LOGINEden’s POVThe silver ring felt heavy on my finger—a cold, physical reminder of the man I’d ended and the king who had crowned me on a leather-topped table. I walked into the sunroom, the morning light cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows with a sharpness that made my head ache.The table was set. The smell of black coffee, thick-cut bacon, and expensive cigars filled the air. They were all there. Daddy sat at the head, his face a mask of calm satisfaction. Luca looked tired but proud, his arm in a fresh sling. Felixwas scrolling through a tablet, a smirk playing on his lips as he read the morning’s damage reports. But it was Silas and Daniel I noticed most. They weren't eating. They were watching the door.I took my seat at the opposite end of the table. As I reached for the coffee carafe, the sunlight caught the Moretti ring.The room went silent.Silas’s eyes locked onto the silver band. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording like steel cables. Daniel didn't say
Eden’s POVThe bed was still warm with Luca’s scent, but the room was too quiet. Luca was out cold, his arm draped across the space where I’d been lying just moments before. I stood by the window, wrapped in a dark robe, looking out at the sprawling grounds of the mansion. The victory feast felt like a lifetime ago. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a cold, sharp hunger that sleep couldn't fix.A soft knock at the door made me turn. It wasn't one of the brothers. It was a man I recognized from the security detail."He’s waiting for you in the library," the man said, his voice low.He didn't have to say who. There was only one person who summoned at four in the morning.I walked through the darkened hallways, the silk of my robe whispering against my legs. The house felt different tonight. The air was charged, heavy with the aftermath of the Bronx and the knowledge that the world outside was smaller now. I reached the double oak doors of the library and pushed them open.Daddy w
Luca’s POVThe adrenaline from the Bronx was still humming under my skin like a live wire. My knuckles were bruised, my shirt was ruined, and the smell of the city—smoke, rain, and old blood—was clinging to me. We’d had the feast Grandpa ordered, a heavy, silent meal of red meat and expensive wine, but I couldn't taste any of it. My eyes were fixed on the girl at the end of the table.Eden. She’d sat there with Moretti’s blood practically still under her fingernails, wearing that gold crest like it had grown there. She didn't look like a victim anymore. She looked like the eye of the storm.When she excused herself to go upstairs, I waited exactly three minutes before I pushed back my chair and followed. None of my brothers stopped me. They knew. We were all vibrating with the same dark energy, but I was the one who reached the stairs first.I didn't knock. I walked into the master suite and heard the hiss of the shower behind the frosted glass. I stripped my clothes off in the middle
Silas’s POVThe drive to the Bronx was a straight shot of pure, directed violence. We didn't use the SUVs this time; we used three blacked-out vans that looked like utility vehicles. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of gun oil and the heavy breathing of twelve men who lived for this.I sat in the back, my hands steady as I checked the action on my tactical shotgun. Beside me, Father sat with Eden. He had his arm around her, pulling her into his side. She was wearing a heavy tactical jacket over her dress, the gold Schmidt crest tucked beneath the zipper. She looked like a ghost—pale, silent, and deadly."The club is called La Fortezza," I said, looking at the tablet in my lap. "Two exits. One in the front, one in the service alley. Moretti is in the basement office. He thinks the reinforced concrete and the twenty men upstairs will keep him safe.""He thinks like an old man," Father said, his voice a low, vibrating chord. "He thinks walls matter. Daniel, what’s the status of t
Daniel’s POVThe drive back to Manhattan was a high-speed blur of rain and flashing sirens that we ignored. The SUV was silent, but the air inside was thick with the copper tang of blood and the sharp scent of burnt powder. Eden sat between Silas and me, her hands folded in her lap. She wasn't shaking anymore. That was the most terrifying part. She was staring at her knuckles, watching the dried blood flake off like red paint."Moretti is bold," Silas said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to shake the frame of the car. "To hit the estate directly... he’s not looking for a payout. He’s looking for a message.""He sent his retrieval team," I said, checking my phone as the reports from our security detail started flooding in. "He didn't want her dead. He wanted her as a crown jewel for his own table. He thinks because Klaus is gone, there’s a vacuum in the Schmidt hierarchy."Father didn't look back from the front seat. He was staring straight ahead, his profile as hard as the skys
Eden’s POVThe silence of the estate at 3:00 AM was usually a comfort. It was the sound of money and security, a thick, velvet blanket that told me nothing could touch me. But tonight, the silence felt thin. It felt like paper about to rip.I was in the kitchen, unable to sleep. My shoulder still ached from the kickback of the pistol Silas had forced into my hand earlier today. I was standing by the industrial fridge, the cold light spilling onto the floor, when the house suddenly groaned. It wasn't the wind. It was the sound of the power cutting out—the low hum of the climate control dying a sudden, violent death.The backup generators didn't kick in. That was the first sign that this wasn't an accident."Eden."I jumped, nearly dropping my glass. Luca was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight streaming through the high windows. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked younger in the dark, but the way he was holding his
Eden’s POVThe warehouse smelled of wet concrete and ozone, a damp, heavy cold that seeped into my bones through the tears in my dress. I was zip-tied to a rusted pipeshaft in a corner of the basement, my jaw aching from where the man with the scarred throat had backhanded me 18 hours ago.His name
Daniel’s POVThe file on Deacon Arthur Vance made my fucking skin crawl. It wasn't just the abuse; it was the meticulous, holy-rolling theater he used to cloak it. This prick didn't just break children; he did it in the name of a god he didn't believe in, using a pulpit as a hunting blind.He was t
Daniel’s POVThe basement of the old warehouse on the outskirts of the city was a far cry from the refined, leather-scented dungeon of my estate. This place was raw. It smelled of damp concrete, rusted iron, and the pervasive, cloying scent of fear. I had chosen it for its lack of history, a blank
Luca’s POVThe penthouse of the Grand Regency felt like a gilded cage. It was the kind of place my father sent people when he wanted them out of his sight but still under his thumb. As I stood in the foyer, the scent of expensive lilies and stale gin hit me, a fragrance that had become Lilian’s sig







