Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Robert
McLain’s secretary leads us through the corridor at a pace that suggests she’s spent years keeping up with powerful men who don’t slow down for anyone.
Enzo walks beside me, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting the cuff of his watch.
“We should’ve pushed this meeting till next week,” he grumbles.
“We already pushed it twice.”
“Because McLain is a pain and impossible to schedule.”
“He’s also moving eight figures through this project,” I reply. “So here we are.”
My phone vibrates again and it's the same unknown number.
It's the fourth time in less than thirty minutes.
I decline it without checking the voicemail.
“Mr. McLain has been looking forward to this meeting.” The secretary glances back politely.
“No, he hasn’t,” Enzo retorts dryly. “He’s been looking forward to not paying taxes.”
That earns the faintest twitch from her mouth before she schools it again.
We reach the double doors at the end of the hall.
She pushes them open.
McLain’s office is large without trying to prove it, with dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking half the city.
McLain himself rises slowly from behind the desk.
He's eighty-two years old and still carrying himself like people should stand straighter when he enters a room.
“D’Angelo.” His gravelly voice drags through the room. “You look irritatingly healthy.”
“McLain.” I shake his hand once. “You look expensive and deteriorating."
“That’s because dying well costs money.”
Enzo snorts behind me.
“Sit.” McLain gestures toward the seating area near the windows.
We do.
There's a crystal decanter waiting on the table between us, the amber whiskey catching the light.
“My private reserve,” McLain declares proudly as he pours. “Specially brewed and Doctors hate it.”
“Are you still listening to doctors at your age?” Enzo asks.
“No.” McLain hands him a glass. “I just enjoy disappointing them.”
I take mine with a nod.
The whiskey burns just as expected. And tastes smooth.
“So.” McLain eases back into his chair afterward, his eyes moving toward me. “Tell me how my new hotel launders money without looking like it launders money.”
Straight to it.
Good.
I set the glass down.
“The Manhattan Project gives us multiple channels,” I begin. “Construction inflation alone covers a percentage, but the franchise management is where the real protection is. We bury movement under an international vendor…”
My phone rings again, the sound denting the air in the room.
Enzo glances at me.
I pull it out, irritation already strangling in my chest.
It's the same number.
I end the call immediately.
“You’re a needed man,” McLain remarks.
“Apparently.” I move to shove the phone back into my pocket.
But it vibrates before I can and it's a text this time.
The preview flashes across the screen.
And everything inside me stops.
: It's about Christine and Blue.
My chair groans as I move, standing.
Enzo’s head lifts immediately.
McLain watches me over the rim of his glass, one thick brow rising slightly.
“Well,” he drawls. “That expression usually means one of three things. Shipment issues, dead money, or women.”
“It’s not the money,” I reply flatly.
McLain hums like that answers enough already.
“I need a minute,” I announce to no one, already strutting towards the door.
I step outside the hallway and call the number immediately.
It doesn't ring before the person locks up.
“Robert.” The familiar voice breaks apart the second my name leaves her mouth.
“Yes?”
“It’s Aisha, Christine’s best… Sister.”
“What happened?” My stomach drops instantly.
“She… well… huh…” She’s crying too hard to answer properly, her words crashing into each other through shaky breaths and panic.
“Aisha, breathe.” I try to calm her but she doesn't even take it.
“I… I didn’t know who else to call and she… she wouldn’t listen and now…”
“Aisha.” I clip, needing her to cut to the chase. “Talk to me.”
“She left this morning and then…” She sobs, the sound catching hard in her throat. “There was an accident.”
Everything inside me halts.
“What?” I can’t even hear the sound of my own voice. “Where are they?”
“The clinic,” she cries. “They transferred them and I’m… Robert, Blue…”
The rest blurs.
“Send me the address.” I’m already moving, my pulse pounding hard in my ears. “Now.”
“I’m leaving.” I shove the office doors open again.
Enzo straightens immediately at whatever he sees on my face.
McLain doesn’t, he watches me with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“That serious?” McLain sets his glass down slowly.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” Enzo asks, already pushing to his feet.
“It’s about my woman and my daughter.”
The words silence the room completely.
Even me, because I’ve never said them out loud before, claiming them openly.
“Go.” McLain’s expression changes to understanding.
“Robert…” Enzo is already reaching for his jacket.
