The tunnels weren’t meant for meetings. They were arteries—meant to move product, not men. But someone had decided to test the family. Push weight through my ground without permission.


    I was tired. Cigarette between my fingers. The De’Valours stood across, talking too loud, threatening like they’d earned the right.


    Rome leaned against the steel door to my right, face still, shoulders rxed. But I saw the twitch in his hand—the one he only got when his jaw was locked tight.


    “Ports aren’t yours forever,” one of them said. “This city doesn’t belong to only one family. Not anymore.”


    I dragged smoke deep, let it burn in my chest. Didn’t answer. Because weak men always showed themselves in noise.


    “Careful.” Rome said, keeping his tone low. “You’re forgetting who built these walls.”


    The manughed. Too loud. Then he pulled a gun.


    Not at me.


    At Rome.


    The tunnel went quiet.


    Rome didn’t flinch. His face stayed still. The gun pressed center to his chest. His pulse didn’t even jump.


    Mine did.


    Weak men pulled guns. Weak men thought pointing made them strong.


    And weak men forgot what happened when you pointed at a Crow.


    The restraint I usually kept broke clean in half.


    I moved before the man could breathe. My hand closed on his wrist, bone snapping sharp under my grip. He screamed once—cut short when I shoved the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.


    His body dropped before the sound finished echoing.


    Two more went for theirs. I didn’t hear the shouts. Didn’t need to. My fists knew the rhythm.


    First one—jaw shattered on impact, teeth spraying red across concrete. He fell choking. I didn’t stop. Boot to his throat until it copsed.


    Second one tried to run. I dragged him back by his hair, mmed his skull into the wall hard enough to paint it.


    And then I lost it.


    I didn’t feel my body anymore—just the weight of everything I couldn’t touch. Every fist, every crack of bone, every spray of blood was the same word pounding in my skull.


    Take.


    Take.


    Take.


    They took ground that wasn’t theirs. Pointed a gun at my brother. They tried to take him from us.


    And somewhere else, someone had already taken what mattered most.


    I wanted her back.


    Our girl.


    But everywhere I turned, men reached for what wasn’t theirs.


    My knuckles were soaked in blood. His face wasn’t a face anymore. The sound of bone giving way was all I could hear.


    Rome’s voice cut through, distant. “Luca.”


    I barely caught it. Didn’t stop. Because this wasn’t about the De’Valours anymore.


    It was about every theft. Every contract. Every hand that had reached where it shouldn’t.


    I punched until my arm went numb. The man’s body stopped twitching.


    Chest heaving but I kept swinging.


    Rome stayed still beside me, phone at his ear. He didn’t try to stop me. He never did when I burned like this. He knew better. His job wasn’t to pull me off—it was to make sure I didn’t burn the whole city with me.


    I stood over what was left of the man. Blood dripped steady from my knuckles, dropping into the puddle around him.


    Footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Calm, steady.


    Luca.


    He walked into the tunnel like it was just another meeting. He looked at the bodies, then at me. Didn’t say a word.<fn4a93> Newest update provided by </fn4a93>


    The tunnels were red. My hands were wrecked.


    And for the first time, I felt the weight hit.


    I slid down the wall, body too heavy to hold up. Stone rough against my back, blood smearing down with me. My chest heaved, breathsing sharp and uneven.


    Luca lit a cigarette. Then another. Walked over, sat beside me like this was nothing more than another night. Handed me one.


    I took it. Fingers shaking too much to hide. His foot touched mine once. A reminder.


    We sat in silence.


    He took a slow drag, eyes on the red walls.


    My body was wrecked.


    Hands shredded raw, fingers split until they felt like someone else’s. The kind of hurt that should’ve slowed me—except my chest kept aching like it wanted more.


    I slid lower against the wall, holding the smoke in my lungs, and stared at what was left of the De’Valours. The walls dripped steady.


    Rome paced the far end, phone still in hand, calm in a way only he could manage after a gun had been pointed at him.


    And still my head wouldn’t stop circling back. Two contracts. Sitting on Alexander’s desk. Waiting. Names of men who thought they could buy her, fuck her, parade her under dynasty lights as if she hadn’t been ours first.


    I wanted them gone. Wanted her brother bleeding on the same stone these bastards were.


    My fists clenched again, pain hot enough to blur my vision.


    “Don’t.” Luca’s voice cut through my anger. Pulling me back.


    He said it like he’d been waiting for the thought to hit me. He’d already read it in the tension of my shoulders.


    Luca leaned back against the wall beside me. “Crows take. We live. She’ll be ours.”


    He slid his phone out. Tapped once. Handed it to me without looking.


    And there she was. Not her face. Just the sound. Soft, steady breathing through the speaker.


    I shut my eyes and listened.


    Peace. That’s what it was. A rhythm steady enough to make the rage fade in my chest. Only Emilia could make sleep sound like something holy.


    The walls were painted red. My body was broken. But with her breathing in my ear, it didn’t matter.


    Luca let me hold the phone for another minute before speaking again. “We’re hosting the graduation reunion. On our yacht.”


    I opened my eyes, narrowed. “Why the fuck would we want those bastards on a yacht wemissioned for her?”


    “Because,” he flicked ash to the floor, “we’re getting her on it.”


    The yacht was built as a throne she didn’t know she had. Every line, every inchmissioned for her. And now Luca wanted dynasty sons and daughters crawling over it like they mattered?


    But then the other part hit. The part that made my chest burn hotter.


    She’d be on it.


    The corner of my mouth twitched. “The rest will leave that night. But we’ll convince her to stay.”


    Luca took another drag. “Then take care of your hands. Next month. Otherwise only mine will be getting her off. And we both remember how she always needed both.”


    The sound that left me wasn’t augh, not really. Too rough. Too fucking tired. But close enough. And he wasn’t wrong. She always needed both.


    I listened to her breathing again, soft through the speaker. Nodded once.


    I’d take care of my body. Heal. Because when she touched me again, I didn’t want her to see cuts and bruises and swollen muscles. I wanted her to see me. Tattooed, scarred, but not bleeding.


    My eyes dropped to my fists. Ruined. They didn’t look like hands that could hold her or ever had deserved to.


    Luca slid the phone back into his pocket, then stood. He reached down, pulled me up with him.


    I met his eyes. “Did you rip that bastard apart today?”


    For the first time all night, his calm cracked. Just a flicker. Then he nodded.


    Good.


    Because I hated her brother. The way Alexander moved—contracts and signatures and the kind of pride that only worked in boardrooms. He thought paper made him powerful.


    But Luca had stripped him already. In front of men who mattered. Cut him down to size without lifting a hand.


    And that mattered more. Because people like Alexander only cared about perception. The illusion of power.


    And nothing tore it faster than silence from a Crow, followed by ruin.


    I dragged deep on the cigarette. My hands still throbbed, chest still heavy, but her breathing lingered in my head like a tether.


    For the first time all night, I wasn’t drowning.