Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

49. Lula

49

LULA

“ I bet he didn’t see that one coming,” Jacklyn gasps, stabbing her fork into her plate as we sit around the table the next night. The conversation is inevitable—Kadri’s downfall, the way it all unraveled faster than any of us expected.

I flick a cautious glance at Kanyan. The tension rolls off him in waves, his jaw clenched so tight I half expect his teeth to crack. He wanted blood. Instead, Kadri got a first-class ride to a federal prison cell. For Kanyan, that’s no real punishment. A cage isn’t suffering—it’s just another kind of escape. Kadri should be rotting six feet under, not sitting in an air-conditioned holding cell with three meals a day.

I don’t know how long it’ll take Kanyan to let go of his anger. Maybe he never will. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

Lucky sits stiffly, guilt written all over his face. He shouldn’t feel responsible, but I know he does. The truth is, he got us to the right people—the ones who made this takedown possible. But when it looked like Kadri was slipping through our fingers, ready to disappear into some godforsaken paradise, the FBI didn’t wait. They took him down before we could, choosing intel over vengeance.

“The thing about men like Kadri,” Kanyan murmurs, his voice razor-sharp, “is they never see what’s coming. Even when it’s staring them in the face.”

Silence grips the table. The weight of his words settles over us like a storm cloud.

This isn’t over.

Not for Kanyan.

For him, the best is yet to come.

The scrape of Kanyan’s chair against the hardwood shatters the quiet. He pushes back from the table, his movements slow, deliberate. Every muscle in his body looks coiled tight, ready to spring.

“I need air,” he mutters, but we all know better.

Jacklyn opens her mouth—maybe to tell him to let it go, maybe to tell him she understands—but she thinks better of it. Kanyan doesn’t want comfort. He wants justice, and in his world, justice doesn’t come wrapped in a prison sentence.

Lucky shifts in his seat, hands clasped together, his jaw locked like he’s biting back words. He catches my eye, something unspoken passing between us. We should let him go. Let him walk it off. But we both know he isn’t just going to cool down.

Kanyan doesn’t let things cool. He burns them down.

I rise before I can talk myself out of it. “I’ll go.”

Jacklyn gives me a look—half warning, half resignation. “Be careful.”

I nod and follow him out, stepping into the night air. The wind bites at my skin, the scent of rain thick in the air. Kanyan stands at the edge of the balcony, hands braced against the railing, shoulders rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I say quietly.

His hands tighten around the metal. “Kadri didn’t pay for touching you.”

“He’s behind bars.”

“That’s not payment. That’s protection.”

I step closer, searching his face. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but I can feel the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“What are you planning?”

He exhales through his nose, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips. “You already know.”

My stomach knots. I do know. And that’s what terrifies me the most. Kanyan won’t let this go until Kadri is six feet under, until the last piece of this war is buried in the ground with him. And I don’t know what that means for us. I don’t want to live in the shadow of the past, drowning in the weight of unfinished vengeance. I want to believe Kadri’s imprisonment is enough. That steel bars and armed guards will keep him away, keep us safe.

But Kanyan doesn’t believe that. And if I’m being honest, deep down, neither do I.

“You have to let this go, Kanyan.” My voice is barely a whisper, but in the heavy silence of the room, it lands like a gunshot.

He shakes his head, jaw flexing. “He’s going to find out that even behind concrete walls and steel bars, he’ll never be safe from me.”

The certainty in his voice chills me. It’s not bluster. It’s not an empty threat. Kanyan doesn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep, and this one is carved in stone. My chest tightens.

“Kanyan… where does that leave us?” I reach for his hand, gripping it tightly, willing him to hear me. “I can’t live a life that’s twisted around fragments of what happened. We need to move on.”

He exhales sharply, then moves into me, his arm strong around my waist as he pulls me against him. His lips press against the top of my head, lingering. It’s a gesture meant to soothe, to comfort. But the tension in his body tells me otherwise.

“Let’s go home, baby,” he murmurs.

I nod against him, but dread slithers through me. This isn’t surrender. It’s a distraction. A momentary pause in a war he still plans to finish.

The ride home is quiet, thick with unspoken words. Kanyan’s grip tightens around the steering wheel, knuckles white, eyes locked on the road like he’s already ten steps ahead.

When we step inside, the house is dark, the city lights bleeding through the curtains. I slip out of my shoes, but Kanyan doesn’t move. He stands at the window, hands braced against the frame, staring into the night as if waiting for something to show itself.

Or someone.

“Kanyan.” My voice is soft, but he doesn’t turn.

I step closer, placing a hand on his back. His muscles are tight beneath my touch, his breath steady but deep. He’s thinking. Calculating. Planning.

I swallow hard. “What are you going to do?”

He finally looks at me, and what I see in his eyes makes my stomach drop. There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just cold, unwavering resolve.

“What I have to.”

Fear prickles at my spine. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Kanyan De Scarzi has already decided how this story ends.