But I’m out before he finishes, leaving him to hop behind me in an attempt to catch up.
The elevator takes too long.
The lobby takes too long.
Breathing takes too long.
By the time I hit the parking garage with my men idling, I’m already broken in places I haven’t let anyone touch in years.
“Keys!”
I swerve the car out of the parking garage, hard enough for the tires to scream against concrete.
“Jesus Christ.” Enzo grabs the handle above the door immediately as I cut across two lanes without waiting for the traffic to clear completely. “Robert.”
I barely hear him, the city blurring past in streaks of glass, headlights, and hushed noise.
Everything is moving too fucking slow.
I force the car harder through traffic, engine roaring beneath us.
“She sent the clinic address?" I ask, tossing my phone at him.
“Yes,” Enzo answers quickly, one hand going through my phone to read it out, the other braced against the dashboard now like he’s accepted death might be nearby.
I press harder on the accelerator and the car surges forward violently.
“Robert,” Enzo warns, his voice fraying as another car horn blares beside us. “You killing both of us isn’t going to help them.
I ignore him.
Because all I can hear is: accident.
All I can see is: fire.
My chest caves inward so suddenly that I almost can’t breathe through it.
This can't be happening again.
The light ahead turns red.
I drive through it anyway.
“Mother of…” Enzo curses, gripping harder as another car narrowly misses us. “Are you trying to recreate the accident yourself?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one driving like a grieving widower in a revenge film!”
His words hit close to him but I bite it down.
I push the car faster until the clinic finally comes into view twenty brutal minutes later.
I barely stop the car before hopping out, slamming the door hard enough to echo through the lot.
The smell of antiseptic and bleach rams into my nostrils the moment I enter.
Hospitals always smell too sterile for the amount of suffering inside them.
I hate it.
My eyes scan the place, searching.
Aisha is standing near the waiting area looking like she’s been hollowed out from the inside.
The second she sees me, her face crumples.
“Robert…”
“Where are they?” I close the distance fast.
“They’re still…” Her voice breaks apart. She wipes angrily at her face before trying again. “They’re still with the doctors.”
“Was Blue hurt?” The question scrapes out harsher than I intend.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head quickly. “I don’t know yet.”
Then she looks up at me properly, “She was trying to leave because of you.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “She started getting threatening messages days ago.” She's trembling harder now. “Unknown numbers calling and texting. Talking about watching her. Warning her to stay away from you.”
The muscle in my body locks, guilt twisting through my guts.
“She didn’t tell me.”
“She thought it was Daniel at first.” Aisha snaps. “Then the messages got worse.”
My pulse starts pounding harder, faster.
“What messages?”
Aisha reaches into her bag with shaking fingers, pulling out Christine’s cracked phone.
I struggle to read the messages on the screen, but I make out the words.
: Leave Robert before you and your child get caught in another fire.
This was not an accident then. It wasn't random or a coincidence.
Somebody knows.
Somebody fucking knows.
My fingers clench around the phone so hard that it almost cracks.
I understand exactly why Christine ran, why she panicked and tried to disappear without telling me.
She believed the same thing I’ve believed for years.
Loving me is lethal.
Time drags, yet somehow hours keep passing anyway.
I keep pacing.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, drilling into my skull alongside every possible outcome I’m trying not to picture.
Across the room, Aisha is curled into herself on one of the chairs, her knee bouncing relentlessly. Enzo disappears at some point. I barely notice until he comes back balancing a paper bag and two drink carriers.
“You look miserable,” he tells Aisha as he approaches.
“I am miserable.”
“Good.” He hands her one of the drinks. “Matching energies helps bonding.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?” She stares at him like she’s considering violence.
“I’m trying to keep morale alive…” He answers, shrugging. “And flirt.” He adds.
“Fuck off.”
“That’s fair.” He nods seriously. “Trauma isn’t everyone’s aphrodisiac.”
I almost tell him to shut the fuck up, but I don’t have enough concentration left to waste on it.
Enzo drops into the chair beside her anyway, opening the food bag.
“You should eat.”
“Fuck you.” “That’s the spirit.”
The hospital doors slide open before she can answer.
Atelia rushes in. And the second her eyes find me, she breaks.
“Robert…” She crosses the room fast enough to almost trip over herself.
She stops in front of me, bringing both hands to my face immediately. Her eyes scan me frantically like she’s checking for damage.
