Chapter 3

Levin’s POV

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“Boss, you’re staring at that door like it’s got answers,” Brad said, his voice cutting through the sanctuary’s quiet. He tapped my shoulder twice, his usual nudge to pull me back.

I blinked, the wolf symbol on the door glowing like a heartbeat. “Gotta think to stay on top, Brad,” I said, forcing a grin, my whiskey glass cold in my hand.

He leaned on the workbench, arms crossed, smirking. “You used to say actions beat thoughts. What’s got you stuck?”

His words hit like a punch. I swirled the whiskey, the amber catching the dim light. “Fifteen years, man. I built this place to forget Debby. Every brick, every drop of sweat was to bury her memory. Now she’s back, glaring at me like I’m the devil who wrecked her life.”

The whiskey burned my throat, sharp and bitter. Her face was stuck in my head—those cold eyes, her voice hard when she said my name. Wolves don’t need words to smell hate, and hers was heavy, like smoke I couldn’t shake. She was so close, just down the hall, but untouchable. It was tearing me apart, knowing I could reach out but never get her back. Those nights when she’d sit by me, not talking, just there—her quiet way of calming my storms—felt like a lifetime ago. She’d pull me close, my head on her chest, kissing my face till I smiled. That warmth was gone, a cruel memory after fifteen years.

“And Jerry,” I said, my voice low, guilt sour in my mouth. “He’s got my fire, her nosy streak. That’s gonna be trouble. Damon thinks he’s got the bloodstone, some cursed thing tied to our kind. Dig into it, Brad. I need to know why.”

Brad’s smirk faded, his eyes steady. “Talk to her, Levin. You loved her deep, maybe still do. Clear the air or you’ll choke on this.”

His words hurt more than the whiskey’s sting. I’d loved her so hard it broke me when she left. Building this empire—every wall, every deal—was to fill the hole she left. Now she was back, and I was drowning in her resentment. “Lock this room,” I growled, voice rough. “No kids sneaking in.” Jerry getting past my guards? That didn’t sit right. How’d a sixteen-year-old slip through my security?

Brad nodded, his look heavy, and walked out. I wandered the hall, my boots loud on the polished floor. Debby’s room was too close, her scent hitting me—lavender, fear, and bitterness she’d kept just for me. It pulled me back to nights when she’d sleep on my chest, her breath steady, her warmth my only peace. I stopped at her door, hand hovering. I could knock, spill the words I’d buried for fifteen years: I never stopped loving you. My heart pounded, the whiskey still burning in my gut. But what if she turned away? What if she threw those memories back, her eyes cold as ice? The silence mocked me, heavy and cruel. I turned to leave, cowardice winning, my chest tight with regret.

A crash from Jerry’s room hit like a gunshot—glass breaking, a scream ripping through. “Jerry!” Debby’s voice tore the air, raw with panic, like her world was falling apart.

I ran to his door, heart slamming. Debby was there, pounding the wood, face pale, eyes wild with fear—not of me, but of losing her kid. It shook me, seeing that fierce, mother’s terror.

I shoved the door open. Jerry lay in a mess of mirror shards, shaking, eyes flickering red like dying coals. His claws scratched the floor, growls rumbling low. My wolf flinched, a chill running through me. Why was I scared of my own son? His power, that raw strength, wasn’t normal for a kid his age.

Debby dropped beside him, arms tight around him, trembling. “You’re safe, baby,” she whispered, tears streaming, her voice desperate but strong.

Jerry’s strength pushed against her, not a kid anymore. “Jerry,” I said, stepping closer, my voice steady despite my fear. “Look at me.”

His head lifted, eyes wild, red like mine. “Breathe,” I said, my wolf’s eyes locked on his, searching for the boy inside.

The room stank of blood and fear, thick and heavy. My wolf stirred, pacing inside me. This was a shift—his curse waking up. What set it off? Something wasn’t right.

“Let me help him,” I said, keeping my voice low.

Debby’s eyes blazed, full of anger and defiance. “No one touches my son till I know what’s going on.”

“Debby, he’s hurting,” I said, my chest aching, her fear mirroring mine. “Let me help.”

“Nobody,” she snapped, voice cracking but firm, her grip like iron. I crouched, hand out to Jerry, softer than I meant. “Please.”

We stared, two lovers wishing we could erase the scars between us. The pain of fifteen years hung heavy, a wall we couldn’t break. I wanted to say I love you, but all we had was rage.

“Fine,” she said, voice tight. “My way. No secrets. If you want to help him, tell me everything.”

I wanted to snap—she’d walked out, left me broken, and now she thought she could demand my world? My rules run this place, always my way. But deep down, I knew she was right. Jerry was all that mattered now.

I growled low, testing her, remembering how she’d jump at talk of rats or roaches. My wolf should’ve rattled her.

Jerry moved first, his body stiffening, his wolf surging. He lunged, claws flashing, too strong for a kid. He moved in a blur, too fast.

Instinct kicked in—years of mafia fights sharpening my reflexes. My claws flashed up, ready to meet his.

Debby screamed, “Jerry!”

In that heartbeat, his eyes locked on mine—not as his father, but as prey.