Chapter 9 #2
"Ex-everything," Socket confirmed. "Former special forces, ex-cops, black ops washouts. The kind of men who know how to make problems disappear without leaving evidence."
Fury moved to stand beside me, studying the screen with narrowed eyes.
"I recognize a few of these faces," he said, pointing to headshots displayed on the company's 'Our Team' page.
"That one—McCauley—was dishonorably discharged for excessive force in Afghanistan.
This one," he tapped another photo, "worked for Blackwater before even they decided he was too brutal. "
"How many?" I demanded.
Socket scrolled through more records. "Financial transfers suggest your in-laws hired a four-man team. Two were spotted doing surveillance on your house tonight. The other two are likely handling advance work for tomorrow's meeting."
The thought of these men watching my home, where Ophelia and Dante slept, sent a surge of rage through me that I tamped down with practiced control. Cold calculation would serve my family better than hot fury.
"They're planning to take her tomorrow," Socket continued, pulling up a new window.
"Intercepted texts between your mother-in-law and Walters lay it out pretty clearly.
The 'family meeting' is just cover. They'll have the legal documents ready for her to sign, but they're not expecting compliance.
" His expression darkened. "One way or another, they intend to escort her and the boy back to Connecticut. "
"Over my dead body," I growled, the words escaping before I could filter them.
"Over theirs, more likely," Ace commented dryly from his position against the wall. "What's the play, Razor?"
I reached for my phone, scrolling through contacts.
"We lock down the restaurant perimeter. Set up counter-surveillance.
Have extraction routes ready if things go south.
" My thumb landed on Loch's name first. I hit call, putting it on speaker as I continued reviewing the intelligence spread before me.
"Talk to me," Loch answered on the first ring, his voice tight with alertness despite the hour.
"Ophelia's parents made contact. Planning to take her and Dante at a 'family meeting' tomorrow. Need you to coordinate surveillance teams around Bellini's downtown. Full coverage, all angles."
"On it," he replied without hesitation. "How many men we looking at?"
"Four professionals. Ex-military. They won't hesitate to use force if they think they can get away with it." I looked at Socket for confirmation, getting a grim nod in return.
"So, we bring more," Loch said simply. "I'll call Screwball and Pierce."
"Already heading to your place now," Fury added, grabbing his cut from the back of his chair. "I'll relieve Socket, keep eyes on your family until morning."
I nodded my appreciation as Loch disconnected. My next call was to Ace, though he stood just feet away. This needed to be official, on record.
"VP," I said formally when he answered, maintaining eye contact across the room. "Requesting club resources for family protection detail. Full tactical support."
"Granted," he responded without hesitation, the single word carrying the weight of official sanction. We both knew what this meant—Mustang would be furious about the allocation of brothers without his approval, but with the VP's backing, I had legitimacy.
I ended the call and immediately dialed Pretty Boy. He answered on the second ring, background noise suggesting he was already on the move.
"Your parents made contact," I said without preamble. "Meeting tomorrow at Bellini's. They've hired private security with the intention of taking Ophelia and Dante by force if necessary."
"Fucking knew it," he snarled. "Wizard's already tracking their digital footprint. We've got eyes on the lawyer's house and your father-in-law's estate. Eagle's en route to you with tactical gear."
The swift response from Hades Abyss confirmed what I'd already suspected—this alliance wasn't just about club politics anymore. This was family, and both clubs were all in.
"I need to check in with Ophelia," I said as I ended the call, already heading for my bike.
Socket caught my arm, his expression uncharacteristically grave.
"There's more you should know." He handed me a printout—an email from Ophelia's father to a family court judge.
"They're pursuing emergency custody based on claims that Dante is in danger living with a known criminal.
They've got a friendly judge ready to sign off on removal orders as early as tomorrow afternoon. "
The paper crumpled in my fist, rage momentarily overwhelming my careful control. "Let them try," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "Anyone tries to take my family, they'll wish they hadn't."
