Claws And Cartels Chapter 3

Title: Blood And Bond

Levin's POV

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I sat there staring at the door as if it might speak back, lost inside the noise of my own thoughts. Debby used to be the one I turned to when my mind grew heavy. After dinner, when the world slowed, she would sit beside me—not speaking much, just listening. She wasn’t the best at pep talks, but her quiet presence always worked. She knew the rhythm of my storm: when I began to ramble, leaping between thoughts and reality, she knew I’d reached my breaking point. Then she would pull me into her arms, lay my head against her chest, and cover my face with kisses until a reluctant smile found me.

Now, that comfort was only a memory—fifteen years distant, cruel in its sweetness.

“Boss.”

“Boss.”

Brad’s voice jolted me back. His hand tapped my shoulder twice, the way he always did when I drifted too far.

“You’re lost in thought again.”

I blinked, the sanctuary returning around me—the glowing wolf symbol on the door, the photos of our lost comrades on the wall, the smell of freshly cleaned leather chairs. My safe place. My prison.

“Brad, a man has to think to be great,” I shot back, forcing a grin.

Brad smirked, leaning against a workbench, arms folded. “A wise man once told me, ‘Your thoughts won’t change your life, but your actions will.’ You used to believe that.”

His words hit harder than he intended. I turned the glass in my hand, watching the amber swirl. “Fifteen years, Brad. I built this to forget her. Every brick, every drop of sweat was meant to bury the ghost she left behind. Now she’s back, looking at me like I’m the devil who stole her life.”

The whiskey burned my throat as I downed it. Her face wouldn’t leave me—the coldness in her stare, the way her voice hardened when she called my name. Wolves don’t need words for resentment. She hated me. And yet, the thought of her being close enough to touch, yet unreachable, was drowning me.

“And Jerry,” I whispered, the words tasting like guilt. “He’s got my fire, and her curiosity. That mix is going to be a lot to handle. Damon thinks Jerry has the bloodstone, and I need to know why. Look into it.”

Brad’s smirk faded. “Talk to her, Levin. You loved her harder than you admit. Maybe you still do. You either clear the air or suffocate. Your choice.”

I winced as the whiskey scorched its way down my throat. His words cut deeper than the drink. “Lock this room down,” I ordered, voice hoarse. “No more kids sneaking in.”

Jerry’s intrusion… it doesn’t sit right with me. How the hell did he get past my guards?

Brad gave a slow nod, though his eyes lingered on me with a weight I didn’t want to bear.

When he left, I found myself wandering the hallway. Debby’s room was close—too close. I could smell her through the door: lavender, fear, and bitterness. Bitterness she’d preserved for me. The smell of lavender dragged me back to nights when she slept on my chest, her breathing steady and safe.

My hand hovered an inch from her door. All I had to do was knock. I could walk in, sit across from her, and say the words I hadn’t said in fifteen years. I never stopped loving you.

But what if she turned away? What if she spat those memories back in my face?

I hesitated. The silence behind the door mocked me. In the end, cowardice won, and I turned to leave.

That was when a crash from Jerry's room sent my spirit flying out of my body—sharp and violent. Glass shattered. A scream followed.

“Jerry!” Debby’s voice filled the hallway, untamed, consumed by panic—the sound of a mother watching her world collapse.

I dashed for Jerry's room, heart pounding. Before I could knock, Debby was there, hammering her fists on Jerry’s door, her face pale with terror. The fear in her eyes shook me—it wasn’t fear of me, or of this mansion. It was fierce, predatory: the fear of losing a child.

I shoved the door open, and the sight inside froze me.

Jerry was sprawled on a sea of mirror shards, his body trembling. His eyes glowed faint red, flickering in and out like dying flames. His claws barely out but scratching deep into the wooden floor. Low-pitched growls rumbled from his chest, making even my wolf shiver.

What’s this fear I feel? Why am I trembling at the presence of my own son?

Debby was on the ground beside him, arms locked around his shoulders. She was trembling, desperate, whispering efforts of resuscitation, “You’re safe, you’re with Mommy. I’ve got you.” Tears streamed down her face as she cradled him.

But Jerry wasn’t small anymore—his strength pushed against her grip, his trembling body threatening to throw her off.

“Jerry,” I called out, stepping closer. “Look at me.”

His head lifted slowly, and I looked at him with my wolf’s eyes: red, a sign he wasn’t alone. “Jerry! Breathe…”

The room smelled of blood and fear. My wolf stirred. This wasn’t random—it was a shift. What triggered it?

I stepped forward, my voice low, steady. “Let me help him.”

Debby’s head snapped up. Anger, fear, and defiance filled the air.

“No, no one is helping my son until someone tells me what’s going on.”

“Debby, this isn’t about you,” I said, forcing calm into my tone though my chest ached. “Can’t you see the boy is suffering? He needs help. Let me help him.”

Her hand tightened on Jerry as if I were the enemy. “Nobody touches my son until I know what’s wrong with him. Nobody.” Her voice cracked, but her resolve didn’t.

I crouched, extending my hand—not to her, but to Jerry. His eyes flickered between us, wild and frightened, as if caught between two worlds. My voice broke, softer than I intended. “Please. Let me help him.”

Debby didn’t waver. For a long, heavy moment, it was just two lovers staring at each other, wishing they could forget the pain and erase the scars. If only I love you could be said again—but all we had left to give was rage.

Finally, she said: “Fine. But we do this my way. You tell me everything. No more secrets. If you want to help my son, you don’t get to keep me in the dark anymore.”

I wanted to argue, to remind her she left me, abandoned me when I needed her most. And now she’s back, thinking she can walk her way back into my empire. What does she mean no more secrets? My way? She must be joking. This world revolves around me. Things will be done only one way: my way.

But deep down I knew she was right. Right now, nothing else mattered more than helping my son.

I closed in on Debby with a low-pitched growl. Maybe fear would loosen her grip—she was terrified of rats and cockroaches, surely my wolf would be enough.

But Jerry’s response caught me off guard. His body stiffened, his wolf surged. He launched toward me with unusual strength, far larger than a boy his age should command. He dived at me in a split-second blur.

Instinct and years of mafia fights had sharpened my reflexes. My shifted hands rose, claws flashing toward his face.

Debby’s scream cut through the air, shattering the moment.

“Jerry!”

And for a heartbeat, just before his claws met mine, I saw it in his eyes—

Jerry wasn’t looking at me as his father.

He was looking at me as prey.