If I could click my fingers and return to Oz, I would, because this shit is for the birds.
As we make our way toward the elevators, no one speaks. If they do, I might lose what’s left of my patience—and they know it. These kids will be the death of me, faster than the mafia ever could. I’ve had that thought more often lately. As they’ve grown into themselves, they’ve started acting like they don’t need to think shit through anymore. Case in point—my eldest son shooting his stepmother.
I suck in a breath. Because that’s exactly who she is. Shit.
I raised my children to be better than this. Calculated. Controlled. They still have a lot to learn. And I have a lot more teaching to do. You watch. You listen. You learn. You strike when necessary—but never out of emotion. Emotion is dangerous. Sentimentality will kill you faster than any bullet ever could. It clouds judgment. Makes you trust the wrong people, ignore the wrong things, and act before you should.
Everything you do—every reaction—has to be weighed. Because the fallout? It doesn’t just hit you. It hits everyone you love.
I get it. Today was a lot. Meeting their father, nearly losing him the same night... It's overwhelming. I understand itas a mother. But as the Consigliere of the Barone family, I don’t have the luxury of unraveling. Neither do they.
I exhale slowly.
Am I mad that my son shot that woman? Not particularly. She got froggy and leaped right into that bullet. How many damn times does someone have to be warned to watch their mouth before they actually do it? Those consequences are on her, even if I preferred that my son handled things differently.
What pisses me off is that we didn’t get to the root of the problem. No answers. Valentina never told the whole truth. I’m sure this shitstorm hassomethingto do with her—maybe not all, but enough. But I also know this goes beyond the Salvatores. My gut has never lied to me, and it’s screaming.
And we still haven’t touched on the subject of moles inside the club. Shit.Fuck. Damn it.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text. It’s time to move.
I know thatputtanais tied into all this. What we uncovered tonight was damning. And I’ve always gotten a weird vibe off her. Even back then. Despite the shit, she was spewing about her getting the guy, and all that other cliché shit. This isn’t jealousy. I couldn’t care less that she ended up with Talon. It’s instinct. And instincts like mine? I don’t ignore them.
Too many moving parts, and too many of them are aiming straight for my family.
No matter my feelings about Talon, I’ll do what needs to be done. If it turns out who Ithinkis involved, dragged my children into a war they didn't sign up for, I’ll end them without a second thought. I’ll be damned if I let old family beef threaten the lives I gave birth to. If I have to go through Talon and his entire club to end this, I will.
We reach the parking structure. My men are already waiting—and so is Olivia, standing beside the open car door. Hands wringing, face tight with worry. One of her hard-headed siblings must’ve filled her in. Which means she has questions. About the plan. About what comes next. But mostly, abouthim.
She wants to know if her father is okay.
Liv’s never said it, not aloud—but I saw it in her eyes all her life. Watching other girls with their fathers. Skipping daddy-daughter dances. Avoiding Father’s Day at school. She’s my most empathetic child, the softest heart in the hardest world. Of all of them,shelonged for her father most. And that guilt? That’s the one thing that’s kept me up more nights than I can count.
Do I regret keeping them from him? No. Because Itried.Over and over again.
I meet Liv’s eyes and give her a slight nod. It’s enough to settle her nerves—for now. But when she looks at her siblings, her eyes narrow. Whatever half-truths they told her didn’t cut it. Their sheepish expressions say everything. My girl might be the sunniest one, but she’s the one who checks all their attitudes. They call her my mini-me, and they’re not wrong.
Then I hear it—the engine.
My attention snaps to the corner of the structure as a sleek matte black Range Rover rolls in like it owns the place. I don’t need to see who’s behind the wheel. I already know.
When Sam told me to come back, I made sure someone close was in place—someone who could be my ears, eyes, and backup. I was annoyed she didn’t stop this chaos from erupting, but nobody predicted Talon would bolt like that—not even her.
Bellamy.
She’s cut from the same cloth as me. Born into this life. Shaped by it. And when I was drowning, she was the one who pulled me out. She’s saved my ass more times than I can count—and I’ve returned the favor.
Her car idles for a beat. Then she revs the engine. Once. Twice. Three times.
I roll my eyes,always dramatic.
Then the tires spin out, smoke curling around the air, and the boys snicker under their breath. A few of my men are fighting back, smirks. Bellamylivesfor an entrance.
And of course—of course—she’s blastingTake Me to Churchby Hozier like this is her personal music video. I shake my head and chuckle. The kids groan. They know what’s coming. When Bellamy shows up, things never stay quiet for long. I look around at my kids and crew and feel the storm building all around us.
This is just the beginning.
I feel someone tug my arm.
