Chapter 22
The first thing that strikes me is how calm everyone is.
No shock.
No laughter.
Only a faint hum of agreement as we switch breakfast topics from syrup to stabbing. Gabriel refills his coffee while someone passes the jam, and Milo slathers it onto his toast as though this were the most natural thing in the world.
Someone laughs, like this is all one long-running family joke.
Except no one smiles.
My fork hovers halfway to my mouth. Are they serious? They sound serious, and I can’t decide if I want them to be.
Sebastian doesn’t even blink, and somehow that’s worse. The whole table moves in perfect rhythm, and I’m the only one who realizes the world has tilted sideways.
Slowly, I turn to Jade. “What?”
He shrugs, shoveling a bite of pancakes into his mouth and talking around it.
“Your stalker. Travis. Sebastian mentioned how you’re worried the police won’t take you seriously, and unfortunately, you’re right.
So we’ll handle it ourselves.” He swallows and takes a swig of coffee. “It’s what family is for.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot, the eggs I ate turning sour, and I struggle to swallow.
Sebastian’s hand finds my knee under the table, his palm radiating warmth through my jeans. The squeeze of his fingers suggests reassurance, but his face remains impassive, unsurprised by the casual mention of murder at his family breakfast table.
“Excellent idea,” Saint says beside me, leaning back in his chair with a creak of wood.
His posture opens, shoulders relaxing as a predatory grin spreads across his face.
“Where do you dump your bodies? I, for one, am a fan of the old limestone quarry outside Ashford Heights. The water table runs deep there, so bodies never surface.”
My blood runs cold at how easily Saint inserts himself into the conversation, as if this darkness has always belonged to him.
But he’s always been the barrier between me and the uglier side of what we do.
I find the stalkers, he handles them. I never asked how.
Never wanted to know. The distance preserved my conscience.
As he reaches for another slice of bacon, calm and unbothered, I see through the fragile veneer of civility I’ve wrapped around us. We survived the foster system through his willingness to hurt others before they hurt us.
Sitting here now, watching him fit so seamlessly into this family of elegant predators, forces me to confront the reality I’ve avoided. He may be the gun in our relationship, but I’ve always been the one to pull the trigger.
“Hydrofluoric acid is better,” Jade counters, while I spiral inside. “Four hours, and there’s no worry about evidence surfacing later.”
“But the fumes.” Milo wrinkles his delicate nose. “I’m a fan of the classics. Concrete’s cleaner.”
“We can’t have bodies in the foundations of all of our buildings,” Gabriel counters. “That’s begging for trouble.”
A joke. I think. I hope.
Milo rolls his eyes. “Put them in your competitor’s builds, obviously.”
Phoenix shifts on Damien’s lap. “Can we not discuss dissolving people while I’m eating?”
“Squeamish?” Gabriel teases.
“Practical. Some things,” Damien says, his arm tightening around Phoenix’s waist, “are better discussed in private.”
“Enough,” Sebastian cuts in. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
“What, you want us to pretend we can’t handle this?” Jade surges to his feet, his palms flat on the table. “Someone is threatening your Omega. We eliminate threats.”
Sebastian’s fingers tighten on my knee. “Micah doesn’t need the specifics.”
My head snaps toward him, pulse quickening. Not ‘we don’t eliminate people.’ Not ‘that’s not how we operate.’ Simply: Micah doesn’t need the specifics.
“I think I do,” I counter, steadier than I feel. “If you’re planning to…to kill someone on my behalf, I should know.”
Sebastian’s scarred face remains neutral. “No one’s killing anyone without exploring all options first.”
“That’s not a denial,” I say.
“No.” He lets out a slow breath. “It’s not.”
My stomach drops through the floor. The Mark on my neck pulses, a physical reminder of my connection to this man, to this family, and to whatever brutal methods they employ.
Jade’s brow furrows. “Did you not have the talk with him last night?”
Gabriel chuckles. “Sounds like Sebastian was too distracted to read his new mate into the family business.”
“There are procedures,” Ezra explains, folding his napkin into an artful triangle. “Protocols. We don’t eliminate problems without consideration. Doing so would be uncivilized.”
“Exactly.” The angelic Omega rubs a hand over his pregnant belly. “First, we explore legal channels, then economic pressure, then social isolation. Violence is a last resort.”
“But always an option.” Milo stares at me from across the table. “We will do whatever is necessary.”
“We need to proceed with caution,” Sebastian says, his fingers still warm on my knee. “We draw Travis out, confirm his identity beyond doubt, and then we decide.”
“Sebastian,” Gabriel says in warning. “Your judgment might be compromised here.”
Sebastian’s hand tightens on my knee. “My judgment is fine.”
“Your Omega was violated, Sebastian.” Gabriel’s eyes flick to the Mark on my neck. “No Alpha thinks with a clear head when their mate is threatened.”
