Sam took another sip of whiskey, rolling the liquid over his tongue, as if trying to buy himself time. His mind was working—Titus could see it in the way his fingers drummed lightly on the glass, in the slight tightening of his jaw. He was deciding how much to push, how much to probe.
“And if someone isn’t loyal?” Sam asked, voice carefully neutral, though the tension in his grip betrayed him. His fingers curled a little too tightly around the tumbler, the whiskey inside sloshing just slightly.
Zane leaned forward, his stare like a blade, slicing through the space between them. “Then they don’t belong here.”
The intensity of those words settled between them, thick and unyielding. The air in the study seemed to press inward, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Sam swallowed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the invisible hand tightening around his throat.
Cade, ever the one to defuse concern with charm, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s not get too dramatic. We’ve got atimeline to keep. And drama? Well, that tends to slow things down.”
Sam’s grip on his drink tightened even further. He forced a thin smile, lifting the glass toward his lips but hesitating for just a beat too long before he drank. “Right. Atimeline.”
Titus’s gaze never wavered. “That’s right,” he murmured, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for question. “And no room for delays.”
For a long moment, nothing else was said. Then Sam set his glass down carefully, nodded once, and stood. “Well. Glad to be part of the family.”
Titus didn’t rise. He simply held Sam’s gaze, watching, waiting. “We’ll be in touch.”
Sam left, his footsteps measured, but his pulse hammering beneath hisskin.
The door clicked shut. Silence stretched for a beat before Cade shook his head. “How much do you think heactually heard?”
Zane swirled his drink. “Enough to make himself dangerous.”
Cade tilted his head slightly, aknowing gleam in his eyes. “Think he’s running straight to the Feds?”
Zane let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
The three of them sat in silence for a moment before Cade cleared his throat, aquiet amusement in his expression. Then, as if on cue, all three of them let out short, dark laughs—quiet and laced with something that wasn’t quite humor.
Titus lifted his glass to his lips. “It doesn’t matter how much he knows.” He took a slow sip, savoring the flavor of it. Then he set the glass down and murmured again, “We have a timeline to keep.”
Zane leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. “Think he’ll try to warn Jazz?”
Cade grinned. “If he’s smart, he will. But we both know Sam isn’t smart enough. He’s justdesperate.”
Titus didn’t respond immediately. He simply studied the door where Sam had exited, his expression unreadable. Along pause stretched between them, the authority of unspoken understanding heavy in theair. He glanced at his palm again.
“He’s family now, which is going to be a problem.”
Zane shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass, waiting. Cade leaned back, one brow lifting as if considering a privatejoke.
Finally, Titus leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together. His voice was steady, deliberate. “Let him think he’s in charge. Let him believe he’s winning.”
Zane grinned, slow and knowing. “He won’t see it coming.”
Cade’s lips quirked, his amusement barely concealed. “That’s the best part.”
Zane lifted an eyebrow. “And when herealizes he hasn’t?”
Titus smiled faintly, but there was nothing warm in it. “By then, it won’t matter.”
The room grew silent except for the soft clink of ice in glasses. Outside, the distant hum of conversation from the rest of the estate continued, oblivious to the moves being made behind closed doors.
And somewhere, Sam Mirabella was walking away, convinced he had slipped through their grasp. His supposed victory settled on his shoulders, fueling his confidence as he mapped out his next move. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the conversation had been too easy, too smooth—like he’d been given just enough rope to think he was free. But confidence overruled caution, and he pressed forward, certain he was ahead of the game. He told himself he had played this perfectly, had seen the angles, had stayed onestep ahead.
THE WEIGHTof the morning pressed against Jazz’s skin, lingering in the quiet moments after brunch. The scent of coffee and warm pastries clung to the air, mingling with the faint traces of cologne and conversations that had since faded.
The house had settled into a hush, but the echoes of dominance and presence remained, wrapping around her like an unseen force. The laughter, the hushed conversations, the unspoken energy that had threaded through the room—it was all there, hanging in the air like perfume, clinging to her evennow.
