Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Charlotte
“I’m coming too.” The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them, jolting me out of the daze I’ve been trapped in.
The last few minutes feel like a thick fog in my head. Nothing really registered after that whiskey bottle exploded across the counter.
Even now, I can still feel the aftershocks of the violent flinch that ripped through my body. My fingers had curled into the leather of Spike’s cut so tightly my knuckles hurt.
He pulled me back immediately—further away from the center of the room, away from the tension… away from the man who walked in here like he owned the place.
Mihai Rosca.
Thinking his name makes something twist in my stomach.
I have no clue what has entailed. How they decided to give this situation a civil chance at a conversation with the frickin’ mafia lord.
I don’t know what else to call him. He looks young to be the head of the whole Romanian mafia, though.
I finally managed to clear my haze when Wolf’s words reached me.
“Let’s take this inside,” he’d growled. “And call off your men. There are women and children here.”
Wolf, Ruin, Scar, Hound, and Ryder head toward the large room at the end of the hall where they hold church.
Healer is probably stuck at his clinic. But I’m sure he’s been informed by someone.
I blink, a thought gripping me. I’ve never seen the room where church is held. Not once in my entire life here. A small part of me is curious about what it looks like. But I know exactly why I’ve never seen it.
Women aren’t allowed there, which is probably why Wolf has stopped walking and is staring directly at me. Ruin and Ryder glance between us, both looking uncertain—hesitation heavy in their postures. All while Scar and Hound frown at their Prez.
For once, I shove down the instinct to sneer or lash out. Instead, I say it plainly. “I’m this club’s princess, aren’t I?”
My vision blurs as I recall the words I overheard. Even as I try to keep my voice steadier than I feel, there’s a sharp awareness thrumming in my bones.
I’m talking in front of a man whose sister is trying to buy me. And he’s probably here to… what—do her bidding?
‘…princesses from fallen MCs fetch around ten mil a cunt…”
Fuck.
I force the next words out through the bile rising in my throat.
“And this situation is about me. So I’ll be joining you.
” I deliberately avoid looking at Mihai, but I can feel his attention like a spotlight burning against my skin.
In my peripheral vision, I see him grinning like an absolute lunatic.
Wolf studies me for a long moment. His shoulders are rigid, his jaw tight. Anger vibrates through him, but underneath it, there’s something else.
Fear.
He exhales sharply and gives me a short nod. “Fine.”
A low, amused voice cuts through the room. “So you will, scumpo.” (Sweetheart)
I blink rapidly. The strange word lands infuriatingly soft in the middle of all this tension. It sounds almost affectionate.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to let out a hysterical laugh. Because the energy Mihai Rosca dragged into this clubhouse feels a thousand times more dangerous than anything I’ve ever experienced here.
And somehow, the asshole hasn’t stopped smiling.
Wolf begins to walk first. Mihai right behind him.
I pass by Ruin, who’s looking at me intensely—eyes burning with something I can’t name. I don’t want to, but it looks like a fiercer version of what I identified as fear in Wolf.
Shaking the thoughts, I focus more on the facts at hand.
My useless, broke-as-shit mother tried to sell me. Fact. Someone I didn’t know wasn’t my father, saved me by swapping me. Fact. My original buyer’s brother is currently beaming at me with a maniacal energy. Fact. And the man I refuse to see as family is the only one who can probably save me. Fact.
The moment I enter the room, I feel it. There’s an aura to the madness in front of me. The large wooden table in the centre is worn with decades of history. I scrunch my nose at the stale smell of cigarette smoke and leftover beer.
The three ashtrays lining the table’s edge are filled to the brim with ash and cigarette butts. A few spilled on the wooden surface.
I heave a ragged sigh, compelling my muscles to move enough so I can take a seat before my knees give out.
Everyone quickly spills in, while Mihai examines the room like a forensic criminologist.
He looks over at Wolf, who hasn’t taken his gaze off of him for even a moment. Mihai’s smile widens under his glare. “No windows, prieten bun?”
Wolf sneers at him, but says nothing.
Mihai simply shrugs, flicking his suit coat before plopping onto one of the chairs dramatically. His fingers drumming the wood with a maddening rhythm.
Each and every brother in the room is on high alert, scowling at him. This man has absolutely no fear, even with the guns glinting in everybody’s hands.
He takes it a step further, signaling Wolf to take a seat in his own Prez’s chair, like it’s his damn invitation to bestow.
He grunts lightly, gesturing at all the others to take a seat, their weapons slowly clicking as they turn their safeties off. Followed by dull thuds of them being propped on the table like a threat.
“Charlotte,” Wolf says, his tone pleading. “Sit here, yeah?” He nods at the seat beside him, while Ruin is on his other side as the VP.
Once we’re all settled, Mihai looks around the table, smirking. Two fingers placed on his chest, he rumbles. “Me? I start, yes?”
I swear I can hear the collective eye roll everyone is suppressing.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Scar supplies dryly.
Mihai’s grin falters for a fraction of a second. His face tightens, like something unpleasant crossed his mind.
“Ghost Reapers, gone,” he says slowly, the words clipped. “Nomad Warriors, destroyed. And Hell’s Army recently took all your toys.” His eyes sweep across the table. “Correct?”
No one answers, but the silence says enough. It doesn’t seem to bother Mihai. If anything, the quiet encourages him.
The smirk fades from his face entirely now, swallowed by something darker. The shift is so abrupt it feels like I’m looking at a completely different man.
“When I was five,” he says flatly, “I was shoved into a meat freezer in our basement and locked there for seventeen minutes.”
My lungs forget how to work. Because… what?
“At thirteen,” he continues casually, sliding a massive ring off his middle finger, “my finger was almost severed. Apparently it was… impolite to use it the way I did.” He flips his hand over so everyone at the table can see it. A thick scar circles the base of his finger, beneath the knuckle.