Mate. The word sends a pulse of heat through me at the reminder of the bond I chose without understanding the world attached to it. I’ve gone from independent cam boy and vigilante hacker to mated Omega in a matter of hours, and the implications keep exploding in my mind.
“We should move this discussion to the study,” Milo interrupts. “After breakfast.”
The suggestion breaks the tension, sending everyone back to their meals. Forks scrape on plates, coffee cups clink on saucers, and the rhythm of a normal breakfast resumes as if murder hadn’t been on the menu moments before.
I stare down at my plate, the French toast I was enjoying now sitting in a puddle of congealed, inedible syrup.
Sebastian leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer. At least, not honestly.
Am I okay with how casually these people discuss ending a life? With how comfortable Saint is in their world? With how Sebastian didn’t blink at the suggestion of murder?
It’s not that I’m a stranger to violence. The system taught me early on that the law fails people like us. But there’s a difference between survival and this cloaked brutality polished in privilege.
One is inevitable. The other is chosen.
“Eat,” Sebastian encourages, misinterpreting my silence for loss of appetite. “We’ll figure this out.”
I force myself to pick up the fork, though each bite tastes like cardboard. Across the table, Jade catches my eye. His expression holds no remorse, no conflict, only a curious assessment, as if he’s evaluating whether I’m strong enough to handle their reality.
Saint leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispers, “Welcome to the big leagues, Micah. Your boyfriend’s family makes my methods look amateur.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. How can my gentle Alpha with his cameras and safety protocols be the same man who sits so calmly in the middle of this danger?
I’ve known violence before. From my childhood, from Saint’s fists when the system failed us, from the streets that taught us to hit first or vanish. But this is different.
This isn’t survival.
This is power without consequence.
Sebastian, with his soft touches and careful words, belongs to a world where violence doesn’t cost anything. Where people like him bend the rules instead of fearing them.
My fingers shake, the fork clattering against my plate. I used to imagine that being claimed by him would mean safety. No more watching my back. No more living on edge beside Saint. But looking at Sebastian now, I wonder if I’ve just traded one kind of danger for another.
It isn’t even the violence that terrifies me. It’s the certainty that with wealth, nothing can touch them. The Rockfords don’t answer to the world. They reshape it to fit their needs.
And if Saint and I don’t fit that design, if Sebastian decides a cam boy doesn’t belong at his side, I won’t just lose him. We’ll vanish to keep the Rockfords’ secrets.
“For what it’s worth,” Milo says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, “if Travis is a problem, we’ll treat him like a problem.” He dabs his mouth with his napkin, the gesture refined and final. “The only questions are scale and timing.”
The matter-of-fact statement chills me more than Jade’s direct offer. This isn’t passion or anger or even justice. It’s pest control.
“Agreed,” Ezra adds, checking his watch. “Speaking of timing, we should continue this discussion in the study.”
Like a choreographed dance, breakfast ends.
Chairs push back from the table with a synchronized scrape of legs over hardwood, and plates are gathered by staff who materialize from the periphery of the room, moving with the practiced invisibility of people trained to be unseen.
The Rockfords rise and flow toward a side door, led by Ezra’s confident stride.
Sebastian’s hand finds the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. “Coming?”
Saint is already halfway across the room, eager to see what kind of setup billionaire killers have at their disposal. Phoenix and Damien head toward a different door, caught up in whispered conversation. Leo and Nolan have disappeared, perhaps excused from whatever planning comes next.
The side chamber waits, its heavy door propped open. I catch a glimpse of leather chairs, a polished table, the gleam of electronics. The war room. The place where the real conversation will happen, where these beautiful, terrible people will decide a man’s fate over coffee and perhaps pastries.
My pulse stutters. I have to decide now. Do I take the blindfold off and admit my hands have never been clean? Or do I keep covering my eyes and pretending I don’t understand what’s happening?
“Micah?” Sebastian’s fingertips trace small circles at the base of my spine as his pheromones rise to offer me comfort. “We don’t have to go in if you’re uncomfortable.”
His gentleness contrasts with what I now understand he’s capable of. Or what he tolerates. Or both. Was my shy Alpha a face he wore? Is the real Sebastian the one who sits at this table and discusses murder without blinking?
Or are they both real? The gentle and the ruthless, the protective and the dangerous?
“Would anything I say stop this?” I ask.
Sebastian’s pause tells me everything. “No. This man invaded your home, violated your privacy, and threatened you. In my family, that’s—”
“Unforgivable,” I finish for him, the word bitter and sweet on my tongue.
He searches my face, waiting for judgment or acceptance.
“I want to hear the options,” I say, surprising myself with how steady I sound. “All of them.”
Sebastian’s expression softens with relief, and he cups my nape, thumb brushing over his Mark.
“Options it is,” he agrees, guiding me toward the waiting room.
I follow, the threshold between the dining room and the side chamber a boundary between the person I was and whoever I will become.
From here, there will be no turning back.