Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Ava
Morning sunlight filters through the kitchen windows, painting everything in gold. We’re at Rush House, Jameson sits in his high chair, fists full of blueberries, chewing them to mush while Jackson pretends to be horrified.
“That’s it,” he says, mock-serious. “You’re grounded. No more fruit until you learn basic table manners.”
Jameson responds with a sticky grin and smears blueberry juice across his cheek.
I laugh from the counter, stirring batter in a mixing bowl. “You’re really gonna teach table manners to a two-year-old?”
“Yeah. He listens to me,” Jackson says, scooping Jameson up and blowing a loud raspberry against his neck until Jameson squeals. “See? Total fear and respect.”
It’s domestic chaos in the best way—Jackson barefoot and shirtless, our son shrieking with laughter, pancakes burning on the stove. Everything in me wants to freeze it, to hold this moment still.
Jackson’s grin softens when he catches me watching. He crosses the room, looping one arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my temple. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I set the spoon down and look up at him. “You?”
We haven’t talked about his dad, or Chase, or Yates.
When he came back to the bedroom yesterday, he was covered in blood and didn’t even glance at me—he went straight into the shower.
By the time he stepped out, it was like he’d left all of it behind.
The violence, the chaos, the weight of it—it had all washed down the drain.
He nods, the smallest flicker of awe in his expression. “You know, this—” He glances between Jameson, the messy kitchen, and the sunlight. “This is everything I never thought I’d get to have.”
My chest tightens. “You deserve it.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, eyes on Jameson. “But I know I wouldn’t have it without you.”
The back door swings open, and Roman strolls in like he owns the place. Well, I guess, according to Jackson, he does. A girl with long chestnut colored hair trails behind him, wearing an oversized hoodie and holding two travel coffee cups.
“Hey,” she says to me. “I’m Lux.”
“Ava,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“You guys look so domestic. It’s disgusting,” Lux teases, setting the cups on the counter.
Roman smirks, dragging Lux closer. “Careful. Keep talking like that and baby-making goes straight to the top of my to-do list.”
Lux elbows him in the ribs, and he grins wider. Jameson starts clapping, delighted by the new arrivals. Jackson gives Roman a mock glare.
“You’re corrupting my son,” Jackson says.
“The kid’s gotta learn eventually, and Uncle Roman is here to teach him all our wicked ways.”
Jackson
The chaos of the kitchen lingers in my chest long after the laughter dies down.
Jameson’s sticky hands, the sunlight on the countertops, the way Ava looks at me.
I try to hold onto it, like it can shield me from everything else.
But I know it can’t. There are still ghosts waiting, questions that won’t go away. ..
I show up at Mom’s place the next morning, early. The living room feels smaller somehow, everything frozen in place like a snapshot from years ago. I sit across from her, hands restless in my lap.
And then I just...unload. Everything. Dad’s connection to Senator Davis’s death, the Burning Crown’s involvement, Jameson’s existence, Ember missing…all of it. First, she’s stone-faced, lips pressed together tightly, like she’s holding it together by a thread.
Then something shifts. It’s like watching a dam about to burst.
The tears come first, then her voice breaks—part rage, part grief. She’s shouting one moment, begging the next. Years of fear and pain just explode out of her, raw and unfiltered. I sit there and take it, watching her fall apart in a way she never has before.
When she finally runs out of words, there’s something different in her eyes. Not the fight I’m used to seeing. Just...surrender. Like, a quiet acceptance.
“I’ll go to Lockly,” she says, and those five words feel bigger than anything we’ve ever said to each other.
I pull her into a hug. “I’ve got you, Mom,” I whisper.
For the first time in forever, it feels like hope.
By the time I make it back to Rush House, the emotional hurricane has subsided. When I walk in, there’s some kind of plan brewing between Eve and Wyn. Something to do with the rift between Christian and Lucas. Apparently, their girls are done waiting for their monstrous pride to wear off.
“If I’ve forgiven Lucas, then I feel like Christian should, too. But he still refuses to go anywhere near his brother,” Eve says, arms crossed. She shrugs. “So we’ll give him a reason.”
“A heart attack,” Wyn adds.
