Page 30 of The Mafia Bloodline
I stood by the bed for a long moment, just watching her breathe. Every rise and fall of her chest was a reassurance I hadn’t known I needed.
Then I forced myself to leave. There were too many questions, and too much blood spilled tonight to ignore the truth clawing at the back of my mind.
The safehouse sat at the edge of the docks a converted warehouse like most of ours, but quieter, fortified, layered with scent wards and iron locks that even demons couldn’t breach without burning for it.
When I stepped inside, my brothers were already there.
Lucien leaned over the central table, maps and digital feeds splayed before him, his expression sharp and calculating. Draugr was standing near the far wall, a shadow among shadows, while Viking paced near the door, arms crossed, every line of his body screaming restless violence.
Roman stood apart from them all, calm but unreadable, the weight of leadership sitting on him like a crown made of knives.
The moment I entered, Viking turned. “Heard you had some fun tonight,” he said, his grin all teeth, but his tone wasn’t mocking.It was assessing. “Seven Irish? You’re slipping, brother. Used to take you ten to break a sweat.”
I shot him a look. “They weren’t random. They were waiting for me.” That wiped the grin from his face.
Lucien straightened, hands braced on the table. “Explain.”
I moved to the centre, jaw tight. “We were leaving the southern warehouse when they hit us. Two lured us out with taunts, classic distraction. The rest came from behind. They knew where we were, and when we’d be there.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened. “No leaks from your men?”
“Colt checked,” I said. “No chatter on our lines. Whoever told them, it came from higher.”
A beat of silence fell. Draugr’s low voice broke it first. “Inside the family?”
Lucien’s eyes flicked up to his. “Inside the bloodline.” The word hung heavy in the air.
Viking cursed, slamming a fist against the doorframe. “You’re saying one of ours is feeding them?”
Roman’s gaze drifted toward the dark windows, voice calm but cold. “No. Not one of ours. One of his.”
It took me a heartbeat to realize who he meant.
“Caesar,” I hissed.
Roman nodded once, the motion sharp as a blade. “He’s the only one who could know where our operations run this deep. The timing fits. He shows up after years of silence, and suddenly the Irish and the demons move with precision again.”
Viking’s eyes went wild, his temper sparking hot and fast. “That pompous motherfucker was always a vulture. Living off Father’s scraps, scheming for power he never earned. If he’s working with Malakai…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The thought alone was poison.
Lucien stepped forward, his voice the steady anchor that always reined us in. “If Caesar’s aligned with Malakai, this war changes. The demons have a strategist now. They’ll know how we move, how we think.”
I exhaled hard, the anger burning through me like acid. “Then we take the board off the table. End him before he can play another move.”
Roman’s gaze lifted to mine, quiet but commanding. “We don’t move blind. We find proof first.”
“Proof?” I snapped, my restraint cracking. “He’s a snake, Roman. He’s been circling since Father’s funeral. You think it’s coincidence that the Irish are targeting the very warehouses he helped design?”
Roman didn’t flinch. “No. But we don’t start a war inside our bloodline without evidence.”
Viking growled under his breath, pacing like a caged beast. “I’ll find him. Drag him out by his throat if I have to.”
Draugr finally stepped away from the wall, his massive frame casting a shadow over the map. “He’s not alone,” he said quietly. “Caesar’s not stupid enough to walk back into our territory without protection. If he’s dealing with Malakai, he’s got demons on his leash.”
Lucien’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then we cut the leash.”
The room fell silent again, tension thick as smoke.
