Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
I throw back the last of the whiskey in a single, burning gulp, barely registering the taste—just the fire, the distraction.
I refill the glass with a hand that doesn’t quite shake but wants to.
Ten in the goddamn morning, and I already need a crutch to get through the day.
That should tell me everything. But I don’t stop.
It’s not prison I’m afraid of—hell, we’ve all done our stints. It’s getting buried there. Rendered irrelevant while the empire I built gets picked apart by scavengers in suits and smiles. I’m the oldest of us. The one who promised to carry this thing until my last breath.
I made that pact when I took over. The old way—our parent’s way—was rotting, It was corrupt and clumsy. I restructured us into something more refined, notoriously untouchable. That’s when the name stuck—The Notorious Five. It meant something. Still does.
We’ve placed our trust in each other, forming a brotherhood that will stand the test of time.
But trust only goes so far, and I didn’t claw my way to the top to let some asshole with a law degree and a vendetta drag it all down.
I don’t trust the other four to carry it alone—not when the D.A. 's breathing fire down our necks.
Six years of cat and mouse. Six years of staying a step ahead. And now the bastard thinks he’s cornered me.
Apart from Ryder—still hiding behind Daddy’s legacy—we’ve all been sharpening knives in the dark.
I’ve been meticulous; keeping a low profile, staying away from the headlines.
The violence we leave to ghosts—men who don’t have names.
We do our dirty work quietly. We bleed money in public, not bodies.
That's the difference between survival and spectacle.
A knock interrupts my spiral.
It’s not rushed. Not timid. Just... precise.
“Come in,” I say, letting my voice drop an octave lower than usual. Deliberate. Controlled. I watch for the shift.
I lean back in my chair as she steps inside, and I catch it—that flicker in her eyes, the barely-there hitch in her breath. She’s skittish, uncertain. Like prey unsure if the predator’s already fed or still hungry.
“Axel,” she greets, voice as soft as silk pulled too tight.
I motion to the chair across from me, and she obeys, legs crossing in one fluid motion. Her lips part to wet themselves—innocent or calculated, I don’t care. The effect is the same; heat sharpens in my blood.
She’s scanning the shelves behind me, her gaze lingering on the titles like they’re speaking to her.
Those green eyes are lit with something I hadn’t expected: curiosity, wonder.
There’s a dreamer behind that practiced composure.
A woman who once got lost in stories, not courtrooms. It makes her dangerous in a different way.
I don’t trust dreamers. They chase illusions. Get people killed. Break their own hearts and everyone else’s for a glimpse of something better. Something that doesn’t exist.
She’s in black today, looking sleek and severe. But the white jacket she’s wearing cuts across her like a challenge. A warning line painted across her curves that says: don’t touch. My fists curl on instinct at the thought of the asshole she goes home to. The prick who gets to touch her, to kiss?—
Fuck. Rein it in.
I slide the letter I’ve been cursing all morning across the desk like a blade. “What are you doing about this?” The words come out harder than I intend, but I don’t apologize and she doesn’t flinch. Just tilts her head, that mouth of hers twitching in defiance.
She’s testing me.
“You know they’ve got nothing,” she declares.
She’s right. That’s what makes this worse. I’m being framed, and someone’s holding the door open from the inside.
“I’m motioning to dismiss. Lack of evidence.”
“It’s that easy?” I ask, voice flat yet dangerous.
“If you let me do my job,” she retorts, and I almost smile.
Almost .
She’s all fire. Soft around the edges, but a hazard where it counts. She’s not afraid of me—not really. And maybe that’s what keeps me interested.
I blow out a breath, my jaw tightening. If she were anyone else, I’d shut this down with a look, a threat, a quiet reminder of who’s in charge. But Cassie isn’t like anyone else. She stands in the heat, lets the flames lick at her skin, and stares right back.
“Is that all you wanted me for?” she eventually asks, chin tilted, nerves tucked beneath her irritation.
“Yes,” I grunt.
She rises, smooth as smoke, leaning just far enough over the desk to make my pulse throb. She drops a business card like a challenge.
“Next time, just call.”
And with that, she turns on a heel, hips swaying like she knows I’m watching.
Of course I’m watching. I can’t help myself.
There’s something about the way she moves—measured, unbothered— like she owns the goddamn floor and knows I’m watching every step.
It’s not about seduction, not really. It’s the power in her walk.
The defiance in her spine. Like she’s daring me to stop her.
My gaze drags after her, slow and hungry. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t need to. Cassie knows what she’s doing to me.
