21 - Adrian #2
I reach for her hand under the table, and she lets me take it, her grip bruising, her pulse rapid as my own.
I feel the old familiar urge to run—grab her, shatter a window, disappear into the night—but I know it would only confirm their worst fears about us.
Instead, I squeeze her hand and face the room.
My hands shake with the muscle memory of loss.
"This isn't about happiness," Marisol says, but her voice cracks when she looks at Gunner.
They've always been close. She calls him her murder teddy bear, he calls her Little Shark.
Now they're on opposite sides of a widening canyon.
"It's about survival. The Zayas smell blood in the water. They know we're—"
"Bullshit," Gunner says, the single word landing like a punch. "It's about control."
And then Juliet moves.
Sweet Juliet, connected to the Rosettis through her sister's marriage to Leonardo, who should stand with that bloodline. She crosses the invisible divide and sits down next to Isa.
"You're wrong," she says simply to Marisol. "Whatever you think this is, you're wrong."
The betrayal, if that's what we're calling loyalty now, hits Marisol visibly. Her honey eyes darken as she watches Juliet choose against the Rosetti faction.
"They're not wrong about us being compromised," Isa says, finally breaking her silence.
Her voice comes out flat, sharp as the blade she carries.
"About me being a weakness. I've served drinks to men who've killed dozens and never blinked.
But for him—" She doesn't look at me. "For him, I'd let this whole city rot. "
The admission hits the room like a grenade. My cock hardens inappropriately at her words, at the possession in them.
Gunner and Marisol face each other across the divide, and something in my chest cracks. These two, who've protected each other's backs countless times, who share inside jokes and secret understanding, now stand on opposite sides of a war neither wanted.
"You're making a mistake, Little Shark," Gunner says, using the nickname only he's allowed.
"So are you," she whispers back, and I hear years of friendship straining.
The Rosetti split from the rest. The factions hardening before my eyes. My family torn down bloodlines I thought we'd transcended.
"She's mine." The words rip out of me before I can stop them, that possessive thing in my chest taking over. "That's not negotiable."
"Everything's negotiable," Gabriel says coldly. "Especially when it puts targets on our backs."
I stand, spreading my hands in the gesture that usually brings people together, even as my mind tracks vulnerabilities.
Marisol's party-girl past. Gabriel's off-books accounts.
Nico's military past that still haunts him.
I could destroy them all with a few phone calls.
The thought is copper and ash in my mouth, but it's there.
The charm that makes strangers tell me their secrets, that built this entire family. I pour it all out now, even as darker calculations run underneath.
"This is insane. We're family. We don't do this, we don't split like this over—"
"Over what, Adrian?" Gabriel's voice cuts through my attempt. "Over you losing perspective? Over both of you becoming soft spots the Zayas will put bullets through?"
I try everything. The warm smile that's never failed me.
The storytelling cadence that makes people lean in.
I even try leveraging what I know, reminding Marisol of when I covered for her with her father, touching on Gabriel's guilt about the woman he killed.
Every tool I've spent years perfecting. The same magnetism that can de-escalate cartel negotiations, that can make crying widows laugh, that can turn a room full of enemies into drinking partners.
None of it lands.
The charm bounces off them like bullets off armor. The room reeks of good wine and garlic, but there’s a taint of salt beneath, of rising fear and anger, of bonds breaking.
Marisol won't meet Gunner's eyes. Sera keeps looking at Wren and Daphne with silent apology she can't voice. The family I rebuilt is breaking apart, and I'm powerless to stop it.
"Please," I say, and I hate how it sounds. Like the sixteen-year-old who couldn't save his brother. Who couldn't keep his sister. But underneath the plea, something darker coils. "We can work through this. We always—"
"Not this time." Nico's military precision cuts through my fumbling. "The decision's made. You want to continue this relationship, that's your choice. But don't expect us to pretend it's not a weakness we can't afford."
Chairs scrape against the floor, the sound like nails on glass. The schism doesn't soften. Doesn't negotiate. It hardens like concrete setting, permanent and implacable. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I watch them gather their things in two distinct groups.
The Rosetti-Delgado faction exits through the main door.
Nico's hand on Marisol's back, Gabriel holding the door for Sera.
The others leave through the side exit. Logan leading, Wren's hand in his, Gunner filling the doorway with his bulk while Daphne slips past, the Siren following.
For the first time in my life, the room defeats me. I stand here powerless as they leave in opposite directions.
Juliet squeezes Isa's shoulder before she goes, the touch saying what words can't.
Then they're gone. Both groups, in opposite directions, leaving the candlelit room feeling like a morgue.
My rebuilt family just shattered.
Isa rises from her chair with that lethal grace she uses when she's protecting herself. I know that posture. It's the one she wore for years before I got through her walls, the one that says she's already three steps from the door in her mind.
"Isa—"
"They're not wrong." Her voice comes out flat, controlled, the warmth of the last weeks erased. "About us being compromised. About the weakness."
She's armoring herself against me. I can see it happening in real time, the walls sliding back up, the distance reasserting itself.
But worse than that is what I see underneath.
Guilt. She thinks she's the reason my family just shattered.
The woman who swore she'd never do relationships is watching one destroy everything I built.
"This isn't your fault—"
"Isn't it?" She turns to face me fully, and her expression makes my chest collapse.
"Ten feet, Adrian." Her voice is worse than the knife ever was.
"A man died ten feet from me and I never noticed.
I notice everything. That's what I'm for.
Around you, I notice nothing. I'm exactly what they said.
A liability. The thing that's compromising your judgment, making you weak when they need you strong. "
She's already leaving. Not physically, not yet, but I can see her making the calculation.
How much damage she causes by staying versus how much she prevents by disappearing.
The guilt spreading through her like poison, convincing her that the only way to give me back my family is to remove herself from it.
"Don't," I say, but it comes out desperate instead of commanding. The cold thing in my chest spreads, violent and possessive. "Don't you dare leave me."
She touches my face once, the gesture so tender it feels like goodbye.
"These people are everything to you," she says quietly. "I won't be the reason you lose them."
The candles flicker, throwing our shadows against the wall. Two figures already starting to separate.
She's already leaving me. I can see it in every careful movement. The thought makes something violent rise in my chest. I've killed for less than someone trying to take what's mine. And my own people just declared war on the only thing that matters.
Even as my family fractures, my mind tracks options.
Who to pressure. Who to manipulate back.
Who might need to disappear from the equation entirely.
The calculations run cold and automatic, even through the grief.
Because that's what I am underneath the warmth.
A man who authors reality to get what he wants.
And what I want is her. My family can fracture. Miami can burn.
But Isa stays mine.