“How are you?” She asks breathlessly, already crying. “Talk to me.”
I can’t answer properly. And it's not because I don’t want to. But because I genuinely don’t know.
I haven’t felt solid since the phone call.
Atelia exhales shakily, pressing her forehead briefly against mine before pulling back again.
“Whoever did this…” Her voice fractures violently. “I swear to God, Robert, I’ll kill them with my bare hands if I have to.”
“I’ll do it,” Enzo cuts in calmly from his chair. “You did the last family.”
Aisha’s head snaps toward them so fast I almost hear it.
“You people need a psychiatric evaluation,” she blurts out, throwing her hands into the air. “Seriously. Actual professional help.”
“What?” Atelia asks.
“You’re talking about murder like it’s a group project.” Aisha stares at them in disbelief.
“It’s an emotional moment,” Enzo replies reasonably.
“That does not make it better.”
“At all,” Atelia agrees.
Aisha makes a strangled sound somewhere between outrage and exhaustion before collapsing back into her chair dramatically.
Normally, this scene might pull a laugh out of me, but it's barely scratching the surface.
Because the doors down the hallway still haven’t opened.
And every second they stay closed feels like standing at the edge of another fire waiting to see what survives this time.
It's midnight when the doors finally open.
The doctor steps out first, exhaustion merged into the lines around his mouth, gloves gone now, glasses slightly crooked like he’s forgotten they’re there.
“How are they?” I’m already moving before he fully reaches us.
“Easy.” The doctor looks between all of us briefly. “The mother is awake.”
My lungs unlock for half a second.
Beside me, Aisha breaks into a sob so intense it folds her forward.
“The child…” The doctor exhales carefully. “She’s stable for now, but she hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“What does that mean?” Aisha asks weakly.
“It means she’s in a coma.”
I don’t feel anything for a second. Not because it doesn’t hurt. But my body physically cannot process another version of this nightmare.
“Can we see her?” I ask.
The doctor studies me briefly.
“She’s asking for her daughter,” he answered. “We moved her temporarily into the adjoining recovery room so she could be monitored nearby.”
He steps aside slightly.
“You can go in but don’t overwhelm her.”
Aisha moves first.
I follow immediately behind her.
We enter the room.
Christine is sitting slightly upright against the hospital bed, bruises crawling along one side of her face, and bandages wrapping her shoulder and forehead.
She looks small as if fear hollowed parts of her out while I wasn’t there.
Her eyes find Aisha first.
“Aisha…”
The sound cracks apart in her throat and she starts crying immediately.
Aisha rushes to her.
“Oh my God.” She breaks completely, wrapping her arms around Christine carefully. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Christine sobs into her shoulder, clutching at her weakly.
“Blue… Where’s Blue?”
Aisha freezes for a second and Christine feels it immediately.
“Aisha?” Her voice hones. “Where’s my baby?”
“She’s alive,” Aisha tells her quickly, pulling back enough to hold her face. “She’s alive, okay? She’s here.”
Christine’s breathing turns stable again.
“Robert is here too.” Aisha steps aside and Christine sees me.
Her entire face falls flat.
“Bonbon…” I step forward instinctively.
“Get away from me.” She flares.
“Christine?”
“No!” She snaps at her, her eyes blazing with something rawer than anger.
It's fear. Pure fucking terror.
“Get away from us.” She screams again, tears streaming uncontrollably now. “Stay the fuck away from my baby and me!”
My chest folds inward, the hurt driving through like a chainsaw tearing into flesh and bone.
“Christine, listen to me…”
“No!” She recoils further into the bed, shaking badly now. “No, no, no! This is because of you!”
Her words hit like blunt force, the ground under my feet wobbling… or my legs suddenly are.
“This is because of you.” She sobs. “They almost killed my baby.”
“Christine…” My voice breaks this time.
“I said stay away from us.” She yells harder. “Please…” Her eyes snap desperately toward Aisha. “Please get him away from us! Please!”
The machines start beeping faster.
“What’s…” A nurse rushes in immediately. She sees the scene and clocks it. “Sir, you need to step outside.”
I don’t move. I can't.
“Robert.” Aisha starts, her voice shaking. “Please.”
I nod, my body feeling impossibly limp as I step backward.
Christine breaks harder the closer I get to the door, crying openly now, repeating the same thing over and over.
“Stay away from us…”