She disappears out the front door, and I’m still staring at the empty space she left. And I’m not talking about the chair in front of me, but the presence. Her comfortability, her confidence. It’s addictive and she’s left nothing for me.
Something about her burrows under my skin, deeper every time we meet. It’s not just want—it’s worse. It’s a pull I don’t like. A crack in my armor. And I know exactly how that kind of weakness gets exploited.
But for a few seconds, I let myself feel it anyway: the ache of something I shouldn’t want.
Then I shove it down where it belongs.
A low whistle cuts through the silence. Trigger steps inside, grin spread wide like the bastard enjoys the show. “I like her.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
He smirks.
“Did it feel good?” I shoot him a look.
“You think I had something to do with that?” He mock gasps.
“I know y ou did.” Because Trigger lives to push my fucking buttons.
He shrugs, all mock innocence. “Didn’t think she’d pull it off.”
“She’s got balls,” I mutter.
“She sure has.”
I don’t get the chance to respond before Max Lucchese enters.
He stands silently, his body taking up the whole door frame.
He’s one of my best friends, someone I’ve known since I was a kid.
In our world, there’s not many people you can rely on, but Lucchese is the exception.
He’s built like a boulder—moves like one too—but his silence is his deadliest weapon.
Where I prefer words that slice. Maxton prefers presence. Together, we balance the blade.
He moves forward to bump fists with mine before settling into the armchair opposite me.
“Where’s Ryder?”
Trigger waves the question away dismissively. “Kid’s still chasing shadows.”
“And pussy,” Hunter remarks as he strolls in, letting the door click shut behind him.
“Nice of you to join us,” I mutter.
“Had a situation on forty-third,” he explains, eyes still glued to his phone. “Handled.”
I nod. I don’t need the details. We all have our own sectors. As long as the poison stays in your garden, I don’t give a fuck how you water it.
“So?” Hunter drops into the spot beside Trigger. “What’s the emergency?”
I lift the letter that’s been sitting on my desk like a loaded gun.
“Arraignment in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Hunter’s voice spikes. “That’s bullshit. Can they even do that?”
“Apparently they can. And they have,” I growl, shoving the paper aside.
“This is all kinds of fucked,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair like it might help. It won’t. “What about Cassie? She’s handling this, right?”
Trigger’s eyes gleam like a man who knows a secret. “Cassie’s on it.”
Hunter grins like an idiot, but before he can even get a word out of his play-boy mouth, Trigger kicks his leg. “Down, boy. Ax has dibs.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing away the pounding headache brewing behind my eyes.
They’ve been in the room for less than five minutes, and I already want to shoot someone— maybe two.
Tempers are short, egos are high, and patience?
That’s long gone. Maxton’s the only one not actively pissing me off right now, but that’s not unusual.
“Keep it quiet. All of you,” I snap, letting the weight in my voice do the work of a warning. “Until the trial’s over, we stay low. No noise. No fuckups. You breathe wrong, and the D.A. will spin it into evidence.”
A chorus of reluctant nods follows, none of them meeting my eyes for long. Good. Let them stew in it.
“You should let Cassie do her job, Ax. You can’t control everything,” Trigger warns, eyes steady.
I meet his stare. He means well, but he doesn’t understand. Control isn’t a habit. It’s how I survived. It’s all I’ve got left.
Hunter takes the hint and leaves.
I turn to Max and slide him a photo. “Follow him. Discreetly.”
Max doesn’t ask questions. He never has—that’s what makes him dangerous. He takes the picture from my hand, gives it one hard look, and nods once.
Then he’s gone, slipping out of the room without a sound.
Most people take one look at Max and assume he’s the muscle—and to be fair, he is.
Built like a damn freight train, tall and broad with a face that looks carved from concrete, he doesn’t need to say much to make a point.
But that silence hides more than brute force.
Max runs his own crew—tight, efficient, lethal.
We’ve been partners for years, each holding a fifth of the empire.
He doesn’t posture, doesn’t play games, just gets shit done.
And beneath the heavy frame and the dead-eyed stare is a mind sharp enough to make computers beg.
Coding, tracking, surveillance—he’s a fucking menace behind a screen.
Now he’s got the photo. And if there’s anything to find, Max will dig it up, gut it, and deliver it on a silver platter—no questions asked.
“Anything else?” Trigger asks .
“Yeah. Keep your head down. We can’t afford another name on a docket.”
He stretches, then grins like a devil.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” I warn. I know Trigger well, too well. He sees a challenge like a meal. He’ll eat it up just for the pure satisfaction. But his situation skates too close to what’s already going on. “Be careful, brother.”
“Always.”