CHAPTER 7
LOGAN
The vault beneath my tower is damp, dark, and suffocating.
The air reeks of mildew and iron, a fitting backdrop for what’s about to happen.
The fluorescent light flickers above us, reminding me of the one in Orion’s house.
It also reminds me of my own ordeal at Milan’s, but I quickly shut that memory down.
Clay stands at the door, arms crossed, his muscles an immovable force that blocks any chance of escape.
A Carte by blood, he’s a man who’s also come to be trusted by both mine and Kai’s families.
His eyes don’t meet mine because they don’t need to.
Clay isn’t here to question or hesitate.
He’s here to ensure nothing gets in—or out—that shouldn’t.
Kai and I shove the man into the chair and bind his wrists to the armrests with zip ties.
We pat him down, remove the duct tape from his mouth, and strip off his jacket while Orion is lining up the spoils on the steel table: a handgun, a switchblade, a small stash of cash, and—most concerningly—a compact explosive device.
“Amateur,” Kai mutters as he takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie. “Who carries a bomb like a pack of gum?”
Orion doesn’t look up. He’s been eerily silent, his focus entirely on the man. His bruised knuckles flex at his sides.
“Who are you?” Orion’s voice cuts through the room. It’s not a question; it’s a command.
The man lifts his head, his lip split and swollen from the extra roughing up we gave him in the car. “I-I’m Goce. I’m nobody,” he croaks. His accent is faint, but Eastern European for sure. “Y-You’ve got the wrong man.”
Orion steps closer. “You were at the funeral,” he says, his tone deep and intentional. “You knew the man we buried.”
“I didn’t know him.” The man—Goce, if his name matters at all—glances between us. “I was paying my respects. That’s all.”
Kai lets out a bark of laughter. “Respect? With a bomb in your pocket?”
The man flinches, but he doesn’t answer. His silence only fuels the anger we’ve all been engulfed in.
Orion grabs a pair of pliers from the table, but he’s not rushing; he’s savoring the moment, letting the man’s fear build.
“You’re gonna tell us the truth,” he says, his voice cold as death, “or I’ll start removing pieces of you until you do.”
“You’re insane,” Goce spits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.
Orion grips the man’s jaw, forcing it open. “Hold still now,” he murmurs, almost gently, before clamping the pliers around a tooth. The scream that follows echoes throughout the vault.
Goce breaks faster than I expect. After the second tooth, he’s squealing, words tumbling from his mouth like a dam has burst. “Alright! Alright! I’ll talk!”
Orion steps back, tossing the bloodied pliers onto the table. “We’re waiting.”
Goce gulps for air, his chest heaving. “There’s…There’s a new boss in town,” he says, his words frantic. “He came about a year ago. From Ireland. But he’s not Irish. Ma Molly’s his aunt. Was ,” he finishes, and spits blood all over himself.
“Was?” I can’t hide my surprise. “She’s dead?”
“It was him,” Goce says. “She welcomed him. Called him a nephew. Told everyone he was family. And then he killed her. Made it look like an accident.”
Logan’s fists tighten. “And now he’s taken over DC? Just like that?”
Goce nods, his eyes darting around the room. “He’s ruthless. He’s…a Slav. From North Macedonia. That’s all I know.”
The S-word hangs in the air, heavy with implications. I exchange a glance with Orion, and I can see the same thought reflected in his eyes.
“What does he want?” Orion’s voice is deceptively calm.
“New York,” Goce whispers. “He knows the city used to be split four ways. The Slavs…they were part of that. He wants his share. His twenty-five percent.”
“And the attacks?” Kai presses. “All the dead men? That’s him?”
Goce hesitates, then nods. “He’s testing you. Weakening you. He knows about the three families. He knows you’re spread thin. And he knows Maisy—”
The mention of her name sends a ripple of tension through the room. Orion steps forward, his shadow engulfing the man in the chair. “What about Maisy?”
“N-Nothing,” Goce stammers. “I don’t know. Just rumors. That’s all. Please . I’ve told you everything.”
Kai’s hand shoots out, clamping around Goce’s throat. “What rumors?”
The man’s eyes widen and he starts to choke, sputtering as his face reddens.
“Kai,” Orion says sharply. “We don’t wanna kill him. Not yet.”
Fuck, when will he learn to keep his emotions in check?
For a moment, it feels like Kai will kill him right here, in front of our eyes. The room is heavy with his anger, but finally, his grip loosens. Goce collapses forward, coughing and gasping for air.
