14. Kanyan
14
KANYAN
“ K anyan! Oh my God, Kanyan!”
The voice pulls me from the darkness like a rope thrown into a pit. Lula’s voice. She’s shaking me, her hands frantic and trembling. My eyes flutter open, and the faint outline of her face swims into view.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, the cold tile pressing into my back and the air smelling faintly of disinfectant and blood. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been buried under the weight of exhaustion and pain. I must’ve passed out.
Pathetic. That’s the only word for it. I’ve survived worse, endured more, and now here I am, sprawled out on my own damn floor, bleeding like some rookie.
Her hands are all over me, frantically searching for the source of the blood. I wince as her fingers brush against my shoulder, the pain shooting through me like a live wire.
“Stop,” I grunt, but she’s too panicked to hear me.
Her fingers skim across my chest, and I see her hesitate, her eyes freezing for just a moment as they take in my bare chest. But then she’s moving again, toucher my shoulder with trembling hands.
“There’s a first-aid kit under the sink in the kitchen,” I manage to say, my voice rough and strained.
“You need a doctor!” she gasps, her eyes wide, filled with fear.
I shake my head, trying to sit up, but the movement sends a sharp stab of pain through my shoulder. My back presses against the wall, and I lean into it, using it to hold myself up.
“Doctor’s already on the way,” I tell her. Mason will have called one as he hung up after our phone call. He knows how this works. “Just grab the kit and clean it up so he can patch me up when he gets here.”
Lula hesitates, her hands hovering over me like she doesn’t know what to do. She’s terrified, her face pale, and I can’t tell if it’s the blood or the situation that’s throwing her.
“What happened?” she whispers, finally reaching for the swabs from the kit. She dabs at the blood on my shoulder, her touch gentler now but still shaky. The alcohol stings like hell, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Work happened,” I say, keeping my voice flat. No way am I giving her more details. She’s already too close to something she doesn’t understand.
Her eyes dart to mine, wide and questioning. “I didn’t know the security business was this dangerous.”
I can’t help but scoff. If she hasn’t pieced it together by now, I’m not going to spell it out for her. Security is the convenient little cover story she let herself believe the moment she met me. In a way, she’s not far off. But Lula… she’s smart. She’s already seen the cracks in my story. Still, if she knew the truth, she’d probably run for the hills—and for some reason, I can’t stomach the thought of that.
The arrival of the elevator breaks the tension. My head snaps toward the sound, and I relax slightly. Mason. He’s here, which means the doctor isn’t far behind.
The elevator door slides open, and Mason steps out, his face grim but focused. He takes one look at me, sprawled on the floor with blood smeared across my chest, and shakes his head.
“You look like hell,” he mutters, stepping forward and hooking his arms under mine. “Come on.”
The movement sends a fresh wave of pain through my shoulder, but I grit my teeth and let him haul me to my feet. Lula’s watching from the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, her face pale and tight with worry.
Mason guides me to the couch in the living room, and I sink into it with a groan. The doctor follows behind him, a small bag in hand, and immediately gets to work.
“I’ve got Jayson and Rafi working the shooting,” Mason says as the doctor examines my wound.
The bullet went clean through, leaving a raw, gaping hole that throbs with every beat of my heart. It’s not life-threatening, but it’s messy. The doctor presses a numbing agent into the wound, and I clench my jaw against the sting.
“You notify Scar?” I ask, my voice tight.
Mason hesitates, and that single pause sets my nerves on edge. His eyes flick to Lula, then back to me.
“I notified Scar,” he says finally. “Scar notified Seattle. And Seattle’s not happy.”
I let out a sharp breath, my patience wearing thin. “It was an unfortunate incident.”
“They don’t see it that way.” Mason leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “They don’t take too kindly to one of their own being shot at. You know that.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, even though my shoulder feels like it’s on fire.
“Well, I hope you’re ready for more questions,” Mason says, his tone heavy with warning. “Seattle’s on a plane. They’ll be here by midday.”
“ Fuck .” The word slips out before I can stop it.
Lula shifts in the corner, her arms tightening around herself as she watches me. Her concern is palpable, but her presence only adds to the tension coiling in my chest. What if something had happened to me and she’d been left to fend for herself?
Could this day possibly get any worse? But with Seattle coming, I know one thing for sure: a war is coming, and it’s going to get damn ugly.
