Chapter 10
DEAN
The phone sat on the desk, it’s cord like a coiled viper, its black shell gleaming under the lamplight. Carlos was old school and even though he had a cell, he still believed in landlines, which was fine with Dean. It made it a lot easier to wire in a secret secure line.
It was a trick Dean picked up when he was overseas.
It helped that he had found where Carlos was storing all the extra Righteous tech and equipment on the property.
Mission one had been breaking in without being seen and finding the parts needed.
That had been successful. Now, he had a way to contact the outside world without his father knowing and the call would show up like a normal Righteous call.
If Carlos discovered it though…then Dean would be shot dead on the spot. Almost as if thinking about the man had conjured him, Carlos burst through the door.
“How could you be so fucking incompetent?” Dean watched his father for any sign that he’d been caught, but if so then his father didn’t show it.
“I didn’t actually mean have her arrested.
How stupid can you be? Now she is in the system for murder.
Fucking murder. That doesn’t just get swept aside, and who the fuck knows when she will get out.
I should have you skinned alive for this. ”
Carlos stomped around in a circle, face red, obviously flustered that his henchmen had gotten Maeve locked up. It was honestly the best outcome. It bought Dean time and would put Trev’s skills to the best use—if Dean could talk him into representing her, that was.
“I don’t care that she’s at the Hollywood Community Police Station. That means nothing to me. I can’t snap my fingers and get her removed from a murder charge. You idiot. You better fucking fix this. Fuck!”
Carlos hung up and looked like he was going to throw the phone. Dean couldn’t stop himself.
“Bad day?”
Carlos glared from across the room. “Get back to work,” he ordered and then stomped out, the guards following his father out. It was like the room had been invaded by a swarm of bees, then it was suddenly quiet again.
Now was the time to make the move and call Trev.
Dean slipped the distortion module into place, thumb pressing the switch. His voice would come out mechanical and unrecognizable. At least that was the hope. He used the secret Righteous line and held his breath as the phone rang.
The line clicked alive. “Crosshairs, Alpha, Zulu, Charlie, Kilo, Foxtrot, Six, Six, Six,” came Trev’s reply.
Dean almost screamed into the phone to come get him.
He hadn’t been expecting relief to wash over him at the sound of his commanding officer’s voice.
But fuck, all he wanted to do was spew how he needed to be rescued from this hell hole.
However, doing that would put everyone, including his family at risk.
Dean needed more information, to turn more people, and to understand how far his father’s reach really went before he broke free.
He licked his lips, heart racing. “There is a someone you should represent at the LAPD nearest to you.”
“Who is this?”
Dean bit his lip. It wasn’t the time. He needed to be certain who was compromised and who still stood with good side.
“Who I am is of no consequence. Her name is Maeve. She is innocent, and that is all you need to know.”
The other end of the line grew very silent, but he knew Trev was still there. “I don’t do random charity cases. Are you paying for this client?”
Dean couldn’t stop the chuckle.
So Trev.
Fuck, it was good to hear that arrogant and self-righteous tone. “No, but you will find what she has to say to be very interesting.”
“How do you know where I am?” Trev asked, the scepticism thick with every word.
“I know everything. Just like I know you’re trying to triangulate this call, but it will do no good. Go see the girl.”
“Does this person have anything to do with…”
Dean could hear footsteps coming and quickly ended the call, stuffing the modulator into his pocket. Dean closed his eyes.
Trev for fucks sake just go see the girl.
Now all Dean could do was hope. Had Trev believed it? Had he pieced it together? Or had Dean just signed Maeve’s death warrant by being too cryptic?
The office door slammed open breaking him of his deep thoughts.
Dean shot to his feet, heart slamming against his ribs. Ricco stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes alight. Something was wrong.
“It’s Yasmine,” Ricco said, breathless. “She’s in labor.”
Dean’s world tunneled. The phone, the warning, the entire poisoned empire he lived inside…gone in a heartbeat. All that mattered was his beautiful wife.
He bolted from the office, right on Ricco’s heels.
The compound halls blurred. Dean barely registered the guards who turned to watch him storm past. The steel doors hissed open at his approach, the scent of bleach and ocean salt in the air.
They reached the medical wing, tucked away at the far side of the compound.
“The children are with Ava,” Ricco said, pointing into a nursery. A servant girl in a pale dress sat on the floor with the boys and Isabella in her arms. The boys were clutching carved soldiers, Isabella smiled as she played with a doll.
He stepped into the room and squatted. The boys ran at him. “Dad!”
Dean was quickly enveloped in their hugs.
“Is Mommy okay?” Tate asked.
“Yes, she is going to be fine, but I need to go be with her. Are you boys going to be good and help look after your sister?”
They nodded in unison.
Standing he walked over to Isabella and took her from Ava, kissing his baby girl’s head. She smiled and squealed with the attention. He had the best kids. He’d die on that statement. Handing Isabella back to the girl, he touched Tate and Aiden’s shoulders.
“You stay here,” he told them, voice firm but not angry. “I’ll be back soon.”
Dean grabbed Ricco’s shoulder as he stepped out into the hallway once more. “Keep an eye on them for me.”
“Will do.”
