Page 90 of Knuckles & Knives
“We’ll come—” Dom starts.
Kieran cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “No. This is something I have to do alone. Sterling family business is conducted behind closed doors, and bringing outsiders would only make things worse.”
“Then at least take backup positioned nearby,” I suggest. “In case things go badly.”
“They will go badly,” Kieran corrects with absolute certainty. “But that’s not the point. The point is facing the consequences of my choices with whatever dignity I can manage.”
He moves toward the door, but I catch his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his lean frame.
“Kieran. Are you sure about this? Really sure?”
For a moment, his carefully constructed composure wavers, and I see the scared young man beneath the polished criminal heir. The boy who was raised to value family above everything, who’s about to destroy that family bond forever.
“Ask me in a few hours,” he says quietly. “When I’m standing in front of Uncle Charles and the rest of the council, telling them that I choose Vincent Blackwood’s daughter over the Sterling legacy.”
“And if they try to kill you?”
His smile is vicious. “Then I’ll die knowing I chose love over duty. That’s more than most people in our world can say.”
He leaves and takes a part of my heart with him.
The next threehours pass like torture. Dom paces with restless energy, his protective instincts frustrated by the inability to act. Axel channels his anxiety into increasingly elaborate card tricks, the snap of shuffling cards providing staccato rhythm to our waiting. Marcus monitors every electronic signal he can intercept, looking for any indication of what’s happening at the Sterling family compound.
And I sit in the center of it all, trying not to think about what Kieran is sacrificing for me—for us—and whether any love is worth the complete destruction of someone’s identity.
At 10:23 AM, Marcus’s equipment picks up a spike in encrypted communications from the Sterling compound. At 10:31, police scanners report disturbances at three different Sterling-owned businesses. At 10:45, financial markets show massive sell-offs of Sterling subsidiary stocks.
“It’s happening,” Marcus reports grimly. “They’re not just disowning him. They’re systematically destroying any trace of his connection to the family empire.”
“Jesus,” Dom mutters. “They’re burning him out completely.”
“That’s the Sterling way,” I reply, remembering my father’s warnings about the ruthlessness of their family structure. “Complete loyalty or complete annihilation. No middle ground.”
At 11:17 AM, Kieran’s phone goes dark, either destroyed or disabled. At 11:23, his credit cards are canceled. At 11:28, his apartment lease is terminated and private security begins removing his belongings.
By noon, Kieran Frost has been systematically erased from the Sterling family legacy as if he never existed.
He returns to our safe house at 1:43 PM, and the man who opens the door and pauses there steals my breath. He walks through the door fundamentally changed. His expensive suit is wrinkled, his platinum hair disheveled, and there’s a cut above his left eyebrow that’s already swelling, but it’s his eyes that tell the real story—ice-blue depths now carrying a weight of loss that makes my chest ache.
“How did it go?” I ask, though the answer is written in every line of his body.
“Exactly as expected.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been shouting. “Uncle Charles read the formal declaration ofexcommunication. My name has been struck from all family records. My trust funds have been redistributed. My position in the organization has been eliminated.”
“And the kill order?”
Kieran touches the cut on his forehead gingerly. “Cousin Mario made his position very clear. I have forty-eight hours to leave the city, or I’ll be treated as any other enemy of the Sterling family.”
“But you’re not leaving,” Dom states with certainty.
“No.” Kieran’s smile is broken but determined. “I’m not running. I made my choice, and I’m staying to face the consequences.”
I stand and move toward him. His hands shake slightly as he tries to straighten his disheveled appearance. This proud, controlled man has just voluntarily destroyed everything that defined him.
“Kieran,” I say softly, and he looks up with eyes that seem older than they were this morning.
“I’m fine,” he lies.
“No, you’re not, and that’s okay.”
