Fourteen #2
I raise a brow, daring her to deny it. She won’t.
She can’t. She got sloppy. She got comfortable.
And now? She’s been found . The Mastersons stare at me—some with rage, others with confusion.
They don’t have a damn clue what’s going on.
I don’t care. Their feelings don’t concern me.
If they want to survive, they better get their shit together. Fast.
I turn and walk to Malikai, who’s already watching me closely.
My youngest boy, the quiet one. The thinker, always listening, always calculating.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his thoughts spinning.
He’s wondering why I started here and came at Valentina so hard.
He’ll understand soon enough. It’s all connected.
In the corner, Sebastian and Armand are in deep conversation, low voices filled with tension. Security risks, defensive strategies—I know they’re plotting contingencies for my safety. I appreciate it. But I can handle myself.
And right on cue—
“STOP!” someone yells behind me.
I turn slowly. Valentina. Shaky hands. Wild eyes. A gun. Pointed at me, and all I could do was stare at her.
Pathetic.
She thinks that little pea shooter’s going to make me flinch? Make me take the blame? Admit to something I didn’t do? Not in this lifetime. I don’t even blink. Just shake my head at her, like a disappointed parent watching a child throw a tantrum.
“You think this changes anything?” I murmur.
She doesn’t answer. Just stands there, trembling. She’s an idiot. An idiot who thought, Hey, let me call my long-lost family in New York. And surprise—Don Salvatore traced the call. Found her. Coincidence or not, he’s here now. And he has reach and motive .
“It is your fault. If you didn’t… If you hadn’t…” she stammers, hands still shaking.
I narrow my eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re blaming me ? For your son being shot? For the Salvatores hunting your family because you killed their Don? For what they did to your sister? Or maybe because you were stupid enough to make a call you never should have made?”
I take a step closer. She doesn’t move.
“You fucked up, Valentina. You knew no amount of time would be enough. The mafia doesn’t forget. My father gave you protection. He passed that promise to Sam and me. You are the reason my mother and I were sent here—to keep you safe. We honored our side. So you tell me—”
I growl now.
“WHY THE EVER-LOVING FUCK WOULD I DO THIS?”
The room is dead silent. Every word echoes. And she knows. She knows I’m right. But it doesn’t stop her. She’s too deep in her delusions. We stare at each other. She knows the truth. But she’ll never say it.
Not Valentina Tomasi.
Her family tries to get her to put the gun down. My family already has her locked in their sights. One move, and she’s done.
“It is your fault,” she whispers again, taking a shaky step toward me.
Really?
We’re still doing this?
No one notices what I do—the slight movement behind Valentina, quiet and deliberate. Someone slipped into the room. I sigh. Of course .
“Lady, like she said—it ain’t her fault. My family protected you and your husband’s band of misfits for decades. So hand over the gun… and chill the fuck out.”
Sarafina’s voice rings out clear and steady.
She’s behind Valentina, gun drawn. Calm.
Confident. Ice cold. Everyone in the room freezes except me.
Brick moves fast, grabbing the gun the second Valentina lowers it.
He hands it to Axel, pulling his wife into his arms. She shakes like a leaf.
Axel having the gun isn’t great. But we’ll handle it.
“Nice entrance, Spider Monkey,” Malikai says, amused. “I take it sending you the feed triggered your usual dramatic flair?”
Sarafina smirks and gives a ridiculous curtsy.
Armand, Sebastian, and Malikai chuckle lowly. They can’t help it.
“So… besides Valentina holding Boss Lady at gunpoint… what did I miss?”
She holsters her weapon, doesn’t even look at the Mastersons. Walks past them like they’re furniture. Drops into a seat beside Malikai, drags over another with her foot, props her legs up, and crosses her arms like she’s settling in for a show.
The Mastersons stand frozen, mouths open. I shake my head at my girl.
“What?” she shrugs.
“Wait. Boss Lady? Who the hell is she?” Nitro demands, pointing at her.
Sarafina grins.
“Well, if you must know— she, me, her is the third oldest child of Gabriella Barone and Brian Talon Masterson. Granddaughter of James Brick Masterson, Valentina Tomasi-Masterson, Elijah, Rebecca Barone, and your niece. Nosey.”
She lifts her chin with a smirk.
“Nice to meet you. Now, back to my original question—what did I miss?”
I roll my eyes. Fi and Bellamy spend way too much time together. They’re chaos twins—carbon copies of each other. Sometimes I wonder if she’s even my kid.
I shake my head and refocus.
The real conversation is just getting started.
All the Mastersons are staring at my daughter like she just sprouted horns.
They see it now. The resemblance. The truth.
And it’s written all over their confused faces.
I sigh, already bored with this whole damn conversation.
We’ve veered so far off track, I don’t even know where to make a U-turn.
My melanin is itching again, which is never a good sign.
“Wait—so you’re saying I have older Black siblings ?
” Luna shrieks like a Lifetime movie reject.
Her eyes flick from me to my kids, face twisted in disbelief and something dangerously close to disgust. And just like that, I know exactly who she is.
One of those white girls. Pollyanna with a sprinkle of microaggressions. Lovely.
The whole room freezes. Silent. Unmoving.
