Page 94 of Broken By Silence
“You deserve someone who doesn’t carry this much blood on his hands,” he says quietly. “And I… I don’t know how to be that yet.”
I swallow, throat tight. “Then learn. We all are.”
That pulls the faintest smile from him, crooked and aching. “God, you sound just like her,” he murmurs.
“Who?”
“The old you. The one who held three broken boys together until we turned on you.”
“I’m still her,” I tell him. “Just… a little harder to break now.”
His gaze softens, then he nods once, forcing distance back into his posture like it’s the only way to breathe. “Get ready, Lottie… And just know that I’ll be watching you tonight. No one will get close to you.”
As I turn to leave, he calls after me.“Lottie?”
I look back.
“If I ever touch you again,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “it’ll be because I’ve earned it.”
Chapter 32
Roman
We’re ending this…
That’s all I can think about as I cut the engine and step out of the car as we pull up outside The Velvet Room. Neon glows faintly, the red and purple lights flickering just enough to make the place look inviting.
Will leads, as usual. He’s steady, while all I want to do is fall apart. Crew lingers behind him, balancing on the balls of his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets. Oscar stays near the curb, watching the street, and Lottie, hands flexing occasionally in sign as he tells her to get inside where it’s warm.
Elijah is calm and composed, but I know him well enough to see the lines in his jaw tightening, the slight narrowing of his eyes as Lottie moves away from us. Archer is quiet beside me, in that taut way that shows he’s watching everyone’s move.
Inside, the Velvet Room is immaculate and professional. Lottie is working the floor during the meeting, not feeling comfortable stripping on stage while Claire and Will are here.
Siren.
I forgot her stage name. It suits her. I keep my eyes fixed on her asI step past the entrance, letting the others filter around me, security and business positions falling into place. Oscar is already stationed near the bar, eyes scanning the entrances and exits, watching Lottie. Crew hovers near our booth, arms crossed.
We slide into the booth at the back—Elijah to my left, Will next to him, Archer beside me. I lean back, calm, fingers tapping lightly on the table.
There is no excitement, only business.
Business with stakes far higher than money.
The door opens, and Pacheco walks in. The man commands attention without raising his voice. His men flank him, suits crisp, eyes alert, hands hovering over their holsters.
He sits, then signals for Lottie to come over. “Whiskey. No ice.”
She nods, turning her head to us, making no sign that she knows us. “And can I get anything for any of you?”
We place our orders. Whiskey and scotch, and she smiles and walks away. Weaving between tables with a smile on her face. I watch her for far longer than I should, silence blanketing the table until she returns with a tray of our drinks.
The clink of Pacheco’s glass pulls me back, the faint scent of oak, and he takes a sip. “You’ve built a reputation, Roman,” Pacheco begins. “The shipments are clean. Timely. Quality better than I got with your father. I’m impressed, and I don’t say that lightly.”
I nod. “Thank you, and you should know, this isn’t just numbers to me. It’s about loyalty… Respect.”
Pacheco’s eyes narrow slightly, leaning in. “Respect is earned.” His eyes sweep over each of us, “and some people have forgotten how to earn it. Lorenzo is one of them.”
I feel it—a flash beneath my calm exterior. Anger, old and raw, sharp as a blade. The words he carved into my back sting, and the tattoo on my jaw flexes as I clench my teeth together.
