Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I ’m still riding the edge of that call with Cassie, the way her voice cracked just enough to show how rattled she was.
She’s trying to keep it together, but I know that flutter in her tone isn’t just nerves—it’s fear.
And it’s all because of that asshole Cooper, thinking he can mess with her without consequences.
The anger’s boiling low but steady in my chest, and I hate how much of myself she’s already wrapped around her little finger. I’m not even sure if it’s protection or possession driving me, but I know I won’t let anyone hurt her.
The front door clicks unlocked, and only a handful of people know the code. The heavy footsteps echo through the hallway—Ryder and Trigger. Both of them, here, unannounced.
“Axel,” Ryder’s voice cuts through the silence—low, rough, controlled, like he’s holding back a storm. “Just thought you’d wanna know… Cooper cornered Cassie tonight.”
I tighten my grip on the phone, eyes narrowing. “How the fuck do you know that?”
A pause, deliberate and heavy. Then Ryder says quietly, “Because I was there.”
The words hit like a fist. Not just that Cooper had the nerve, but that Ryder had to be the one to step in. That little prick thought he could test me by going after her—and got caught red-handed.
“Why the hell didn’t you call me right then?” I growl, voice low and sharp. “Should’ve wiped that fucker off the map.”
Ryder’s steady. “Didn’t want to make a scene. Figured I could handle it. But it got close. He was pushing her, Axel. Thought no one was watching.”
There’s something in Ryder’s tone—calm, measured—that hits me harder than the news itself.
No panic, no wasted anger. Just cold, clear control.
He didn’t rush me with the call, didn’t want to drag me into something that could spiral out of control before he had a handle on it.
That kind of thinking—that patience—is rare.
It’s the difference between a scuffle and a war.
I clench my jaw tight. The urge to explode claws at my chest, but a small part of me respects that restraint.
Ryder’s handling the fallout, keeping Cassie safe, and waiting for the right moment for me to step in.
I’m not the only one fighting for her. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what’s going to keep us both alive.
But it doesn’t stop my fists from balling. “I want to fucking kill him,” I roar, slamming my fist on the desk so hard papers scatter everywhere. “That fucknut’s lucky you got there first.”
Trigger snickers, leaning against the doorframe with that cocky smirk. Ryder exhales, calm but firm, attempting to pick up my mess.
“You can’t kill everyone who pisses you off,” Trigger smiles, shaking his head.
“Says who?” I spit, glaring between them.
“He’s a fucking nobody,” Ryder cuts in smoothly.
Trigger nods sharply. “Exactly. Why waste your time on a nobody?”
I know these two have my back, but sometimes I wish they didn’t. Sometimes I want to lose control. I’m not saying I’d kill the bastard—but maybe a little pain, a sharp reminder, would teach him to back off.
No. I can’t do that to Cassie. Not to her.
Ryder exhales again, voice dropping low. “I told him to back off. Made it clear there’ll be consequences if he tries again.”
“Good,” I grit out, eyes burning with barely contained rage. He doesn’t get to touch her—not once, not twice. No matter the cost, I’ll make sure of it. Cassie isn’t just collateral; she’s everything.
Ryder’s voice is calm, but the words cut sharp. Cooper’s desperate—been trying to sabotage her career, and tonight, he went for round two. Desperation makes assholes dangerous. They lash out without thinking. I’ve seen it before. This Cooper is playing with fire.
“Asshole,” I mutter, jaw clenched tight. I swear I’ll make him regret every breath he takes. Let him choke on the consequences of crossing me.
But Trigger’s warning pulls me back, steady as always: don’t lose my head. I can’t kill every problem. Easier said than done. Sometimes the smartest move is to let fear do the talking instead of my fists.
Maybe he’s right. Pain is the language these bastards understand, and I’m fluent enough to speak it when necessary. But for now, I’ll keep my hands clean—for Cassie’s sake.
“Thanks for stepping in. I owe you.” I don’t say it enough, but I mean it. Ryder’s got my back when it counts. “Just keep her safe. That’s all that matters.”
And that’s the one thing I won’t ever let slip through my fingers. Cassie’s already caught in the crossfire. And I’m not about to let her get torn apart.
“The king of cool and calm finally rattled,” Trigger says smugly, turning to Ryder as he takes the papers from him. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
I snatch the papers back and slam them onto the desk. “Shut the fuck up,” I warn, not in the mood for their bullshit today .
I’m juggling three shipments of weapons and cocaine, and with the NYPD breathing down Trigger’s neck, I’m flying solo more than I like.
Trigger chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to the couch. I raise a brow, waiting for him to finish whatever he’s about to say. Finally, he stretches his arms across the back of the couch and drops it: “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
“I swear to God.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, close to losing it. I’m this close to ending this whole ‘Five’ thing just to knock some sense into these two. Allies, sure—but more like brothers. And brothers fight.
Trigger shifts, dropping his gaze, and mockingly signs a cross over his chest while starting some ridiculous prayer.
“For his balls?” Ryder chuckles.
I shoot Ryder a glare, struggling to keep my temper in check. “Why the hell are you two even here?”
