BASTION
I should’ve been locked on this sit-down—guns, docks, drugs. This was my territory. My business.
Emilia had been cold this morning. Polite in a way that meant distance. She’d slipped into the car like she was already somewhere else, seatbelt clipped, mask in place, and I had waited on the curb until the driver pulled her away. Until I couldn’t see her anymore.
I’d stood there longer than I should’ve. Because her silence cut deeper than anything these men across from me could throw.
Last night had been worse. Migraine. Her breath shallow against the pillow, one hand pressed to her temple. Luca and I knew what it meant. She didn’t get headaches unless something was eating her alive. We’d tried to ease it. My fingers massaging her scalp, Luca rubbing her shoulders. She’d sighed, whispered she was fine, but we both heard the lie under it. She never let us in when it was dynasty weight. And not knowing what it was—thatkilled me more than any bullet ever could.
A cough pulled me back.
Across the table sat three men. The Rourke Syndicate. Rivals that had crawled out of the gutters the second Vince stepped back.
Callum Price was the mouthpiece. Always in tailored suits too clean for the docks. He tapped his pen against a notepad like he thought this was a business meeting and not a test of blood.
Beside him sat Dante Rourke. He handled their guns, drugs and liked to undercut prices just to make a point. The kind of rat who thought survival meant cutting corners until the weapon backfired in someone else’s hand.
And then there was Marek Volkov. Scarred knuckles, thick accent, muscle built for breaking bones. He didn’t bother pretending he was here for numbers. He was here to make sure threats didn’t bounce.
Callum leaned forward. “Price is too high, Crow. Your cut’s bleeding us. We’ve got options now. Another supplier in Villain offering better rates.”
I didn’t move. Because I knew the game. The “supplier” was real, sure. But I’d let them live these last weeks. Let them build. Because when the time came, we’d take every ounce of their product and bury them with it. Fear reestablished. Power locked. That was how the Crows worked.
Dante added, “We’re not here to insult you. Just business sense. Why pay top cut for purity when the streets don’t care? Cheaper sells faster.”
Rome shifted beside me. He hated men that cut drugs dirty for profit.
Marek finally spoke. “Without Vince, you’re stretched thin. Everyone sees it. Price should reflect that.”
He was referring to protection.The air went tight after that. I felt Rome’s pulse change, the way he was already wanting to put Marek through the table.
“You’re not paying for purity you can’t sell. You’re paying for loyalty you can’t buy anywhere else.” Luca said, “No misfires. No overdoses. No trails.” His voice didn’t rise. He didn’t look up. Just flipped the page of the ledger in front of him, pen steady.
But I wasn’t listening to numbers.
My mind drifted back to the penthouse.
Luca had been pushing the final finishes. We wanted her in it next week. No more waiting for contracts or dynasty games.
We’d built the Crown Floors for her.
Blackout blinds triggered at the first spike of light.
Silent insulated walls so no noise could bleed through when her head pounded.
Lavender-scented filtered air vents, calibrated to soothe.
A spa wing, custom-built, not for strangers to touch her, but for us. No masseuse would lay hands on our girl. No one knew her body better than we did, or how to worship it.
A hidden medic station, biometric sensors laced into the walls, ready to alert us the second her vitals dipped.
Every piece of it was for her. A palace under our hands and eyes.
We built the penthouse to touch her in ways our hands couldn’t.
But none of it mattered if she didn’t let us in. The house could protect her body. It couldn’t protect her silence. And I still didn’t know what the fuck was eating her alive.
Callum’s voice sliced back in. “We’re not asking you to bend. Just renegotiate terms. Be reasonable.”
