CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marco
BAZ IS BARELY clinging to life. One bullet to the chest, and now he’s hooked up to machines that might be the only thing keeping him breathing. The doctors give me a lot of words that mean nothing—"uncertain," "critical," "wait and see"—but I don’t wait. I don’t fucking sit and hope.
I make moves.
I stare at the report in my hands, but my focus isn’t on the words. It’s on the reality behind them. Someone did this. Someone planned this. It wasn’t just about taking Baz out; it was a message to me—a warning.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly as I let the rage settle under my skin like a slow-burning fire. They wanted me to know they could get close. That they could reach into my world and take what’s mine.
Yesterday, they took my brother.
A single sniper shot. Clean, precise. The kind of hit you don’t walk away from. And now, today, Baz is barely hanging on. Two of them were targeted in less than twenty-four hours. That’s not a coincidence. That’s war.
My father thinks it’s Lucas. Says he’s taking us out one by one, clearing the way for himself to take control of the family. And if I didn’t know better, I might believe it too. Lucas has always been the coldest of us, the one who plays the long game, who watches and waits for his moment.
But this? This doesn’t fit.
I saw him. I was in his pub when I got the call—my security telling me Baz had taken Sasha to the hospital to see her father. I’d been fucking furious. Furious that Baz let her manipulate him, furious that she disobeyed me. I left, fully intending to drag her ass back myself.
Then I passed the scene.
Blood on the pavement. The chaos of my men locking down the area. The sirens screaming in the distance.
For a second—one brutal second—I thought she was dead.
That feeling. That sick, twisting, ice-cold grip in my chest. I don’t fucking like it.
And when I found her in that hospital, sitting on the bed without a scratch on her, I wanted to kiss her. Out of relief. Out of frustration. Just to remind myself that she was still breathing, still fighting me at every turn.
But I didn’t. I just stared at her, letting the anger swallow everything else.
She shouldn’t have been there.
She shouldn’t matter this much.
But she does.
I shake the thoughts off like rain. Focus. I have bigger problems than the way Sasha gets under my skin.
I call my men in. "Lock everything down. No one in or out unless I say so. Triple the guards. If you even think someone is where they shouldn’t be, kill first, ask later."
No hesitation. No mercy.
The estate turns into a fortress overnight. Armed men at every entrance, security sweeps every hour, my inner circle moving with their hands on their guns like they’re expecting war. They should be. Because that’s exactly what’s coming.
The phone rings twice before my father answers.
“What happened?” His voice is sharp, cutting straight to the point.
“There was another shooting; Baz was shot,” I say, gripping the phone tighter. “But it can’t be Lucas. That wouldn’t make sense.”
Silence. Then, a measured inhale. “Or it’s his way of throwing us off the scent.”
I rub my temple. This whole Lucas conspiracy is out of control. “He was at the pub, Father.”
“I’m sure his northern men could take the shot for him.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t want to argue about this, but I don’t see my brother betraying us. Not like this. Not ever. “Any news about Danny?”
My father is slow to answer. Too slow. “No.”
The weight of that single word settles in my chest like a brick. I want to ask when the funeral will be, but burying my brother will make this too real. I haven’t even gone to see his body. It’s easier to focus on revenge.
“I’ll call you if I have any updates.”
The line goes dead. I place the phone on the counter. Buddy dances around my feet, clearly hungry. One of the security guys outside the kitchen door comes in when I call him.
“Feed the dog, cook him some steak.”
His brows rise. He isn’t a chef, and I can see that statement clearly on his face, but when I don’t speak, he takes off his suit jacket and gets to work.
I have another problem to take care of, Sasha.
I find her in the room I had locked her in. Her arms crossed, back straight, her dark eyes already burning with defiance before I even open my mouth. She knows what’s coming. She knows me.
Sasha crosses her arms, eyes flashing. "The agreement was that I go to the charity event with you. That was it."
I'm already fuming, but her defiance makes my blood boil. "That was before everything went down. The situation has changed. You stay with me until I get this mess cleaned up."
She glares at me, unflinching. "I asked you if you killed the men at my home, and you said no. But clearly, that was a lie. So how do I know you're telling the truth now?"
I sneer. "I wasn’t lying. I killed Dave after that."
She swallows hard, her bravado faltering for a split second before she masks it with anger. I see the fear, though. The way her breath hitches, the way her fingers curl slightly like she’s preparing to fight or flee.