Dean found the room Yasmine was in and pushed through the door. Yasmine lay on a narrow bed, sweat plastering strands of hair to her forehead. Jesus, why didn’t she send for him before now? Her face was pale but fierce, her hands clutching the sheets as another contraction ripped through her.
Dean was at her side in an instant, his hand covering hers. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Breathe with me. That’s it, carino.”
Her eyes opened, wild, glassy, and locked on him. The panic there eased, just slightly.
“I didn’t want to bother you too soon,” she offered even though he hadn’t asked.
“You are never bothering me. I love you more than anything.”
Yasmine’s lips curled up. “Don’t you dare leave me,” she gasped, squeezing his hand as she silently screamed. She slumped into the pillows, panting hard.
He didn’t remember the other kids being this difficult for Yasmine to deliver. Fear prickled along his skin.
“Not a chance.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, anchoring them both.
The doctor muttered in Spanish, the nurses moving with mechanical efficiency. Dean stared at the man who had two nurses by his side, not liking the look on his face.
“Is something wrong?” Dean asked.
“We should be good now, but the baby is large and the shoulder was stuck. Okay, Yasmine, push again,” the doctor ordered.
Yasmine bore down, voice breaking into a strangled cry. Dean wanted to tear the world apart for her, hating that despite the miracle of their children that it caused her any pain. He never wanted her to suffer.
“We are going to need one more push with the next contraction,” the doctor informed, his voice even and steady.
Yasmine looked up at him, tears running down her face. “I can’t do it anymore,” she cried.
Dean kissed her forehead and then leaned close to her ear. “You’re fiercer than I ever could wish to be. My warrior, you hold everyone together. You’re my everything, my beautiful wife. I know you can do this.”
“Dean…I don’t know…” Her voice broke.
“Squeeze my hand, break my fingers if you need to, and give it one more push.”
The doctor nodded. “Here we go. Push, give it all you have.”
Yasmine screamed as she pushed. Then, life’s first cry split the air.
Dean’s throat closed.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced as he placed the baby on Yasmine’s chest. The nurses cleaned him and did a quick assessment before covering mom and baby with a blanket.
A boy. He had another son. Isabella was still his little princess. She was going to like that. Dean stared down at the tiny bundle snuggled into Yasmine’s chest.
“He’s perfect,” Dean whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m your Daddy, and this is your Mommy.”
Dean bent, pressing his lips to Yasmine’s damp temple. “You did it, I knew you could. He’s here and look how perfect.”
He took a step back and stared at Yasmine and the newest member of the family. Fuck he was blessed. Why the universe had chosen to be so kind to him when he didn’t deserve any of it, he would never understand.
Yasmine leaned back against the pillows, tears streaming as she held their baby to her chest. Her trembling hands traced the child’s face.
Their boy. Their miracle.
Yasmine smiled weakly, eyes closing as exhaustion overtook her. Dean gently took the baby from her arms and sat in the recliner beside the bed, stripping off his shirt.
Dean couldn’t have said how much time had passed and didn’t notice the nurses and doctor leaving, but it was suddenly just the three of them. Warmth spread through him, as the baby nuzzled him like he already knew who Dean was.
A couple hours passed. Yasmine slept. Ricco took Ava and the children to get food. The baby breathed against Dean, tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with his own. Dean held on as if the world could vanish, but this moment would remain untouched.
This was what he fought for. This was what he would burn down empires to protect.
The door creaked open. Dean’s eyes snapped up.
Carlos stepped inside, his shadow falling long across the floor.
His suit was immaculate, his cologne annoying in the scent free environment, his smile wicked.
Carlos moved with unhurried grace to the edge of the bed, gazing down at Yasmine as she slept with mock admiration before his eyes landed on the baby Dean held in his arms.
“Precious,” Carlos murmured. “New blood. The continuation of the Ramírez line.”
Dean said nothing. His hand curved protectively across his son’s back.
Carlos’s smile deepened. “He should be named after me as a sign of respect.”
Dean scoffed, not bothering to disguise his disgust.
Carlos’s eyes flicked to him, glittering with that old violence that Dean knew so well.
“You think me a monster, hijo, but monsters are remembered. Show the respect due, or perhaps I will force the claim myself.” He purposely looked back at Yasmine, and Dean’s blood turned molten in his veins.
“Perhaps the next child your redhead bears will be mine, not yours, as penance for your arrogance.”
The words struck like acid. Dean’s rage roared, every muscle screaming to lunge across the room and rip his father apart. But the baby against his chest stopped him. Yasmine shifted in her sleep, and Dean forced the rage down.
He met Carlos’s gaze with flat, unblinking eyes. “Get out.”
Carlos smirked. “I see I’ve struck a nerve.” He straightened, adjusting his cufflinks. “Think about what I said. Respect, Mercurio. It costs nothing yet buys everything.”
He turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence returned and felt suffocating.
Dean looked down at his son, tiny fingers curling against his skin. He bent close, whispering so softly only the child heard.
“I’ll never let him hurt you,” Dean vowed. “Not one hair on your head. Not while I breathe.”
The baby shifted and nestled against his chest.
Dean closed his eyes, rage and love braided tight inside him. And for the first time in years, he prayed. Not for himself, but for the chance to keep this promise.