“Come again?” I say, because I’ve clearly misheard her.
“Not literally,” Eve says. “Just…a scare. I told Christian that Lucas collapsed in the basement gym and refuses to go to the hospital. He’s on his way now.”
“Oh, my God. Seriously?” Ava says with a laugh. “You guys are too much.”
Wyn shrugs. “Desperate times.”
Roman and Lux drift in, looking like they’ve just remembered there’s a world outside their own private universe. Lux’s lip gloss is smudged, Roman’s collar slightly crooked. No question what they’ve been doing.
“What the hell did we miss?” Roman asks, dragging a hand through his messy hair.
“Fake heart attack,” Wyn answers without blinking.
Roman nods once. “Cool.” Then, the words sink in, and his expression turns to confusion. “Wait, what?”
Before anyone can explain, Christian storms in through the back door, wild-eyed, shouting his brother’s name. “What happened? Where’s my stubborn cunt brother?”
He doesn’t even wait for us to respond. He opens the basement door and flies down the stairs. We all follow.
Lucas, perfectly healthy and mid-rep, sits up when he hears us coming down the stairs in a stampede. He wipes sweat from his forehead with a towel. “What the fuck is going on?”
Christian freezes, a whole-ass emotional journey flicking across his face in a split second—shock, disbelief, rage, then finally, relief. He rakes a hand down his face, then levels a glare at his brother.
“You fucking idiot,” he snaps, crossing the basement gym in two strides. “I thought you were fucking dying!”
Lucas’s brow furrows. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Christian shoves him once in the shoulder, then pulls him into a rough hug neither of them seems to expect. Eve and Wyn exchange a triumphant look.
“See?” Eve says. “This rift is dumb. You love each other.”
Lucas glares over Christian’s shoulder. “I hate all of you.”
I laugh. “Hey, you gotta admit, it worked.”
Ava nudges me. “Don’t give them any ideas. Next time, they’ll fake something worse, like a car crash or something.”
I shrug. “Hey, if it gets results…”
Roman chuckles, leaning against the wall with Lux tucked under his arm. “Damn, you people need new hobbies. Personally, I prefer activities that don’t involve fake dying.” He smirks. “You know, like the kind that makes the walls shake.”
Lux rolls her eyes, fighting a smile like she doesn’t want to encourage him. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
The laughter that follows is easy, all of us together, the kind of warmth we rarely get to hold onto for long. It’s a moment of genuine lightness, suspended between all the darkness we’ve been navigating.
But it’s short-lived. I can feel the shift before it happens.
“Yo, guys.”
Ash’s voice cuts through the room. The way he says it—flat, controlled, but with an underlying current of something dangerous—kills every other sound instantly. I’m on my feet before I even realize I’m moving, tracking the alarm in his tone.
His face is pale, and he’s standing just outside the Panic Room door, which is cracked open. It shouldn’t be, especially since there’s no security guard stationed outside the door right now. Sin is chained up 24/7, so there was no need to have someone watching him all the time.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Ash’s breath hitches. “It’s Sin.”
“What about him?”
“He’s gone.” The words hit just as I push through the vault door, and see that Ash isn’t wrong. Sin’s cot is empty, his chains coiled neatly on the mattress.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then I let out a loud, “Fuck!”
At that moment, Andre comes pounding down the stairs. “We have a problem.”
I turn around to face him. “Let me guess, Sin is gone,” I say, annoyed.
We need a new fucking security team.
Andre glances over my shoulder, into the empty cell. “That’s not all.”
The chill in his voice pinches my spine. “What else?”
Andre hesitates, then says, “One of the cameras picked up movement on the second floor before the feed went dark. Right outside Ember’s bedroom.”
My stomach drops. “What about Ember?”
“She’s gone too.”
The room erupts—Ava gasps, Lucas curses, Christian let’s out a hiss—but I can’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in my ears.
Andre holds out a folded scrap of paper. “This was left in the hall.”
I take it, unfold it, and stare at the words scrawled in something that looks too dark to be ink:
A sister for a sister. You took mine.
Now I take yours.
A cold weight settles in my gut.
Sin Savano has my fucking sister.