Archie
When we arrived at Raze’s house, the front gates were already open. Men lined the courtyard. Armed and alert. The villa itself loomed ahead like a fortress, all stone and shadow and old family violence.
The moment the car stopped, the atmosphere changed. You could feel bloodlines in places like this. Feel old loyalties in the walls.
Raze met us at the entrance before the driver had even fully rounded the car.
He went straight to Tone first, hands gripping her shoulders, eyes raking over her like he needed to see for himself that she was whole. His jaw was set so tight it looked painful.
She tolerated it for exactly three seconds.
Then she peeled his hands off her and said, “I’m fine.”
“You were followed across half the goddamned city.”
“And yet here I am.”
His eyes flashed.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is nothing.”
Tone lifted her chin.
“I’m not acting. It is nothing.”
There it was. That edge. Her fire.
That refusal to bend, even when she should.
She didn’t shrink or fall apart. Instead, she straightened and let the situation adjust to her—not the other way around.
Raze stared at her, fury sitting just beneath the surface.
And she held his gaze. Matched it. Unapologetic. Unmoved. Impossible.
Raze turned away from her before he said something he’d regret, dragging a hand through his hair as Atlas stepped out from the hall behind him. Gianni was there too, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
We all moved into one of the larger sitting rooms for the meeting.
No one bothered pretending this was anything but what it was.
A war council.
Sunlight cut through the tall windows, but it did little to soften the mood. Tone stood near one end of the room rather than sitting, arms folded tight across her chest. I took up position slightly behind and to the left of her without thinking about it.
Close enough that Raze noticed. His eyes flicked between us once but he said nothing before he turned his attention to Atlas.
Atlas leaned forward, both hands braced on the table. Grounded. Controlled. The kind of control that didn’t slip, no matter what was said across from him.
“By now,” he said, voice even, “you all know an unexpected situation has arisen. It’s not something we can afford to dismiss.”
Tone stepped forward like she meant to interrupt—then checked herself.
Her mouth didn’t.
“You’re making this bigger than it is,” she said, directing her words straight at him.
Atlas didn’t react or let her affect him. And just as quickly as his gaze fluttered over her, he dismissed her argument.
“You think so?” Marcello cut in, stepping into the room, hands tucked into his pockets like he was walking into a casual conversation. “Because from where I’m standing, you had two armed men tracking you last night.”
Tone didn’t look at him when she spoke.
“I handled it.”
“Did you?” Marcello’s tone sharpened slightly. “Because I know you didn’t kill those men and dispose of the bodies on your own.”
Marcello didn’t dress it up. He laid it out the way it was—clean, blunt, leaving no room for her to twist the situation into something it wasn’t.
“The only reason Machado didn’t try anything here at the villa was because he knew this is our territory and all hell would rain down on him if he attacked a Cavalho stronghold.”
Raze’s cousin spoke calmly, but I heard the warning in his tone.
Machado had shown restraint because he wasn’t stupid, not because he was harmless.
“But,” I cut in, my voice louder than I meant it to be, “he was desperate enough to send men from Spain to get to her. Now they’re dead, he’s lost that leverage—so he needs a new plan. He’s going to escalate.”
Silence dropped.
Raze’s attention slid to Tone. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
“How the fuck,” he said, each word tight, “did you get involved with someone like that?”
His voice cracked through the room.
She didn’t flinch. She met it straight on—chin up, gaze steady in that same cool, infuriating way that had every protective instinct in me sharpening.
“I didn’t,” she said, even.
“The man is crossing borders for you.”
“And that’s somehow my fault?”
“You didn’t think to say anything?”
The room tightened around Raze’s question.
Tone straightened, shoulders back, jaw set—but her eyes never left his.
“Say what, exactly?” she shot back. “He’s the reason I left Spain. The reason I came home. How was I supposed to know the man was unhinged?”
Even Raze faltered for a second.
“What happened with Machado?” Atlas asked. “All of it, Tone.”
She didn’t look at any of us. Her gaze fixed somewhere past the wall.
