Charlie stepped forward, fury rolling off him. “If this is about the past, why come after Sloane?”
Marshall’s gaze dropped to me again. “Because she’s the last piece on the board. The one neither side can control. And now … well. Now we’ll see who she chooses.”
I stared at him, indignant. “This was never about me.”
“It was always about you,” he said. “You're the bloodline. The leverage. The question is—what are you willing to do to survive?”
Beside me, Charlie’s fists curled, knuckles white and trembling with restrained fury. “You son of a?—”
His voice broke like gravel under pressure, low and lethal, the kind of sound that made you brace for violence.
Marshall raised a hand. “Easy now, soldier. This isn’t personal. It’s legacy.”
The wind picked up, lifting the edges of my hair. For a moment, none of us spoke. Then I said it, loud enough to slice through the fog.
“I’m not choosing any of you.”
Marshall tilted his head. “You might not have a choice.”
Charlie stepped between us, voice deadly calm. “She does. And I’m making damn sure of it.”
Marshall’s smile vanished. “Then I suggest you get your affairs in order. Because if Department 77 doesn’t get what it’s owed—by money or blood—there won’t be anything left of Dominion Hall but ash.”
He turned, walked into the night like he hadn’t just lit the match.
I reached for Charlie’s hand. It was already there. And though my bones shook, my voice stayed steady. “Let’s go. Home to Dominion Hall.”
Charlie nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes full of fire.
As we walked away, I knew the truth. We’d just stepped into a war that started long before we were born.
When we arrived, Dominion Hall rose like a sleeping beast from the harbor’s edge—massive, elegant, and humming with a kind of barely-leashed power that made my stomach tighten. The drive from the pier was mostly quiet. Charlie gripped the wheel like it might be the only thing holding him together, and I didn’t interrupt. I just stayed close, hand resting lightly over his on the console. No words were needed.
The gates opened on cue. No keypad, no guard. Just a silent command from somewhere unseen. Charlie’s brothers had eyes everywhere.
The truck wound its way through the long drive until the mansion emerged, haloed by soft up-lighting.
We climbed out, the air heavier here. Denser somehow, like history itself had weight.
I’d been here earlier, but this time was different. This time, I knew what waited behind those doors. Charlie hadn’t said exactly what he planned to share with his brothers, but I knewthat what was happening was big. And now, it wasn’t just about me. It was about legacy. Betrayal. War.
“They’re waiting inside,” Charlie said, voice flat. “Just … don’t let them rattle you.”
I lifted my chin. “I don’t rattle.”
His mouth twitched like he almost smiled.
Inside, the ops room—a command center disguised as a lounge—was filled with tension. Five men stood at different points in the room, all of them tall, built, and watching me like I was a storm warning.
Charlie cleared his throat. “This is Sloane Carrington.”
One of the men stepped forward first. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, a grin that almost disarmed me. “Ryker,” he said. “I’m the charming one.”
“Don’t lie to her,” said another—blonde hair, sharper jawline. “That’s me. Marcus.”
A third just raised his hand. The biggest of the bunch. “Atlas.”
Then came Charlie’s nod toward the fourth and the fifth—quiet and thoughtful, eyes like they’d seen too much. “Noah. Elias.”
