Page 107 of Riot

Allure gasped, hand flying to her chest.

“I didn’t know until I saw the news. Her autopsy report. Five weeks along. And it was mine. I’m the reason that baby never had a chance.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“And the worst part? I knew something was different that night. I could smell it. Something in her scent was softer. Sweeter. Like her body was already shifting. That’s how I knew, even before the article. My instincts told me, and I ignored them.”

Allure sat up and cradled my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheeks. I didn’t realize I was crying until she wiped the tears away.

“I carry that shit every day,” I whispered. “Every fucking day. I picture her with a little girl. With our child. And I wonder who I could’ve been if I walked away instead of letting him turn me into something I hated.”

Allure didn’t say anything at first. She just held me. Pressed her lips to my forehead and let me breathe.

“You’re not that man anymore,” she whispered into my skin. “You’re not your father.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her neck. Her body was soft, her presence steady, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe I could be forgiven. Not by the world. Not by the ghosts. But by her.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

Chapter 36

HAVOC

King’s Vine sat like some pristine monument to money and ego, spread out wide and smug against the hills, polished to perfection. The main tasting hall was all clean lines, glass, and stone—modern luxury that made it real easy to forget the blood money buried under the damn foundation. But I never forgot. Couldn’t. Every detail screamed Riot. From the matte black fixtures to the imported wood floors that probably cost more than my whole fuckin’ penthouse.

I pulled up in my matte gray Range and parked off to the side, already clocking two security cameras angled wrong, leaving a blind spot by the western trail entrance. Good to know for my ambush.

Riot was waiting near the patio, leaned against one of the tall stone columns. Crisp white tee with his arms folded like always. He didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just gave me that same tight nod he always did, like he was tolerating me, not greeting me.

I walked up slow, taking my time, eyes grazing over the grounds. The whole place was dressed for success. Cleanlandscaping. Private guest bungalows. Enough open space to make anybody feel like they were far away from the streets that raised us. But all I saw was vulnerability. Weak spots. Entry points.

“You wanted me to see the setup,” I said flatly. “So show me.”

Riot pushed off the column and gestured toward the main walk. “We’re opening the east and west lots for parking. Security detail’ll post at both entry points. Abra’s coordinating that with the local sheriff’s office.”

He walked ahead, assuming I’d follow. Arrogant as ever.

I fell into step behind him, hands in my pockets, eyes scanning every window, every angle. I made mental notes like I was building a blueprint. Because I was. I wasn’t just here to look around, I was here to make this place bleed.

Riot talked like a man who thought he was invincible. Like a man who forgot his kingdom was built with his daddy’s dirty dollars and his brother’s body count. He didn’t know the game like he thought he did. And he damn sure didn’t see me coming.

“You’ll be manning the west lot,” he said. “Keep eyes on the road and make sure the guests don’t wander off the trail. Last thing we need is some influencer getting hurt in the vines and tryna sue.”

I laughed under my breath. “You mean you don’t wanna mess up your Yelp reviews?”

He glanced at me sideways. “Nah. I just don’t want blood on the grapes. We’re harvesting soon.” He then let out a laugh. “Fuck no, I don’t want to mess up my Yelp reviews or any reviews for that matter.”

That smug tone of his was like gasoline on my fire. Every word out his mouth made it clearer, I couldn’t just take this man out quietly. I had to ruin him. Publicly. Violently. I had to dismantle this illusion he’d built of being the clean King.The reformed one. The business-savvy heir who left the streets behind.

Fuck that.

He was no better than me. The only difference was he had Creed in his corner and a father who taught him to swing with precision. I got scraps. I got pain. I got the part of Silas King nobody wanted to claim.

And they wonder why I turned cold.

We walked the perimeter, Riot pointing out event flow and staff routes. My eyes stayed on the blind spots. The camera on the back barn was angled too high. The perimeter gate sensors had dead zones near the vineyard’s south fence line. I noted it all. Stored it deep in the part of my mind I didn’t share with anyone. Not even Mimi.

Because this? This was my revenge. My resurrection.

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