But I feel the tension wrapping around my spine like a steel coil.
To be fair, I get their confusion. I never told them about the twins.
Both sets. I showed up with the boys. No time, no reason to mention more.
It was chaos from the start, and honestly, why explain myself to people I don’t trust?
Yes. Two sets of identical twins. Rare? Absolutely.
A logistical and emotional nightmare? Fuck yes. But it happened. And now here we are.
Initially, I’d planned for all the kids to come at once.
But they had their own plans. The boys insisted on scoping things out first, meeting Talon, and feeling him out.
Liv didn’t care either way. Sarafina? She made it clear she was coming, whether or not her brothers liked it, as soon as her assignment wrapped.
Drama queen to the core. She always keeps her word.
Fi stands now, voice calm—too calm. “Hold up, 90210. What we are not fixing to do is be disrespectful.” She pauses, tilting her head just enough for it to be a warning.
“We might be related by blood. But don’t get it fucked up.
My Black ass will beat the brakes off you and sleep like a baby after. I dare you. Say something else.”
Sebastian is beside her before she finishes the sentence, with an arm around her waist. He knows his sister. And he knows that tone means all bets are off.
“ Sorella, let the little princess say whatever she wants. We know you can beat her ass. Calm down. Now’s not the time. ”
Seb keeps his voice low, only for her, but I catch it. I nod at him—semi-grateful. He’s trying. Still, his jaw’s tight, and his eyes burn holes through Luna. I hit both of them with a look that says chill out before I make you regret breathing . They get it. They look away. Good.
Sarafina and Sebastian—when they get heated? They’re a fucking storm. A two-headed hurricane. The only reason the world’s still intact is because they’ve never hit level ten at the same time . Thank fuck for that.
“Fine,” Fi mutters through clenched teeth. “I won’t beat her ass right now . But if she or any of her entitled-ass friends say some slick shit like that again, I’ll burn everything they love to the fucking ground.”
If I ever said she was like Sebastian, I lied. She’s worse.
I rub my temples, exhausted. This was supposed to be simple. Introduce the kids, locate the leak, retrieve our shit, and go home.
“Sarafina, do not test me today.” My voice is low, deadly. “Let that cagna run her mouth. I’m sure it’s hard for her. Finding out she’s got siblings who are smarter, stronger, and better than she’ll ever be. I’m sure the inferiority is hitting her hard.”
I don’t smile. I say it deadpan. Armand chokes on a laugh. Seb’s shoulders shake. Malikai snorts. Finally, Sebastian lets go and laughs full out.
“ Fucking hell, ” Brick mutters under his breath.
“What did you just say about my daughter, you dumb Black whore?!” Heather screeches.
Ohhh. Wrong fucking move.
“Sebastian, NO!”
Too late.
One shot.
She hits the floor, screaming, hand pressed to her shoulder where blood is already pooling. Her screams are like nails on a chalkboard. Axel grabs the gun Brick had earlier and aims it at my son.
Bad fucking idea.
Malikai, Sarafina, and Armand already have their weapons trained on him, unblinking.
Daring him to breathe wrong. And me? I’m just standing here, so over all this bullshit.
I sigh again. We really could’ve just stayed the fuck home.
Goddamn Sammy. The door flies open, and in walks the doctor, nose buried in his tablet, oblivious to the war zone he’s just entered.
“Stop,” I say simultaneously as he starts to speak.
“Dr. Callahan,” I warn, and his head jerks up, eyes darting between me and the blood-covered woman on the ground.
He freezes, one foot backpedaling toward the door, face caught between I want to help and I should’ve called in sick . I lift one finger. Just one. He gets the message. Stay your ass right there. He fidgets but doesn’t move.
“Someone get Backwoods Barbie outta here and get her some damn help,” I snap. “Put the guns down, all of you. Sit your asses down and shut the fuck up so we can find out what’s happening with Talon.”
My voice slices through the noise, calm, cold, and commanding. My children obey immediately. Axel? He hesitates. Then moves.
Sebastian’s still fuming, but I give him a hard stare. He’s proud, and I’m proud of him—she asked for that bullet. Still, we have bigger issues. Heather’s finally sedated, her sobs quieted by something heavy and medical. Good. That noise was about to drive me to murder.
Dr. Callahan finally clears his throat and tells us what we’ve been dying to know.
Talon survived. Two gunshots. One hell of a crash. Banged up, bruised, but alive. He’ll need physical therapy, but he’ll recover. They’re worried about his head injury—his helmet cracked on impact, and they had to cut it off. If not for that helmet, it would’ve been worse. A lot worse.
He finishes reviewing the recovery plan, meds, and expected hospital time. I listen. I nod.
But I’ve made my decision.
Is this environment? With these people? It’s too damn toxic.
My kids don’t need to breathe this poison.
If I need info, I’ll get it from the devices we planted in Talon’s ICU room or hack into the hospital’s system.
Yep. I said it. I came prepared. Armand got the layout, and we made sure we had ears everywhere that mattered.
I don’t trust anyone. Not for a second. I give the room one long, cold look.
Pure disappointment in every inch of me. Then I turn and walk out.
No goodbyes.
Just one word running through my head as I leave the chaos behind.
Idioti.