I checked my weapon—the compact Sig Sauer I carried whenever club business might turn violent. The weight of it against my hip was reassuring, a physical reminder of my capacity for protection and destruction in equal measure.
"Set up a war room at my place," I instructed Socket and Ace. "Full comms, tactical planning. I want eyes on Bellini's by dawn, complete layout, all entrance and exit points mapped."
"And if Mustang objects?" Ace asked, though his tone suggested he already knew my answer.
"Then he can step up or step aside," I replied, not breaking stride as I headed for the door. "This is happening with or without him."
Outside, the pre-dawn air carried a chill that did nothing to cool the fire building inside me.
As I mounted my Harley, I thought of Ophelia waiting at home, of Dante sleeping in his race car bed, innocent and unaware of the storm gathering around him.
I'd made them promises—of safety, of protection, of a family that wouldn't be torn apart.
Some promises were written in ink. These were written in blood.
And I would honor them, no matter the cost.
Ophelia
I smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my dress as I approached Bellini's entrance, my heels clicking against the pavement with deliberate steadiness that belied the chaos inside me.
The outfit had been carefully chosen—conservative enough to please my parents' sensibilities while still asserting that I wasn't the same malleable daughter they remembered.
Dante was safe with Fury at home, surrounded by a protection detail that Razor had assured me was impenetrable.
I'd kissed my son's forehead before leaving, promising to bring him a chocolate dessert while silently vowing that I would return to him, that no one would separate us.
As the restaurant's heavy door swung open, releasing the scent of garlic and expensive wine into the street, I took one final steadying breath.
Game faces on. Time to dance with the devils who raised me.
The ma?tre d' recognized me immediately—of course he did. My parents had been bringing me here since I was old enough to sit quietly through a three-course meal. "Miss Weathers," he greeted with practiced warmth, deliberately using my maiden name. "Your parents are waiting. Their usual table."
I nodded, not bothering to correct him about my name. The wedding band on my finger felt heavy, a tangible reminder of the protection that now surrounded me like invisible armor. As I followed him through the dining room, my eyes automatically scanned for familiar faces.
I spotted Razor almost immediately, though I was careful not to let my gaze linger.
He sat in a corner booth, baseball cap pulled low, nursing what looked like coffee while reading a newspaper.
To anyone else, he would appear to be just another customer enjoying a late breakfast. But I recognized the alertness in his posture, the way his eyes flicked up to track my movement across the restaurant.
Knowing he was there steadied me, allowed me to straighten my spine as I approached the corner table where my parents waited like royalty holding court.
My mother rose first, her Chanel suit immaculate, diamonds glittering at her ears and throat despite the early hour.
Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair—the same shade mine would be if I still bothered with the expensive highlights she insisted upon—didn't move as she leaned forward to greet me with air kisses that never quite touched my skin.
"Darling," she exclaimed with practiced concern, her voice carrying just enough to be noticed by nearby tables without seeming theatrical. "We've been so worried. You look..." Her eyes swept over me with clinical assessment. "...tired."
"Hello, Mother," I replied, carefully modulating my voice to reveal nothing. I turned to my father, who remained seated, his expensive suit announcing his importance more effectively than words ever could. "Father."
He nodded once, his expression a calculated mixture of disappointment and concern. "Ophelia. Sit."
Not a request—never a request with him. I took the seat opposite them, placing my purse beside me where I could easily access the panic button Razor had given me. The leather portfolio lay centered on the table between us, its presence as threatening as any weapon.
"Where is Dante?" my mother asked, her gaze searching the restaurant as if expecting to find him hidden behind a potted plant. "We were so hoping to see our grandson."
"He's safe," I said simply. "Home with friends."
My father's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Your home is in Connecticut. With your family. This... arrangement you've created is temporary at best, illegal at worst."
"I'm married," I stated, lifting my left hand to display the ring Razor had placed there in that Vegas chapel. "Legal in all fifty states."