3. Mason
3
MASON
“ W hy are you here?” Mia’s voice is a whipcrack, sharp and demanding. No hesitation. No soft reunion.
The metal chair beneath me is cold, but not as cold as the look Mia throws my way from behind the grimy glass partition.
Her arms are crossed, her jaw tight, and the light above flickers, catching the sharp edges of her glare.
Maxine is with her, standing by quietly, out of her element. She hovers near the back, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to make herself small. I don’t like it. She’s too thin. Too skittish. Even in a room with locked doors and guards, she’s still looking for an exit.
I want to say something—something that will pull her back—but Mia is already stepping forward, eyes burning into mine.
The warmth I felt at seeing them twists, turns into something heavier. My girls. The only two people in this world who have ever made me feel like more than just a man with blood on my hands.
Mia drops into the chair across from me, but there’s nothing relaxed about it. She’s on edge, waiting, daring me to give her a bullshit answer.
“Hey, kid,” I say, offering a small smile.
She doesn’t return it.
“Don’t kid me.” Her fingers curl into a fist on the table. “What the hell, Mason? Why are you in here?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the metal. “It’s just a short term stay, kid.”
Her breath flares through her nose. “I hear what they’re saying. But I also know people like you don’t get arrested for a driving offence.”
Maxine finally moves, pulling out a chair with slow, deliberate movements. Her fingers tap against the surface, restless. She glances at me, but it’s quick—like she’s afraid of what she’ll see.
I hate that.
She used to look at me like I was someone who could keep her safe. Now, I’m just another man behind a glass partition. Another disappointment.
“I’ll be out soon,” I tell Mia. The words feel stale the second they leave my mouth.
Her eyes narrow. “Right. Because jail cells are so easy to get out of once you’re in here, right?”
I smirk despite myself. “You get that mouth from your mother.”
For half a second, her expression softens, like she remembers something good. Something before all of this. But it’s gone in a blink.
“What are you really doing in here, Mason?” she asks, voice lower now. “I know you wouldn’t do anything stupid. That’s not your style. And it’s not befitting of an underboss.”
I let out a slow breath, my gaze settling on hers. “It’s only for a little while, pumpkin.”
The nickname barely touches her. She just shakes her head.
“I tried to bail you out,” she says. “Brando talked me out of it. Said it was being taken care of. That you’d be out in a few days.” A pause. “What are you both not telling me?”
I’m trying to protect you, Mia. That’s what fathers do.
I don’t say it. I don’t have that right. She’s my daughter in every way but on paper, even if she doesn’t know it.
Maxine shifts. Her fingers clutch the edge of the table, knuckles white. I can see the war inside her, the words she wants to say but won’t. Then, suddenly, she pushes back her chair.
“I need to walk,” she murmurs.
Mia watches her go, but she doesn’t follow. Her eyes turn back to me, searching, waiting.
She wants answers.
But she’s not going to get them.
The silence stretches. Then?—
“Tell me.”
I shake my head.
Her jaw clenches. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
The scrape of my chair against the floor is loud in the tense quiet. Maxine stands in the corner, rocking on her heels, biting at a nail.
“Go home to Brando, Mia.”
She freezes.
“I don’t want you coming here again,” I continue, voice even, final. I’ll do anything to get her out of here and into the safety of her husband’s arms. I’m sure he doesn’t know she’s here right now; if he did, he’d lose his shit. “You don’t belong here.”
She swallows, her throat working around something thick and unspoken.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispers.
“I’m not asking, Mia. I’m ordering you.”
Her hands curl into fists, her whole body trembling with fury. “What are you up to, Ironside?”
Smart cookie. She’s on to me.
But the less she knows, the safer she is.
The door to the visitor’s room swings open before she can push further. A man steps in, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who never questions if he belongs in a room.
His suit is sharp, tailored, not a single wrinkle in sight. Dirty blonde hair, parted just enough to make him look like a Boy Scout. But the emerald-green eyes that cut through the room say otherwise.
My stomach knots.
What the actual fuck?
Maxine stops fidgeting. She looks at the man like she’s seeing a ghost. Her fingers fall away from her mouth, lips parting, but no words come out.
He notices her. Recognizes her. Something flickers in his eyes, though it’s only brief before he rights himself and turns to me.
“Good to see you again, Ironside.”
I exhale sharply, my spine going rigid as I glare at him.
Saxon.
The fucking vagabond.
Women consider him a handsome bastard. I consider him a disease. All charm on the outside, filth on the inside. And right now, he’s standing in front of me like he doesn’t expect me to put him through a wall.
The first time we met him, he was undercover and dressed like a vagrant, and that’s how he got the nickname Vagabond. He hates it, but it’s a name that stuck. And I love it for him.
He’s a Fed.
And still, somehow, he’s tangled himself in our world.
He helped—once. When Allegra Gatti and Kanyan’s woman, Lula, vanished into the fucking wind, he showed up just long enough to be useful. Just long enough for us to believe he was on our side.
Then he turned on us.
