast to the controlled, calculating figure Edward had faced moments ago.

"Mia Bella," Charlie said, his voice quieter now, smooth and warm in a way that didn't fit the man who'd just issued threats like they were small talk. "Yeah, I was with your uncles." There was a pause, then a faint chuckle.

"I know, sweetheart. I miss you too. I'll see you soon. I will look into it for you"

Edward forced himself to look away. The switch it is demeanor was strange. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing them inside the mirrored box.

"Interesting call," Emmett muttered, his voice low, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Edward didn't respond right away. The woman whose voice could soften a man like Charlie Swan, whose absence could draw warmth from someone. He wanted to meet her.

Finally, he spoke, "We've got work to do."

The elevator began its slow descent, but Edward's heart was still somewhere on that top floor—caught between what he'd seen, what he felt, and everything he wasn't supposed to want.

And that is the end of this chapter. What are your impressions? your thoughts? your expectations Feed me with Reviews ;)