Page 15 of The Mafia Bloodline
Draugr’s teeth flashed. “You sound like you’re complaining.”
“I’m not,” Viking grinned. “Just want to make sure Volken doesn’t bring his little golden-haired spy along.”
I glared at him. “She’s not a spy.”
“Oh?” Lucien drawled. “Then what was she doing on a rooftop with binoculars and no backup?”
“She was looking for her father,” I snapped. “And she’s not going anywhere near this war.”
Roman’s gaze lifted, cool and assessing. “She won’t listen; you know that. Mates never do.”
“She’ll listen to me,” I said, more to convince myself than them.
Viking chuckled into his mug. “Sure, brother. Just like Layla listens to Roman, or Sorcha to Lucien. Maybe next you’ll tell me the sun rises because you told it to.”
Lucien’s smirk deepened. “You’ll learn. They don’t listen. They negotiate.Usually by ignoring half of what we say.”
Even Roman, the stoic one, cracked a faint grin. “It’s true. Welcome to the club, brother. You’ll lose every argument that matters.”
“I don’t lose,” I muttered, but they were all already laughing again.
For a moment, the tension in the room loosened, we are brothers, warriors, predators, but then Roman’s expression sharpened. “Back to business. We’ll move tomorrow night. Draugr, you’ll take the northern perimeter. Lucien, oversee the intel drop. Viking, handle the extraction route.”
He turned to me. “Volken, you’re with me. We take the docks. We find whoever’s supplying the demons and we end it.”
I nodded once, the humour gone. “And if Malakai shows up?”
Roman’s lips curved, sharp and cold. “Then we finish what he started.”
The table fell silent again, the air thick with purpose. I stood there, feeling the faint hum of Runa’s heartbeat through the bond steady, alive, somewhere above us. It was both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness.
Lucien glanced at me, his tone quieter. “Keep her close, brother. Once a mate enters our world, she becomes a target. You know that.”
“I know,” I said. And I meant it. But as I stared down at the map of the city, its veins of streets and alleyways drawn in shadow and blood, I couldn’t shake the thought that somehow, Runa was already tangled in this war, whether I liked it or not.
The phone in my pocket vibrated, cutting through my thoughts. I pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. Sergei, one of my men stationed downtown.
“Volken,” I answered, tone clipped.
“Sir,” came Sergei’s low voice, tension threaded through it. “You need to know, Caesar’s here.”
I straightened. “Where?”
“One of the clubs, the Red Veil. Walked in like he owned the place. He’s not hiding.”
Every muscle in my body locked. “You’re certain?”
“I saw him myself. Same smug bastard. He’s talking to one of the Irish, maybe setting something up. Want me to move in?”
“No,” I said, voice dropping into a growl. “Stay out of sight. Eyes only. If he’s back in town, I want to know who he’s meeting with and why.”
“Yes, sir.” The line went dead.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up. All four of my brothers were watching me now, Roman at the head of the table, Lucien half-turned from the wall, Draugr still pacing. Viking’s grin was gone, replaced by something sharper.
“What’s going on?” Roman asked, his tone low, dangerous.
“It’s Caesar,” I said flatly. “Sergei just saw him at the Red Veil. Talking to one of the Irish.”
