Page 47 of The Mafia Bloodline
Lucien nodded grimly. “Inside, or close enough to act like they are.” The room went still. Even Viking stopped moving.
Roman’s eyes lifted to the broken sigil on the floor, his tone flat and final. “Find out who. I don’t care how deep you have to dig, how many necks you have to break, or how much blood it takes. I want the name before the next sunset.”
We left the warehouse in silence, the sound of boots crunching through shattered glass the only rhythm between us. As the engines started and the convoy rolled back toward the estate, I could feel the fury radiating from every man in those vehicles.
But beneath the rage, something else was growing. A quiet, deadly suspicion, because if Caesar knew we were coming, then someone had sold us out, and when we found them…brother or not…we’d burn them alive.
The convoy back felt different, no light talk, the night felt heavier, as if the city itself was judging us for being outplayed.
When we rolled through our gates the estate was eerily quiet. Torches guttered. Guards looked like they’d been waiting for us with a patience braided in knives. I expected to find broken things, a worse scene than the warehouse, proof of another strike. I braced for it: the ache that comes when the men you loveare not safe. The image I half-expected was burned into my mind before we even jumped from the SUVs.
Instead, we found a small pocket of impossible peace.
Through the main hall, the nursery wing glowed warm and soft. The children were on the floor in a tumble of small limbs and laughter, toys scattered like confetti. Layla and Sorcha sat cross-legged, hair loose, eyes tired but bright, their faces lit by the low lamp and by the laugh of their children. Aleksander was trying to pull a plastic car up a steep incline while little Suraya played beside him. The women were feeding them crackers, trading stories in low, conspiratorial voices. It looked like the smallest, most defiant island of normal you could imagine.
For a beat, everything I’d been planning with rage, the hunt, the hot white fury all stuttered. Seeing them safe hit harder than any win would have. The sight of Sorcha laughing while she smoothed a curl from Suraya forehead felt like a balm. Runa sat cross-legged, elbows on knees, hair falling in a soft fall around her face as she tried to get a giggle out of Aleksander. She looked up when I entered, and the expression on her face was of relief, tired amusement, something shy, it all snapped something in me back into place.
We’d failed to catch Caesar tonight. The brothers were furious in the way that breeds action, the kind of silent, coiled fury that reshapes plans into violence. Roman was already barking orders, voice low but cutting. Lucien had gone to scan the feeds, trying to pull threads between the warehouse and a name, a shipment, anything. Draugr lit a cigarette and crushed it out underfoot with a slow, deliberate anger. Viking cursed in several languages, each more creative than the last.
But the immediate danger had been averted. The women and the children were safe. That mattered more than vengeance in that moment.
Still, we could not sit with the taste of it. The anger hummed through the room like a second heartbeat.
“It was a bait,” Lucien said once he’d gone through the reports on his tablet. “They wanted us to burn through men and resources chasing smoke.” His voice was cold. “Caesar’s hands are in deeper than we thought. Someone is shielding him. Or he’s moved under someone else's protection.”
Roman’s reply was a single word, a razor of promise: “Then we dig.”
Draugr’s low chuckle was humourless. “We’ll pick at the seams, find which one leads to the next.” He looked at me. “We start tomorrow. We split his network. We choke his friends until he has to show himself.”
Viking slammed a fist into his palm. “And when he does, I’ll carve a map into his face.”
The women watched us, concern softening their features. Layla rose and crossed to Roman, placing a hand on his forearm. Her touch was steady. “Alexandre has been asking to see the car you promised,” she said simply. “Take him to go see the car, it will help calm you.”
Roman’s nostrils flair once as he exhales, but then he places his hand over Layla’s before he lowers his head to take her lips in a gentle kiss before nodding as he walks towards where his son is.
“Alex,” the boy hearing his father’s voice turns, a smile splitting across his face as he drops his toy to run and jump into his father’s arms. The connection between the two is a balm to myanger as I see the love that my fearless brother has for his son and how gentle he can be with the boy even though deep inside his fury is raging.
I look over at Runa as I think of one day having a son like Alexandre or a daughter like Suraya, with their mothers’ courageous traits. I feel my anger lighten slightly as she senses my eyes, turning her head she smiles at me, winking cheekily.
Later, in the quiet that followed, after the children were tucked in, after the maids cleared the space and the men dispersed like shadows to plan, I went to Runa. She sat on the edge of our bed, legs pulled up, staring at the floor. The adrenaline had drained from her face like paint. I sat and took her hand.
“You okay?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
She let out a breath. “I am now.”
She looked up and gave me that crooked, half-smile she reserved for when she felt like stealing the world. It kept something soft in me from completely hardening. We had failed the strike tonight. We had been outmanoeuvred. Caesar was loose, and whatever web he’d woven involved demons and networks I hated and feared.
But the children’s laughter from tonight, the sight of Sorcha and Layla curling around them, the knowledge that our lines held when it mattered, it changed the shape of my anger. It hardened the plan into resolve. We would burn Caesar’s safety nets. We’d chase dealers, cut off contacts, pull out every rotten root until he withered.
I tightened my grip on Runa’s hand. “I love you baby,” I said, the words a weapon. Her eyes shining as she looks at me, “I love you too.”
She leans against me, her head against my shoulder. For a sliver of time, the world narrowed to the two of us and the tiny, impossible warmth we’d found in its centre.
Tomorrow, and every tomorrow after would be spent making sure the laughter we hadn’t earned tonight lasted long enough to bury Caesar’s name under ash.
Chapter 16
The night had quieted around us, a rare kind of calm that came after chaos. The mansion slept, the brothers finally scattered to their rooms, and even the flickering candles seemed tired.
