11. Hawk
Hawk
"That motherfucker put his hands on her." My voice comes out like gravel being crushed. "And now he's trying to paint her as the crazy one.”
Around the table, my brothers listen with hard eyes.
Ghost sits at the head of the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Blade to his right, expression calculating as always.
Saint's knuckles tap against his opposite palm as though he’s envisioning punching something—or someone. Cipher types away on his laptop.
I plant my palms on the table, leaning forward. "Russo isn't just some random cop with a hard-on for Aria. There's more to this shit." The weight of ten years' worth of suspicion sits heavy on my chest. "Much more."
Ghost nods like he's been expecting this. "Tell them."
Taking a deep breath, I straighten up and face my brothers. Out in the common room, Aria is laughing, joking with the other women. Safe, while we decide how to burn her enemies to the ground.
“Most of you know that ten years ago," I begin, "my family died in what was ruled an accident. It was determined my father was drunk driving, lost control, hit a tree, and the car exploded into flames.”
Saint nods his head gravely. “We were prospecting back then. I remember you never bought that story.”
"Never." My jaw ticks as I clench my teeth. "My old man rarely drank. When he did, it was a single glass of wine at dinner. And that road? He'd driven it a thousand times."
Blade leans forward. "What's the connection to your ol’ lady?”
"Russo was the detective who closed the case. But there’s more.” I tell them of my recent findings, my theory of how the events went down, and how I’ve connected the puzzle pieces.
"Vincent Carducci," I spit his name out like poison, "was my father's biggest business rival. They were competing for the same multi-million dollar government contract." I glance around the table. "A contract my father won. A contract that mysteriously went to Carducci after my family died."
Understanding dawns on their faces, but it's Cipher who connects the final dot.
“Questions arose about the accident, but it was Mark—aka Marco —Russo," he says without looking up from his screen, "who quashed any suspicions surrounding the incident and ruled it a drunk driving accident, clearing Carducci and anyone else of any involvement.” His fingers pause over the keyboard.
"Now Carducci's giving his niece to Russo as what—payment for services rendered a decade ago? "
The room temperature seems to drop as the implications sink in.
"Fuck," Ghost breathes, running a hand over his face.
Cold rage settles in my gut. Blade emits a low whistle.
I stand and begin pacing, unable to contain the energy coursing through me. "They killed my family. And now they're trying to take my woman." My hand unconsciously moves to the gun at my hip. "Not fucking happening."
"This is big, brother," Ghost cautions. "We're talking about going against a corrupt cop with connections and a businessman with suspected mafia ties."
"I don't give a fuck if we have to go to war with the entire police department and the goddamn mafia," I growl. "That girl in there?" I jerk my thumb toward the door. "She's mine. And I protect what's mine."
Saint nods, his dark eyes resolute. "We all do."
"You claimed her. She's one of us,” Blade agrees.
"Always," Cipher adds, looking up from his laptop for the first time.
A heavy silence falls over the room as Ghost considers my words. Finally, he nods once.
"Then we're all in." He looks around the table. "This club stands together."
Relief floods through me, though I never doubted their support. These men are more than brothers—they're the family I chose after losing my own.
"So what's the play?" Saint asks, leaning back in his chair. "We can't just go in guns blazing."
"I've got an idea," I say, dropping into my chair.