Had the audacity to cut the head off our war before we could sharpen the blade. Saxon and his federal squadron of cowards swooped in and arrested Altin Kadri—the bastard who kidnapped my brothers’ partners, who bled us dry, who wanted to own the Moreno throne—and they put him in chains before we could put him in the ground.
He stole our kill.
Stole our revenge.
Altin Kadri should be dead. He should be a bloodstain on a dock somewhere, sinking into the sea with his sins stitched to his chest. Instead? He’s behind bars, smiling for mugshots, waiting for a trial that should never come.
Because of Saxon North.
And now here he is, standing before me, wearing that smug little expression like this is just another day at the fucking office.
I stare him down. I don’t blink.
He’s persona non grata with the Five Families. With Seattle. With the entire goddamn mafia.
But me?
I’m the one he should worry about.
Because there’s only one reason I haven’t put a bullet between his eyes yet?—
After the initial shock of him walking in, even Mia—furious as she was—seemed to decide it was safer to retreat. She and Maxine slipped out of the visitor’s room without a word, without a glance back, though I could still feel Mia’s fury trailing behind her like smoke.
I watch as his polished shoes scrape against the grimy floor. He steps into the dim light, eyes locking onto mine with that too-calm expression, the one that never changes. It’s always like he’s standing over you, watching, weighing every little thing you do. But I can see through it. I know a predator when I see one. Because we all look the same, at the end of the day.
“Didn’t know this was one of your preferred stomping grounds, Saxon,” I mutter, leaning back against the cold concrete wall. My voice is rough from the stale air, but I make it sound casual. Like I’m not about to tear this motherfucker apart.
He doesn’t reply right away, just steps closer. He’s wearing that sharp suit, like he’s here for business, though we both know it’s more than that. He’s not here to talk about my arrest. He’s here because he’s been watching me. And he ruined my visit with my daughters, goddamn it.
I watch him close the gap, his eyes scanning me for any hint of weakness. It’s the same game he’s been playing since I first met him. But this time, something’s different. He knows something I don’t.
“Imagine my surprise when your name came up in conversation—that you’d been transported here of all places,” Saxon finally says, his voice calm, calculated. He leans against the bars of my cell, arms crossed, trying to play off the underlying tension in the way he stands. I can do tension real calm, but this asshole tries—and fails—to appear calm and collected. There’s a nervous tension radiating through him even as his eyes search mine.
My lip curls into a sneer. “You have a point in there somewhere?”
“You’re not stupid,” he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been in the game long enough, you’ve dodged prison for decades, and now you’re in here on a traffic violation? How does that work, Ironside?”
He all-out but directly accuses me of wrongdoing, and my expression gives him nothing. I’ve learned to keep my mask intact, no matter how sharp the knives are.
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I broke the law. That’s why I’m in here.”
“I don’t think so,” Saxon replies, his voice icy now.
I snort. “Well, you know what they say about thinking too hard. It can be painful—watch that you don’t hurt yourself.”
He steps closer, his presence suffocating, like a predator circling its prey. I can almost feel the tension crackling between us. Saxon thinks he has me cornered—but he doesn’t understand what drives me. He doesn’t know what I’m willing to do, how far I’m willing to go, to get what I want. To do what needs to be done.
“I don’t trust you,” he says, his tone dropping to a hard, unforgiving edge. “I don’t trust that it’s a coincidence you got locked up here, the same place Kadri is being transferred to in a few weeks.”
I can’t help but laugh, though it sounds bitter. “Well, I’m sure you’ll sleep better knowing I’ll be out of here in a matter of days, if not hours, and my path won’t cross with Kadri’s.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You know what I think? I think I should put in a word for you, get you transferred to a cushy hotel room.”
I shift, my muscles coiling. “Wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Ironside,” he says, finally breaking his impassive facade to reveal a flicker of something darker. “But I’m warning you, don’t fuck me over.”
I don’t respond. He’s not wrong about me having a plan, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.
“You’re not in control in here, Mason,” he adds, his voice low, almost a growl. “The last thing you need right now is to make an enemy of me.”
His eyes are hard, cold, but I can see a flash of something—fear—behind them. Fear of what I might do. Fear of what he knows I’m capable of.
But that’s the thing. I like making people like him nervous.
“You done?” I ask, my tone heavy with amusement.
“I’m watching you, Ironside.” Saxon’s voice is tight, his body rigid. He’s itching for a reason to strike. I can see it in the way his fingers twitch at his side.
“Watch all you want,” I say, my voice turning cold.
His lips tighten, but he doesn’t respond right away. I can tell he’s trying to read me, trying to figure out how far I’m willing to push. But the truth is, I’ll push as far as I need to to get what I want.
“I’m watching you, Ironside. Like a hawk.”
I lean forward, my gaze locking with his. “You think you can alter the destiny I’ve already constructed?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he turns and walks to the door, his steps measured, controlled. The sound of his shoes scraping against the concrete floors echoes louder than his words ever could.
But before he leaves, he pauses.
“I will keep you in here until you rot if you push me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper, like a warning.
I sit back, letting the silence hang in the air like a thick fog, but I don’t say the words that linger on the tip of my tongue.
You can try.