22
CALLUM
They start up again two days after I took Zaria down to the pool, like it was my punishment.
It was a little after midnight. I was up staring at spreadsheets, doing all the boring shit that comes with being don, when my phone started vibrating on my desk, Declan's name lighting up the screen.
"Yeah."
"Route Seven's gone." His voice is tight. "Bodies everywhere, covered with those damn feathers."
"Damn. How many men?"
"Four. Merchandise destroyed. They didn't take a fucking thing, Cal. Just left it burning."
I ended up sending Octavian and more of my men to another location, only to be told more or less the same news.
In this world, hits happen. Losses happen. Product disappears. Hell, even territory shifts, and you have to fight to reclaim it. That's business. That's expected.
But when they do happen, you take the product and claim the victory. You don't just burn it and walk away.
That's the part that I really don't fucking like. It's just the message paired with total destruction and loss.
I shake my head, bringing my focus back to the present as I pour another whiskey and sit at my desk.
The house is silent except for the occasional talking from the guards making their rounds, or from the ones stationed outside by the guardhouse.
Our mother's been living at Keira's since the funeral. She can't stand being here. Can't stand the memories. Keira told me yesterday that Mom barely speaks anymore, just sits by the window staring at nothing.
A shell.
That's what Cormac did to her. What he's doing to all of us.
My father told me once, never make a move when emotions are high. Wait. Think. Let the dust settle before you strike.
I've been waiting.
And waiting.
And every day, our grip on this city slips a little more.
Declan's been pressuring me nonstop. Last night, we almost came to blows in this very office. He got in my face, demanding we strike, that Dad would've burned Shadowharbor to the ground by now.
I shoved him back. Hard. Told him to get the fuck out before I forgot he was my brother.
He left, but the words stayed.
Dad would've acted.
Maybe he's the one who's right.
For a long time, I was certain I was right to wait.
Cormac's death isn't in question. It's a certainty. So what's a few extra weeks or months if it means I strike clean?
My father always said never to make a move when emotions are high. That patience was power. That a calm mind wins wars faster than a loaded gun.
Maybe I've been waiting for clarity that's never going to come. Maybe emotions aren't going to settle because the stakes are too high. My father's dead. My mother's broken. My siblings are watching me like I'm about to crack.