"You’re not leaving this house," I tell her. I’ve already said this, but I need to reinforce it.
Her jaw tightens. "You don’t get to decide that."
I step closer, invading her space. She doesn’t back down, not even an inch. It would be easier if she did. If she stopped acting brave, if she gave me some excuse to pretend she’s just another pawn in this game. But she isn’t. And that’s the problem.
"You want to test me?" My voice is quiet, but she hears the threat beneath it. "Try walking out that front door. See what happens."
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "So that’s it? You lock me up like I’m some asset you can control?"
I don’t answer because that’s exactly what I’m doing. She doesn’t need to understand it. She just needs to listen.
Her nostrils flare, her jaw tightens, and for a second, I think she’s going to hit me. I almost wish she would. But instead, she steps closer, so close her breath scorches my skin.
"You can’t keep me here forever, Marco." Her voice is razor-sharp, laced with defiance, but underneath it, there’s something else—something breathless, something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
I lean in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear as I murmur, low and deliberate, "Watch me."
She shoves me hard enough that her palms sting against my chest, but I don’t budge. A cruel smirk tugs at my lips as she glares up at me, her eyes burning with fury and something else.
"Fuck you, Marco," she spits, her voice shaking, her body wound tight like she’s seconds away from coming undone.
She spins on her heel and storms past me, her shoulders stiff with fury, but I don’t stop her. Not yet.
I let her go.
For now.
I step toward the door, ready to leave, when one of my security men steps into my path. “Boss, Mike’s here.”
I glance at the time before nodding. “Take him to my office. I’ll be there in a minute.”
As I make my way down the hall, the scent of sizzling steak drifts from the kitchen, rich and mouthwatering. My steps slow for half a second. Sasha hasn’t eaten. I consider telling him to prepare something for her, but I already know how that will go. She’ll refuse, stubborn as ever. Right now, she doesn’t need food. She needs to calm the hell down.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders back as I undo the top button of my black shirt. The tension in my body is a familiar weight, one I don’t shake easily.
By the time I push open my office door, Mike is already seated, waiting. His posture is relaxed, but I know better. The sharpness in his gaze, the way his fingers tap once against his thigh before stilling, tells me I’m not going to like what he has to say.
“It’s bigger than we thought.”
I don’t like those words. They coil in my gut like a slow-burning fuse. I shut the door behind me, rounding the desk as I lower myself into my chair—the leather creaks under my weight.
Mike doesn’t waste time. He slides a thick file across the desk. “The Black Crew isn’t acting alone. They’ve been aligning with another syndicate. One that’s been watching you for a long time. Waiting for a crack.”
My jaw tightens. There is always someone waiting. Ever since the O’Reagans handed power over to us, we’ve had targets on our backs. They want what we have, think they can take it if they’re patient enough. But they’ve underestimated us before, and they’ll regret it again.
I flip through the pages, absorbing details—names, locations, surveillance photos. My mind is already moving ahead, calculating.
“Where did this information come from?” My voice is even, but inside, the pressure is building.
Mike drags a hand over his bald head. “We had Lee do some digging.”
Lee. Our IT guy. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it.
I toss the file onto the desk, my fingers curling into fists. They’re wrong if they think they can take us down. They don’t understand the kind of men they’re up against.
“Has anyone heard from James?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I should call him myself, but the thought of him drowning in his own mess over Danny has me hesitating. It’s easier to keep my distance.
Mike shakes his head. “Not sure, Marco. I haven’t heard from him. But maybe Lucas or Damien has.”
Of course, he’s right. I should ask my brothers. But that would mean facing them, and I’ve been avoiding that, too.
I nod. “Thanks, Mike.”
He rises to leave, but before he reaches the door, a commotion erupts in the hallway. The sharp shuffle of footsteps. Raised voices. Tension tightens my spine, and before I even register the movement, my hand is on my gun, drawing it from the holster.
Mike mirrors me, his own weapon ready.
But as I step closer to the door, my instincts shift. The chaos on the other side isn’t the kind that requires bullets. I know who it is before I even see her.
“Put it away,” I murmur to Mike.
He hesitates for a beat, then lowers his gun. I do the same, slipping mine back into place.
The last thing I need is to terrify Sasha.
She already hates me for keeping her here. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter.
But the truth is, it does.
And that might be the biggest weakness of all.