All Chapters of Forged In Fire: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

JAMESONShe was still trembling when I finally answered her. "I want the truth. Whatever it is. You don't have to perform strength for me."Cat didn't say anything else that night. She just let me hold her until her breathing evened out, until the tremors stopped, until sleep finally took her under.I didn't sleep at all.By six the next morning, I was in the war room with Declan spreading printouts across the table—rotation schedules, perimeter sensor upgrades, updated personnel assignments. Marco arrived twenty minutes later with three of Carmine's men trailing behind him, all carrying folders thick enough to double as doorstops."The Vitales are offering four additional soldiers for compound security," Marco said, dropping into a chair. "Carmine insists.""Tell him I appreciate it." I studied the rotation chart. "We need coverage on the east wing increased. That's closest to Cat's usual route to the gym.""About that." Declan cleared his throat. "I've drafted a revised protocol for

CATARINAThe cramp hit me at 6:14 in the morning.I know the exact time because I was already awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about paint colors like some kind of domesticated stranger wearing my skin. Then the pain rolled through my abdomen, sharp and low, and every thought about sage green versus butter yellow evaporated instantly.I went still. Assessed.Location: lower abdomen. Intensity: moderate. Duration: ongoing.Old training. Clinical distance. The same part of my brain that once catalogued exit routes and weapon placements now catalogued my own body like a threat report.Then I felt the warmth between my legs, and the training shattered completely.Blood.Not much. Just enough to make my hands shake as I sat up too fast, my heart slamming against my ribs.No. No, no, no.I pressed a hand to my stomach like I could hold every

JAMESONThe building smelled like fresh paint and possibility.I stood in the lobby of Connelly Holdings' new downtown headquarters, watching contractors put the final touches on the reception desk while Declan checked security feeds on his tablet. Eighteen weeks since we'd started this—the construction contracts, the restaurant group's corporate offices, the real estate division consolidating under one roof. Legitimate. Clean. Ours."Cameras are live on all floors," Declan said. "Panic room on six is stocked and ready. Not that we're expecting trouble.""Not expecting doesn't mean not preparing.""Old habits." He smiled slightly. "Marco says the Vitale side is quiet too. No chatter, no movement. It's been three weeks."Three weeks of nothing. Three weeks of actual peace.I still didn't quite trust it, but I was learning to let myself enjoy it anyway.Cat came down the hallwa

JAMESONThe warehouse inspection was supposed to take twenty minutes.We were finalizing paperwork for the Connelly-Vitale Logistics Group's newest distribution site—a legitimate deal, clean on paper, the kind of thing I'd spent two years building toward. Declan stood beside me, going over lease terms with the site manager while four of our men checked the perimeter out of habit more than necessity.That habit was the only reason any of us survived what came next."Boss." One of the perimeter men, Sully, came through the side door too fast, too quiet. "We've got company. Multiple vehicles, blocking both exits.""Whose?""Moretti crew. At least a dozen men."The Morettis. A mid-tier family that had been quietly absorbing territory since the Russians fell apart, testing how far they could push before anyone pushed back.They'd chosen well. The warehouse had one main entrance, one loading dock, and no clean line of sight to the street. We were boxed in before I'd even registered we were

JAMESONMarco had six men on the perimeter before we even pulled out of the hospital parking garage.I hadn't asked him to. I hadn't needed to. He'd simply looked at the car seat in the back of the SUV, then at me, and nodded once like we'd made an agreement neither of us needed to say out loud.My daughter was three days old, seven pounds and two ounces of pure, terrifying fragility, and every instinct I'd spent my whole life honing had rewired itself around one singular purpose: keep her breathing, keep her safe, kill anything that so much as looked at her wrong."You're gripping the wheel like it insulted you," Cat said from the passenger seat, exhausted but watchful, twisted around to keep her eyes on the car seat."I'm driving carefully.""You're driving like we're smuggling explosives.""We're smuggling something far more valuable."She smiled at that, soft and tired, and rea