Page 67 of Creed

“Zac…” I wait until he looks at me over the screen. “Keep your dick in your pants tonight, yeah?”

He winces. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

My mouth pinches, and I sigh while I end the call. In all the months I’ve been friends with Zac and tried to convince him, he has never listened.

Instead, I watch as he spirals, his outlook, behavior, and mindset becoming more entrenched the more unhappy he becomes. Deep into the rabbit hole, he refuses to try to climb out of it; instead, he burrows deeper down a path leading straight to hell.

“Are you so different?” I mutter to myself.

I’m clinging to Creed, a manIdecided there was no future with. Being a glutton for punishment by continually exposing myself to him rather than severing the ties that bind.

I’m deep into my own rabbit hole and giving myself only one path—and like Zac’s, my path is leading straight to hell, too.

But envisioning a future withnoCreed causes a weight on my chest so intense that I can hardly breathe.

I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Chapter 21

Creed

This is the powerroom.Papá’soffice. Deals struck, the future of a life decided, money made, and power grown.

Dark paneled walls and rich, deep burgundy paint set the tone of the room, dominated by a large walnut desk where my father reigns. Comfortable wingback chairs holdZioMarco, my father’s consigliere and advisor, and Massimo, his second-in-command, who have spent countless hours here over the years. Two cream-colored sofas—where Vito usually sprawls out on the pristine fabric, even though he’s the one voted most likely to be bloody.

Not that he would actually be covered in blood—Mammawould wrench his ear off; plus, Vito is meticulous when it comes to clean-up and DNA. More than one made man has seen their freedom ripped away because of not paying stringent attention to detail and following a rigorous cleaning routine. Vito does most of his wet work in his playroom—AKA the basementwhere our family’s enemies are taken—which has state-of-the-art clean-up facilities and on-site methods for body disposal.

Despite spending a lot of time in this office over the years, from crawling up my father’s legs as a baby to adulthood, I’m rarely in here with his inner circle gathered. However, Andro and I are here today with my father, brothers, and uncle for unofficial business.

Papásits behind his desk, Marco is in his usual chair, Massimo paces, and Vitosits—not relaxed and sprawled—on the sofa with his elbows resting on his knees. Andro stands against the wall; his look tells me he has my back.

Four months ago, when I landed thecrème de la crèmeof deals, Manuel Morales reached out to me twice. I had decided then to watch him closer. I discovered my seemingly innocent supply chain issues that had started right after I landed the three-hundred-million-dollar real estate project were Morales’s well-hidden sabotage attempts.

Andro and I doubled down and dove deeper into watching Morales, digging to uncover his dirty secrets. I’ve been able to understand the cockroach, thus better anticipating his sabotage attempts, and have either thwarted them outright or quickly implemented the fix to the problem. This had made the unstable man even more reactive, and he made this personal—a cardinal sin in business. When the potshots at my reputation didn’t work, he came at me physically.

My family had stepped in then. Vito demanded we increase our regular sparring-slash-training and target practice. Massimoalso demanded that their tech experts, Crispin and Daniele, work with my team to dig deeper into Morales and watch him. Through that digging, we got past the dirt and uncovered thefilthunderneath, which is why we’re gathered here now.

Years ago, I made a vow to walk only on the non-criminal side of the line and not have a foot in both worlds, and I vowed that to Sophie as well.

The line in the sand is about to blur, though, and I’ll obliterate it entirely if I need to. Because we just unearthed a possible threat to Sophie.

For her, I’ll maim and kill anyone who’s a threat to keep her safe.

A possessive and protective rumble rises deep inside me. I stalk over to the beverage counter and pour myself a bourbon. Vito joins my side, and I pour him one, and he lightly clanks our crystal tumblers together.

“Morales has ties to your woman,” he repeats what we’ve just found out, as if I fucking missed the memo.

After that night in the hotel suite and the pregnancy test, I told Vito and Massimo about Sophie. My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around my glass. Manuel Morales does have a connection to Sophie—not directly; however, he’s a huge benefactor in her home community. The man is viewed as a fucking saint. And from what we’ve uncovered about him, and add that he and Geraldo Ortez—Sophie’sfatherand a cartel soldier—are connected, he’s even farther away from sainthood than Vito.

“How did Morales hide his relationship with Ortez, where no one ever caught wind of his ties to someone in a cartel?” Andro joins my other side.

“Crispin is still trying to unearth that,” Massimo says.

Papástarts to cough, and we pause our discussion out of respect for him. He looks like death is knocking on his door today.

Vito pours him a glass of water and takes it to him. “Here,Babbo.”

“Grazie, figlio.” He shakes out a pill and tosses it into his mouth, swallowing more water between a break of his coughing. “Any other ties of Morales with the Garcia Cartel?”

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