There’s a hierarchy to everything. Always has been.
Once, I was just an enforcer, a hired gun with no strings and no obligations. If someone needed a problem solved, I was the man to call. No questions, no hesitation. That kind of work makes you invaluable to the right people—if you survive long enough to prove yourself.
I survived. More than that, I thrived. I saved the lives of the Gatti brothers too many times to count, and they started to notice. Seattle noticed, too—Dante Accardi, the man at the top of the entire operation. The Don of all Dons. He’s not flashy, not loud, but you can feel his power the moment he enters a room. He doesn’t waste words nor time.
I never expected him to put a bullet in Victor Moreno’s head and then point at me in front of all the other families. “Heir apparent,” he called me. Me—head of the Moreno family.
I asked for a chair at the table. I didn’t ask for a throne. But here I am, leading one of the five families that own this city, answering to the Gattis, and ultimately to Seattle.
When I step into the war room today, my shoulder feels like it’s on fire. The bullet wound hasn’t healed, but I’ve learned to live with pain. Dante insisted on heavy security escorting me, which feels as much like a warning as a precaution. My brothers greet me with one-armed hugs, careful not to jostle my injury.
The room is packed. Dante’s usual crew is here—Attila, The Jekyll—and the Gatti brothers are all present. Caleph couldn’t make it, but he sent his regards. Lucky, the third Gatti brother, stands off to the side. Today, instead of his signature smirk, his face is set in a hard line, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Everyone in this room understands the seriousness of a family head getting shot. This could escalate and who knows who’ll be next; it’s something we want to avoid at all costs.
Dante takes his seat at the head of the table, his presence pulling everyone’s attention like gravity. His voice is calm but carries an edge as he opens the meeting.
“I didn’t think I’d have to come back to the city so soon,” he says, his dark eyes sweeping over us.
I know exactly what he’s referring to. The last time he was here, the city was in chaos. Daniel Russo tried to take down the Vicci family, and it was all-out anarchy. We cleaned house—or so we thought.
“The city missed your presence too much,” Lucky quips, his smirk back again.
Dante chuckles, but it’s a cold sound. He stands and starts pacing the room, his hands in his pockets.
“The fact that a family head was shot at so soon after that business with Jacklyn Vicci tells me one thing,” Dante says, his voice low and measured. “We weren’t thorough enough when we cleansed the city.”
Scar leans forward, his elbows on the table. “A lot of bugs are coming out of the woodwork. The city’s infested. And let’s be real—not everyone was happy with the way the families were divided after Victor Moreno’s fall.”
“They never had a chair to begin with,” Attila interjects, his tone sharp. “If the whiners keep making noise, we’ll have to silence them—and it won’t be pretty.”
Dante stops pacing and turns to The Jekyll, the youngest and sharpest of his trusted team. His piercing gaze settles on him. “What have you got for us?”
The Jekyll doesn’t miss a beat. “The Albanians.”
The single declaration hangs in the air like a storm cloud.
“They’re ambitious,” The Jekyll continues, his voice steady. “They’re making moves all across the city, trying to grab power wherever they can. Moreno was in deep with them. I don’t know what he promised them, but they don’t give up what they’ve been promised.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My thoughts flick to Lula, unbidden. It’s the same story. Derin refuses to let her go, no matter how many times her debts have been repaid.
I lean forward, my eyes fixed on The Jekyll. “So you’re saying even if a debt is repaid, like the offer I made Altin Kadri, it’s not enough? That he’ll still want whatever he was promised in the first place?”
The Jekyll nods. “Exactly. These guys don’t care about the money. Once a promise is made, they see it as theirs. They won’t stop until they get it.”
I sink back into my chair, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
This is what Lula’s been so afraid of. She knew—probably better than I did—that Derin would never let her go. Not unless one of them ended up in a body bag.
And now, it’s clear to me. Altin Kadri and the Albanians are cut from the same cloth. Promises, debts, grudges—they don’t forget. They don’t let go.
Dante’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We’ll deal with the Albanians. But make no mistake—this isn’t just their ambition. This is our failure to control our city. It’s a problem, and problems don’t solve themselves.”
He fixes me with a pointed look, and I know exactly what he’s saying.
I’ve been given a throne, but thrones come with responsibilities. If I can’t keep my house in order, someone else will. And they won’t be nearly as forgiving.