Page 6 of The Biker's Single Mom
"Which he didn't contest," Devil adds, "interestingly enough."
"Because he was confident he'd get us back." Daisy's voice has gone flat. "He told me once that the law was just... a suggestion for men like him."
"He's right about that," Victor says, cleaning his nails with a knife. "But he's in Riders territory now. Different laws apply."
The room grows quiet as we all process what that means. The Riders don't start wars lightly, but we finish them completely. Taking on Ricci means committing to a fight that won't end clean or quick.
"Why is he so fixated on getting you back?" Hawk asks, his usual humor absent. "No offense, but mob guys don't typically chase ex-wives across state lines without reason."
Daisy's gaze drops to her hands. "It's not me he wants," she says quietly. "It's Violet."
The temperature in the room seems to drop. I find myself straightening, every muscle tensing.
"Explain," Blade says, his voice carefully controlled.
"Carlo doesn't have other children. No sons to carry on the family business." Daisy's words come faster now, like she's been holding them back too long. "When Violet was born, he started talking about her 'potential.' How she was going to be his legacy. How he'd teach her everything about 'the business' when she was old enough."
Her eyes lift, filled with a fierce, protective fire that makes my chest tighten. "He talked about her like she was a possession. An investment. When I realized what he was planning for her future... I ran."
"Jesus," Hawk mutters.
"He'll never stop," Daisy continues. "Violet is his property in his mind. His bloodline. His to shape."
The thought of that little girl with her pigtails and glittery sneakers and complete trust in the world being groomed for the mob makes something violent rise in my chest.
"Not gonna happen," I say, the words coming out as a growl. "Not while any of us are breathing."
Daisy looks at me, surprise flickering across her face. For a second, I see the way her eyes drop to my mouth before darting away.
The meeting continues, plans and contingencies laid out. I listen with half an ear, too aware of Daisy beside me, of the gentle curve of her neck and the strength in her posture. She doesn't lean on me, doesn't seek reassurance, but every so often her arm brushes mine, and each touch feels like a brand on my skin.
Later, after the club has dispersed and Violet has been tucked into bed, I find Daisy on the back deck. She's leaning against the railing, staring up at the stars scattered across the night sky. Her hair catches the moonlight, turning it to silver-gold.
"You should be inside," I say, coming to stand beside her. "It's not secure out here."
"I needed air." She doesn't look at me. "Sometimes I feel like I've been holding my breath for two years."
I understand that better than she knows. "The club will keep you safe."
"Why?" She turns to me then, her face shadowed. "Why would you all risk yourselves for strangers?"
Because it's what we do. Because protecting people is the only redemption men like us get. Because something about her calls to something in me I thought was long dead.
I say none of that.
"Because your daughter called me Mr. Fix-It," I answer instead, "and I don't make promises to kids I can't keep."
Her laugh is soft and surprised. "Is that why you fixed her toy? Because she asked?"
"Kids see the truth of things," I say, leaning against the railing beside her. "They haven't learned to lie to themselves yet."
"And what truth did Violet see in you?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with something I'm not ready to name.
"That I can fix broken things," I finally reply. "At least the ones with moving parts."
She studies me in the moonlight, her gaze traveling over my arms, the beard that hides half my expressions, the hardness I've cultivated like armor.
