Page 96 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

“You’ve proven yourself,” his voice is low, final. “In every damn way.”

I don’t say anything. Praise from Fintan Crowe is rare, and usually followed by an order.

Sure enough, he gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I move without hesitation, folding into the leather chair and resting my bruised knuckles on the polished wood of the table. He watches the dried blood there for a beat before speaking again.

“I’ve spoken to the council,” he says. “The men are ready. I’m retiring.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’re stepping down?”

“I’m dying,” he corrects, no flair, no emotion- just the cold facts. “The doctor says I’ve got six months. Maybe less.”

The blow doesn’t land the way I thought it would. There’s no sharp gasp or ache in my gut. Maybe because I’ve seen the signs. Maybe because some part of me knew this day would come sooner than later.

He takes a slow breath, like he’s waited years for this moment.

“I’m not offering you the keys, Desmond,” he says. “I’m giving you the house.”

I blink. “So it’s finally official.”

“You’ve earned it,” he says. “The men believe in you. I believe in you.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “So I made it official. You’re the heir.”

A beat passes. Then another. The fire crackles.

“But there’s a condition,” he adds.

And there it is.

I lean back in the chair, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek. “There’s always a condition.”

He nods, unsurprised. “You lead the family, you carry on the name. That means marriage. An heir. A Crowe child to bring into the world and raise in these halls.”

My hands clench around the arms of the chair before I even process it.

“I’m not Piers,” I say flatly.

“No,” he agrees. “Piers was born to endure. You were born to rule. That’s why this legacy falls to you now. But even kings must build thrones that outlast them.”

I rise from the chair slowly, blood still singing from the fight, sweat still clinging beneath the collar of my shirt. His words circle me like dogs raised on old loyalties and broken bones. “So all of this- my childhood, the training, the war with the O’Connors- was just prep for marriage and a baby?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “It was preparation for becoming something more than just a weapon, Desmond. You’re not some pit-dog chained to the Crowe name. You are the name now. And you better damn well give it a future.”

A beat of silence stretches long.

Then I speak, quiet but pointed. “You turned away from our mother the moment she grew weak. You buried my brother like a secret because he threatened balance. You don’t get to demand legacy after letting half of it slip through your fingers.”

Air hisses through his teeth- not a flinch, but an admission. The absence of fury terrifies me more than any outburst.

Fintan’s voice lowers, raw around the edges. “I made my peace with the mistakes. You don’t have to make the same ones.”

The fire pops, and outside the storm begins again in earnest.

“You think I don’t want to build something?” I mutter. “You think I don’t want all of it- a future, a name worth more than the weight of ash and bodies?”

He looks at me then- not as the boy who grew up under his cold shadow, but as the man who carved a crown from blood and dropped bodies at the city’s feet. His expression holds something dangerously close to pride.

“Then do it right,” he says. “Go find her.”

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