A name caught.
Family connection.
Dinners.
A flash of memory surfaced—this man at his parents’ table years ago, polite smile, easy laugh. Back when his brothers were still alive. Still boys.
Titus’s jaw tightened.
Had this fucker been part of it? Part of what twisted them into what they became?
He straightened slowly, the phone falling heavy from his hand.
He’d find out.
The ring on his finger caught the light.
Just a flash. Nothing dramatic.
He stilled.
The weight of it registered—not heavy, not tight. Just… there. Steady.
He hadn’t planned on keeping it on. Hadn’t planned on anything past tonight, past the next move, past making sure the monsters in this place never touched another kid.
But his gaze lingered anyway.
Viper hadn’t forced it. Hadn’t demanded anything. Just planted the truth and told him they’d talk later—when this was over.
For the first time in a long time, Titus didn’t bother pushing the thought away.
And after this…
After the blood was cleaned up. After the names were finished. After the ghosts stopped grabbing at his ankles.
Maybe then…
He exhaled sharply and closed his fist.
Hope was dangerous, but he was done pretending it wasn’t worth the risk.
So, the idea lodged—quiet, stubborn—and he was glad for it. He couldn’t imagine a life with Viper, but he also couldn’t imagine a life without him.
And he wanted a chance.
A real shot.
But all that would need to come later. When they had their talk. Right then, he had a man to kill.
He turned toward the door before he could think about it any longer. There was still work to do. And Viper would read the aftermath like a map.
He always did. Not chaos.
Correction.
It was nearly full light when Viper reached the estate.
He took the stairs two at a time.
