Owned By The Don
“We follow it.”
Raven’s hand slipped into his, a sign of solidarity. The world outside might still burn, but here, among the smoke and velvet, they’d drawn their line.
Jaxon looked at Raven, then at the men who’d survived. “Eden stands,” he said.
And somewhere, in the distance beyond the storm, Evelyn Morreau smiled, because she’d seen exactly what she wanted: not defeat, but the birth of something monstrous.
The music had died hours ago. What remained of Club Eden was a hollow echo, champagne stains on marble, glass glittering like shrapnel, velvet curtains torn from the walls. The lights still burned low, the red wash of them turning smoke into blood-colored haze.
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