Page 80 of The Bane of a Sinner
Sypher huffed. “Bullshit. Don’t lie to my husband, Bane. You want verification that Dante is your son.”
A hush fell over the room, as if the air itself hesitated, stretched too tight across old wounds and new secrets. Fury’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did Sypher’s, the tension between duty and honesty crackling in the dim light. I tightened my grip on the vial, feeling its chill seep into my palm—a reminder of everything unspoken, everything waiting beneath the surface, restless and unresolved.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Silver slid a glass across the bar with a gentle clink, a silent offer of comfort in a world where comfort was scarce. Shame’s fingers stilled on his keyboard; Sypher’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in measured wariness, calculating the cost of truth.
I tucked the vial into my pocket, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. “Sypher’s right,” I said, my voice hoarse, worn thin by loss and responsibility. “The club wants verification that you are my son.”
“And what about you?” Dante asked stiffly, glaring at me.
“I claimed you.”
“That’s not what I asked, Bane.”
For a heartbeat, the question hung between us, raw and jagged. Dante’s eyes burned with something I couldn’t name—hope, fear, a demand for something more than club loyalty or inherited duty. The silence pressed in, heavy as the vial in my pocket, as if the walls themselves waited for my answer.
I looked at him, truly looked, past the bitterness and the bravado to the boy who had no one and the man he’d become. The truth welled up, sharp and unvarnished. “You’re mine,” I said finally, each word weighted with all the years and all the pain I felt. “No test, no protocol, nothing could change that. I claimed you because you were always meant to be claimed.”
Dante blinked, his anger faltering, swept aside by something quieter, more dangerous. “Then why do I still feel like a stranger?”
The question carved through me, leaving a new ache in its wake. Around us, the others remained silent, their presence a tapestry of trust and suspicion—threads woven by time and shared blood.
“I know I haven’t been the father you needed,” I said, voice low. “But I’m here now. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Dante’s shoulders slumped, defiance giving way to exhaustion. He nodded almost imperceptibly, the gesture fragile as hope. Fury’s stare softened, just a fraction, and Sypher let out a breath he’d been holding.
I really didn’t care what the test said.
I meant everything I said.
Dante was mine.
He always would be.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bane
“Bane, we have a problem,” Shame said, walking into my office at the clubhouse with Sypher and Dante hot on his heels. Looking up from my computer, I waited for him to lower the boom.
“Sinclair’s in a coma.”
“He’s in a medically induced coma. There’s a difference,” I explained. Last night after everything settled, and I couriered Dante’s DNA to the lab, I called over to the hospital to check on Sinclair. I spoke with his doctor, who informed me that because of his blood loss and the damage done to his body from the beating he survived, the doctor thought it best to put Sinclair in a medically induced coma, giving his body time to heal.
I agreed.
“So what’s the problem?”
Shame looked at Dante, who spoke up. “The problem is, Danny and I were over at Sinclair’s house this morning and found his personal drawer open. The files he kept in there are gone.”
“Still not seeing a problem here, Intern.”
Dante growled, “Not an intern,Dad.”
“What Dante is trying to say is that Sinclair had files on those he considered family. He guarded that information himself. He had files on Dante, Rowen, Silas, Malice...”
“And Diana,” Shame cautiously admitted.
“Diana isn’t family,” I said, trying to understand the urgency when Shame sighed.