“He started pursuing me while I was there. At first—dinners, gifts, invitations I never accepted. Then it escalated. Flowers sent to places I hadn’t given him.
Cars outside my apartment. Men watching.
” Her mouth flattened. “He thought he could charm me with his persistence. Instead, I just found him creepy.”
Raze swore under his breath.
Gianni pushed off the wall, attention sharpening.
Tone didn’t react as she kept going.
“That’s why I left early and came home before I was meant to. I thought distance would end it.”
“It didn’t,” I said.
Her eyes met mine.
No—it hadn’t.
Raze moved then, a step forward, anger rolling off him in clean, controlled waves.
“How the fuck did you not tell me this?”
His voice rose. Rougher now.
Tone didn’t give him an inch.
“I handled it.”
“No,” he snapped. “You buried it. You lied.”
Another step.
I moved before I thought about it—cutting in, placing myself directly in his path.
The room tightened.
Raze’s focus snapped to me, his anger shifting without losing any of its edge.
“Move.”
“No.”
Flat. Final.
His nostrils flared.
“Archie—”
“Don’t.” My voice stayed low. Steady. “Don’t say something you can’t take back, Raze. This isn’t on her.”
His jaw worked, tension sitting hard in his frame.
Behind me, Tone went still.
I could feel it—the heat of her anger, her pride, the way she’d hate that I’d stepped in.
And still… she didn’t tell me to move.
“Archie’s right,” Gianni said.
That almost pulled my attention—but I kept my eyes on Raze as Gianni came to stand beside me. Close. Deliberate. Another body in the space between brother and sister.
Gianni didn’t like me. But he loved her more.
“Tone’s done nothing wrong,” he added.
Raze’s gaze flicked between us, disbelief cutting through his anger for a second—then it vanished, replaced by something darker.
“Don’t fucking tell me how to speak to my sister,” he snapped, his focus locking back onto me.
I didn’t move. He’d asked me to protect her. I would. Even if it meant standing in his way and protecting her from him.
“Shouting at her doesn’t change Machado’s plans,” I said, steady. “It doesn’t stop him. It just puts his mess on her.”
When I finally shifted, just enough to catch her in my peripheral, I found Tone watching me.
Not soft or grateful. She’d never give that away in a room like this. But there was something there—sharp, unguarded for a split second. Then it was gone.
Raze exhaled hard through his nose, like he was holding back the urge to smash something.
He dragged a hand down his face and stepped back.
“Fine.” The word came out rough. “Now we’ve got two problems.”
Machado. Reaching for Tone.
Vilevski. The contract on my head and his plans to eliminate Atlas.
The room shifted—anger snapping into focus.
Atlas straightened. “Vilevski is the priority. As long as Tone’s covered, we contain Machado until Vilevski is handled. Archie’s contract gets cleared first. But no-one lets Tone out of their sight.”
Tone’s gaze cut to me. Sharp. Measuring. She missed nothing.
I wondered how much she was piecing together—contracts, power, violence spoken about like routine. Probably more than we thought.
Raze looked at me then. The warning was still there—clear as ever. One wrong move with his sister, and I’d disappear.
But there was something else now.
Recognition. Of what I’d done. And what I’d do to keep her safe from harm’s way.
“I want her covered at all times,” he said. “No one moves alone. No loose routes. No unscheduled stops. She doesn’t go anywhere without eyes on her.”
“I’m right here,” Tone said flatly, waving a hand.
No one answered. That almost made me smile. She looked like she wanted to tear the room apart.
I was glad that her fire was still there.
“I’ll take her,” I said.
My offer landed before anyone else could speak.
Every head turned. Hers included.
I didn’t look at her.
“If Machado’s fixated, he’ll adjust when he realizes his men are gone. He escalates—or he shifts.”
It was common sense, but it wasn’t the truth. That was much simpler.
I wanted her where I could see her. I wanted anything that came for her to come through me first. I wanted Machado to understand—fast—that obsession cuts both ways.
And mine? Mine doesn’t stop.
Any man who steps between me and Antonella Cavalho will learn very quickly who I am.