But as he starts to walk away from me, unease knots inside my chest.
When the door clicks shut behind him, leaving me in the sterile silence, my stomach sinks even further.
36
KINGSTON
"What's so fucking urgent it couldn't wait?" I ask Bronx the second the hospital room door closes behind us.
He's pacing the hallway like a caged animal, which means whatever he found isn't good news.
"The Red Tribunal wants a meeting."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Says it's about resolution."
I lean against the wall, processing. "What kind of resolution?"
"The kind that usually ends with someone in a body bag." Bronx pulls out a cigarette and holds it between his fingers despite the No Smoking signs everywhere. "But here's the thing. I've been digging deeper into that Blood Vault intel. What Roman had was real, but it's only a small amount of what they're sitting on."
"How much deeper does this go?"
"Deep enough to bury every major family on the EastCoast. Politicians, judges, cops—they've got files on everyone. But that's not what they're protecting."
I wait for him to continue, but he's staring out the window like he's seeing ghosts float past.
"What are they protecting, Bronx?"
"Information that could bring down governments. Foreign assets, CIA operations, nuclear codes. Shit that makes our little turf wars look like playground fights."
"So we're not just dealing with organized crime."
"We're dealing with the people who decide which countries live or die." He paces in front of me. "Roman was selling breadcrumbs to the highest bidder. They wanted him dead, and they used Livvie as bait to make sure we'd do it."
"What about Livvie's order? To kill me?"
"Guess they took a chance. Assumed she’d never follow through, which gave them full control over both families. Made us dance to their tune while they cleaned up their mess."
“And now?” I ask, raking a hand through my hair.
“Now,” Bronx says. “You’ve gotta get your ass in front of the Red Tribunal to figure out how the hell we move forward from here without losing our empire.”
Three days later, Livvie's finally home. Her left arm is still weak, but at least she can move her fingers. The doctors say with physical therapy, she might regain full function.Might.
It’s hope, and that’s enough for us right now.
She sits on our bed, trying to hold the new violin I bought her. The frustration on herface when she can't grip it properly makes me want to put bullets in every Red Tribunal bastard who's still breathing.
"I have to go," I tell her, straightening my tie.
"No." She puts the violin down on the bed next to her. "Don't go, Kingston. Please."
"This isn't optional, princess. If I don't show, they'll come here."
"Then we'll fight them together."
I sit on the edge of the bed and take her good hand in mine. "Your mother's staying with you while I’m gone. Bronx has security on every floor. You'll be safe."
