Zane crossed to the bar to pour himself a drink, the steady clink of glassagainst crystal filling the quiet tension in the room. He studied the amber liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze. “And if he doesn’t cooperate?”
Titus didn’t blink. His fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair, measured, precise. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get a choice.”
Cade let out a low chuckle, tipping his glass in a slow, deliberate swirl. “Every man reaches a crossroads. Some recognize it in time, others convince themselves they have options when the road has already run out.”
Zane leaned against the bar, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes were keen. “And if he fights back?”
Titus set his glass down with a quietclink, the sound deliberate, final. “Then he learns the hard way what happens when you cross us.”
The words hung in the air, weighty, carrying the promise of consequence. The firelight flickered across the polished wood, throwing shadows against the deep mahogany walls, wrapping the room in akind of slow-burning intensity that none of them acknowledged outright.
Zane took a slow sip of his drink, his voice carrying an edge of finality. “I’d rather not waste time teaching another lesson. The last one left a mess.”
Cade arched a brow, setting his drink down with a soft thud. “Messy, but effective. The important thing is that people remember it. Fear has a long shelf life.”
Titus’s gaze flicked between his brothers, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but absolute. “We’re not here to waste time. We’re here to end this game on our terms. He either steps aside, or we make sure he’s removed from the board.”
A throat cleared from the doorway.
Sam Mirabella stood there, half-shadowed, his expression fixed into something careful. Like a gambler holding a bad hand but hoping to bluff his way through the final round. His gaze flicked overthe three men, assessing them, deciding if he should stay orbolt.
“Interesting conversation,” he said lightly. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
Cade was the first to move, easy and smooth as ever. “Sam.” His voice carried all warmth and welcome. “We were just discussing something you might find interesting.”
Sam hesitated. “That so?”
Zane gestured toward an empty seat. “Come in. Have a drink.”
Titus rose and motioned to the bar. “You like Macallan, don’t you?” He poured a glass of the thirty-year-old whiskey without waiting for an answer and slid it across the polished wood in Sam’s direction. “Go on. You’re family now.”
That should’ve reassured Sam. It didn’t. If anything, it put him even more on edge. There was something about the way they watched him, like a cat watching a bird that hadn’t yet realized it was in the trap. It was the ease, the patience—theyweren’t worried. And thatworriedhim.
He picked up the glass and sat. There was no backing out now, no excuse that wouldn’t raise suspicion. The weight of the glass tumbler helped stabilize him, and he took a slow, careful sip. The whiskey burned smooth down his throat, rich and expensive—like everything the Dantes touched. He knew better than to refuse hospitality from a Dante. More than that, he knew better than to showfear.
He set the glass down lightly on the side table by his chair, keeping his expression neutral, but his mind raced. Had they seen him before he entered? Had they meant for him to overhear? Or was he just another player at a table where the stakes were far higher than he could afford?
Titus leaned forward slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He let the silence stretch just long enough for discomfort to creep in, watching Sam’s reaction with quiet intensity.
He finally spoke, his voice easy, measured, carrying the depth of unspoken history. “We look after our own, Sam. Always have,always will. That’s the way it’s always been.” He let the words settle, watching for the reaction. “Loyalty is earned, and once you have it, it means something. But betrayal… well, that tends to have consequences.”
Sam’s fingers flexed around his tumbler, his grip just a little too tight. Abead of sweat traced a slow path at his temple, though he masked it well. He swallowed, the sound audible in the heavy silence of theroom.
Cade leaned against the table, flashing an easy grin. “And now that you’re sitting at our table, things tend to shift. Expectations, responsibilities... they all start looking a little different.”
Sam’s fingers twitched around his glass. “How so?”
Zane lifted his own drink. “Family stands together, no matter what. That’s the only rule that matters.”
Titus watched Sam closely, reading the subtle tells of a man trying too hard to appear unfazed. The rigid posture, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, the slighttwitch of his fingers against the glass—it all spoke of someone balancing between forced composure and mounting unease.
Sam had heard something, that much was clear. The way his eyes darted, analyzed, trying to gauge if he was in danger or if he had a way out—it was the look of a gambler analyzing the odds, searching for the safebet.
Titus allowed the silence to stretch, letting the significance of the moment press in. Then, deliberately, he reached for his own glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with an almost imperceptible nod. He glanced at his palm, at the smudge of darkness that rode the center, and fisted his hand so the others wouldn’t see. The question wasn’t just how much Sam had overheard—it was whether he understood exactly what he was playingwith.
Titus leaned back, giving nothing away. “Loyalty is simple, Sam. Either you have it, or you don’t.”
Silence settled, thickand loaded.