Trigger snaps out of his successful attempt to torment me and perches on the edge of the desk. “Our latest shipments came in last night,” he announces, handing over a fresh document.
“And?” My voice is edged with agitation—not that I bother hiding it. These two are already skating on thin ice today.
“I’m short.”
My brow lifts. Normally, I’d take that as a veiled accusation. But Trigger knows better than to question my loyalty to him or The Five.
I scan the itinerary, eyes moving down the list, checking quantities and notations. Something’s off. When I look back up, the anger simmering in Trigger’s expression is already fading into something colder.
“How many?”
“Two hundred,” he replies without hesitation. “Counted them myself.”
I shoot to my feet, raking a hand through my hair. “How the fuck do two hundred assault rifles just vanish? ”
Trigger doesn’t answer. Ryder shifts on the couch like he’s holding something in, eyes flicking between us.
“What?” I snap.
“We’ve got a mole.” His voice is calm, certain. No hesitation, no doubt. And as obvious as it sounds, I can’t fault him for saying it. He’s right—and I need to keep a level head if I’m going to deal with this cleanly.
Trigger nods in agreement. “Could be Santos’ crew. They’ve been sniffing around lately, but I don’t have proof.”
“Well,” Ryder says, standing and uncrossing his legs, “whoever it was, either undercut you—or sold the stash right out from under both of you.”
I glance at Trigger, silently asking if he’s ready to handle it. He meets my gaze, firm and steady, and gives a tight nod.
“I’ll ask Max to do some digging,” he supplies.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Ryder says, his voice low, hesitant. “But it won’t be easy. You know how he is.”
By he , Ryder means his father—Genovese Sr.—a man as stubborn and ruthless as they come. The same man who should’ve been taken out when I had the chance but wasn’t. A man who refuses to loosen his grip, no matter how much his health or the world shifts around him.
“Stubborn bastard,” I mutter. Genovese Sr. is the final obstacle standing between The Five and full control of the West Coast. The old man’s not just a relic clinging to power; he’s actively blocking Ryder from taking over.
Despite Ryder’s patience and readiness, his father refuses to hand over the mantle, convinced no one is worthy to carry the name or command the family’s influence.
That’s a problem. Because until Ryder officially inherits, The Five can’t move forward. We need that West Coast expansion to survive and grow, and Genovese’s ironclad ties to the Irish Mob are the key to that.
“What’s going on with him, anyway?” I press, recalling our earlier conversation. I want to understand the full scope of the standoff.
Ryder hesitates, the weight of the answer pressing down on him. “He wants to settle with the Irish.”
My gut twists, blood burning behind my eyes. He can’t be serious.
“Is he aware of what that means?” I ask, voice low but sharp.
I know what it means. If the Irish get even a whiff of our operations, they’ll come knocking, expecting a share.
We’ve worked too hard to build our own empires, and while we respect each other’s boundaries, I’m not about to let some outsiders muscle in on our territory.
“Yes,” Ryder hisses, but there’s a pause, a hesitation that tells me he’s holding something back.
I know there’s more. I see it in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He’s wrestling with loyalty and fear—loyalty to a father who’s made clear he won’t step down, and fear of the consequences if the family fractures.
I push, needing the truth because this isn’t just business anymore—it’s family. “What’s his proposal? Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“Arranged marriage,” Ryder murmurs, almost under his breath.
I freeze. An arranged marriage. Classic old-school mafia politics—blood ties forged with chains, alliances sealed with rings. I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Ryder. It’s a brutal, outdated way to keep control, but it’s still effective.
“Sorry, kid,” I say quietly. “There’s no easy way out of that without starting a war between families.”
“Thanks,” he breathes.
The silence between us feels heavy, loaded. There’s nothing else to say—for now. If Genovese Sr. is about to drag us all into some tangled alliance with the Irish, we better be ready for the fallout.
Trigger’s probably the only one who truly knows what’s going on between Ryder and his father.
He’s just too respectful— or maybe just wise enough—not to bring it up.
It’s one thing I genuinely respect about Trigger: he understands it isn’t his place to shout about Ryder’s old-school family drama.
And honestly? It’s not mine to pry into either, at least not until the line is clearly drawn, and the dust settles.
“It’s not an issue we need to worry about right now.
The old man’s plans, as outdated as they might be, fit well enough with ours.
Let’s leave it at that,” Ryder assures, and I respect the hell out of him for keeping calm.
Though I know deep down he’s about ready to put a bullet in someone, I appreciate him not pulling the trigger. At least not yet.
“Sure,” I reply. No more questions asked. I shift my focus back to the pressing problem. “Back to the issue of the stolen goods.” I lean back in my chair and steeple my fingers in front of me. The weight of the missing shipments presses down heavily, and there’s no room for distractions.
“Max can trace the logs,” Trigger offers, eyes briefly flicking to Hunter for confirmation. Hunter nods, acknowledging the plan. “I’m confident he’ll find something we missed.”
They both know the possibility is there. It’s easy to overlook details in the chaos of our operations, but we can’t afford any mistakes—not now. Max’s skill at picking needles out of haystacks is legendary; if there’s a mole, he’ll find them. Probably faster than anyone else.
“Keep me posted,” I say, voice steady. “Let me know what you find.”