Christ.
“Once,” he adds smoothly, leaning back in his chair, “when I was twenty, this same person chose to drive a knife into my heart while I slept. Missed it, though.”
The room is dead silent.
“It was the same night,” he finishes, “my father had named me heir apparent. Successor to the Rosca family.”
I glance around the table, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing. None of it connects. The suspicions running in my head seem too… impossible. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, no one else wants to presume where this is going either.
Mihai pushes himself out of his chair. And almost in unison, hands fly to the guns. Hovering. Waiting.
He paces slowly along the length of the table, his movements unbothered, almost bored. “And now,” he continues, “at thirty-five…” His voice lowers. “She wants what I have spent the last decade building.”
He stops, turning to face Wolf.
“The bane of my childhood,” he says quietly. “The nightmare that refuses to die.” His eyes harden. “My sister, Ioana.”
I scan the room. Every single brother is silently scrutinizing the words that just came out of Mihai. Trying to claw their way to the truth behind them—if there is any.
Scar finally breaks the silence. “Your sister?” he asks, frowning. “You’re telling us Ioana Rosca did all that to you?”
A cruel, sinister smile spreads across Mihai’s face. “Ioana,” he says coldly, “was renounced by my family eleven years ago. You would do well not to refer to her as Rosca.”
“She runs the flesh trade under the Rosca family name,” Scar says, his tone edged with skepticism.
“She runs a flesh trade,” Mihai corrects smoothly. “My familial has nothing to do with it.”
Something about the way he says it feels rehearsed. Clean, like he’s distancing himself from something filthy.
“Why?” I ask suddenly, quickly doing the math.
Every head at the table turns toward me.
“Why was she disowned? It clearly wasn’t because she stabbed you. You waited years, even after that.”
Mihai’s eyes shift slowly until they land on me. He studies me for a moment. Then he exhales through his nose and rests his hip against the edge of the table.
“Ambition,” he says simply.
Wolf’s brow furrows. “Explain.”
Mihai chuckles softly. “My sister has always been… ambitious. As children she believed she deserved everything that belonged to our family.”
His fingers drum lazily against the wood. “The Rosca seat. Our operations. Our alliances.” He glances at Wolf. “And eventually, my position. But unfortunately, she was born without a cock.”
A chill crawls up my spine.
“So she was cast out,” Mihai continues. “For trying to turn people within the family.”
Ruin’s voice cuts in, sharp. “And where does Hell’s Army fit into this?”
Mihai’s smile returns, only now it looks darker. “Ah,” he murmurs. “Now we arrive at the interesting part.”
He pushes away from the table and begins pacing again. “My sister believes she can take my Rosca seat by force. She believes numbers will win her that war.” He glances over his shoulder. “And apparently she has found willing idiots.”
Wolf’s voice turns colder. “Hellfire.”
“Da.” Mihai spreads his hands. “She now has men and guns,” he says casually. “Truckloads of brainless bikers and enough ammunition to turn a small town into ash.”
Ruin leans forward slightly. “So she’s using Hell’s Army to… take control of your family?”
“In the crudest terms,” Mihai replies, amused. “Yes.” He straightens slowly. “She believes if she crushes my allies and proves she controls territory, the other rival families will bend for her—against me.”
“So why are you here?” Wolf asks. “To ask for help? Help us?”
Mihai laughs—the sound is humorless. “I help no one.” His eyes flick to Ruin, then back to Wolf. “I did not come to warn you, either.”
Wolf’s jaw tightens. “Then say what you came to say.”
Mihai’s expression sharpens. “I offer you something.”
Ruin narrows his eyes.
Mihai spreads his hands again. “More men,” he says bluntly. He tilts his head slightly. “And more guns.”
I watch as Ruin and Wolf exchange a look, their eyes shifty and distrusting.
“I will give you both,” Mihai adds calmly. “And in exchange…” His eyes darken. “We bury Ioana and her biker mutts.”
There it is. The words land like a hammer. Hound and Scar stare at each other, a silent conversation between them.
Wolf speaks then, suspicion lining his tone. “Where is the catch, Mr. Rosca?”
Mihai’s laugh this time is quieter. Sharper. “No catch. Just one dead sister,” he says coolly.
Then his gaze flicks to me, and I feel cold all over. “And a puzzle piece to solve.”
Wolf goes rigid beside me. Silence fills the room again. Before anyone can speak—
A soft beeping cuts through the air. Mihai glances down at his wrist, mildly alarmed, and presses his thumb against the face of his watch.
The sound dies instantly. “We will continue later,” he says casually, not even bothering to look up.
“My Ori?u needs me. It’s her meal time.” He taps the watch once more as if scolding it.
Then he sighs. Long and dramatic. “We have time, Tudor,” he adds, probably speaking toward the comm in his ear. “I won’t miss meal time with my daughter.”
The man who just proposed burying people like trash is now worrying about feeding his… kid. The sudden shift in his voice—softer, almost affectionate—sends a strange ripple through the room. The whiplash of it makes my skin crawl.
I suddenly want out of this room. Out of this building, brothers be damned.
Mihai pushes away from the table and heads toward the door, his stride long and deliberate. Controlled, but there’s urgency in it too.
“You… have a daughter?” Ruin asks, skepticism thick in his voice.
Wolf immediately shoots him a sharp glare.
Mihai stops with his hand on the door handle.
Slowly, he turns his head and looks at Ruin.
“Da,” he says. Then he tilts his head slightly.
“With claws. And she only eats when I spoon-feed her.” Mihai’s mouth twitches as he settles his gaze on me.
“Stay alive, scumpo. I dislike unfinished curiosities.”