“What. Rumors?” Kai growls through clenched teeth.
Goce’s hands shake as he clutches the arms of the chair, his breath ragged. “W-With her out of the way, he can…he can be part of the syndicate, and rule. As a Slav,” he rasps, his words spilling out like a confession.
The moment Goce’s done, Kai’s fist connects with his jaw with a brutal, unrestrained swing. The sound of bone meeting flesh echoes around the room, and Goce’s head snaps back before he slumps, unconscious, within his restraints.
The room falls into a deafening silence, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead light.
Orion doesn’t move at first, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifts between Kai and the unconscious man.
Then he steps in, grips the man’s head—one hand at the base, the other clamped around his jaw—and twists with brutal precision.
There’s a sharp snap, sudden and final, as the body goes limp in his arms.
He turns to Clay. “We don’t need him any longer. Take him away.”
Clay nods without a word, his massive frame slouching over Goce while he cuts his restraints before hoisting him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoes down the stone corridor as Clay disappears with the limp body, leaving the rest of us in the oppressive quiet.
Kai stands rigid, his fists still clenched, his knuckles white. I exhale slowly, the weight of Goce’s words pressing down on me. Her name lingers in the air like a curse, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of something far worse than any of us are prepared for.
Kai breaks the silence first. “A Slav boss. In DC. And he’s coming to New York. For Maisy.”
I nod slowly. “This changes everything.”
Orion’s gaze hardens. “No. The stakes are just higher. But we’ve dealt with worse.”
MAISY
The sound of Ava’s soft giggle fills the nursery, followed by Grace’s high-pitched hum of contentment.
Their tiny faces glow in the soft light from the elephant-shaped nightlight, the only source of illumination in the room.
I tuck the blanket tighter around Ava as she nestles into Orion’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed.
Beside her bed, Grace’s hands clutch at her favorite stuffed fox as I lean over to kiss her forehead.
“Night, night, sweetheart,” I whisper, smoothing down her dark curls.
Orion murmurs something low to Ava, something I can’t quite catch, but it makes her giggle again before sleep finally claims her.
His deep voice is so different here, softer, more tender, almost as if he’s afraid to break the spell of this quiet moment.
It tugs at something deep in my chest—a combination of warmth and unease.
Orion has always been good at making me feel both.
I was waiting on them to tell me where they’d disappeared to, and what they’d done. But I got nothing. Instead, they simply changed clothes and slipped seamlessly into our evening ritual, as though they hadn’t vanished for hours without explanation.
Now, they move through the familiar choreography of bedtime. I pull back to stand beside Orion as he gently settles Ava into her bed. Orion in his black sweatpants and t-shirt is a sight I’ve come to cherish. It totally mollifies me.
He pauses, looking down at the twins before whispering, “Sweet dreams, girls.”
We step into the hallway and close the nursery door as quietly as possible. Across from us, I hear enthusiastic chatter coming from Maxim’s room. I can picture Logan perched on the edge of his bed, probably trying to answer the endless stream of questions Maxim always seems to have at bedtime.
“Why doesn’t the moon stay full all the time, Dad?” Maxim asks, loudly enough for his words to carry into the hall.
Logan’s calm voice follows, warm with patience. “Because the Earth gets in the way sometimes. It’s called phases. I’ll show you how it works tomorrow, alright? But now, it’s time to sleep.”
Maxim doesn’t seem convinced, but after a little more reassurance and a quick hug, Logan emerges from his room, brushing a hand through his hair.
His eyes meet mine, and he offers a tired smile before heading into Luca’s room next door, who’s usually the first to fall asleep, never bothered by the noise from any of his siblings.
In the room to the left, Damien’s laughter rings out like bells, high-pitched and unrestrained.
I peek inside and find Kai tossing him onto the bed like a ragdoll, earning delighted shrieks from him as well as Mila, who is half-laughing, half-protesting.
“You’re doing it all wrong!” Mila declares, her little hands perched on her hips.
Kai grins, unrepentant. “Oh? And how should it be done, Miss Expert?”
Mila rolls her eyes but moves forward with surprising authority for a four-year-old.
“Like this,” she says, buttoning up Damien’s pajama top with quick, precise movements.
Kai watches with exaggerated admiration, nodding at her every move like she’s conducting the world’s most important lesson.
By the time Mila climbs into bed, her expression is smug, and Kai plants a kiss on the top of her head before whispering something that makes her giggle again.