“Power I didn’t ask for.”
“Maybe not.” I step closer again, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “But you have it anyway.Whether you want it or not, you’re ours. And we protect what’s ours.”
“Yours,” she breathes, and I can’t tell if it’s a question or acceptance.
“Ours,” I confirm. “Mine, Jace’s, Cal’s. You’ve been ours since that night six years ago. Since before that, if I’m being honest. And those boys—” My voice roughens. “Those boys are ours, too. All of it. You, them, this thing between us that you’ve been running from. It’s time to stop running, Parker.”
Her breath catches. “Silas?—”
“You can be mad at me for the stabbing,” I continue. “You can lecture me about violence and building a better organization. But you can’t pretend you didn’t kiss me back. Can’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
“I feel—” She presses her hands to her face again. “I feel like my world is spinning out of control. Like everything I’ve built is crumbling. Like you three are going to consume me whole, and there won’t be anything left.”
“We won’t consume you.” I pull her hands away from her face, hold them in mine. “We’ll make you stronger. You, us—together. Not you disappearing into us, but all of us becoming something bigger.”
“That’s not how it worked before,” she whispers. “Before I left. You controlled everything. Made decisions for me. Pushed people away without asking.”
“We were boys,” I admit. “Stupid, possessive boys who thought protecting you meant controlling you. We’re not those boys anymore.”
“Aren’t you?” She gestures at McCoy’s office. “You just stabbed someone for touching my hand.”
“I stabbed someone for touching you inappropriately and suggesting you work in his clubs,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” I lean in closer, until our foreheads nearly touch. “Because I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry for protecting you. But I am asking—not telling—asking if you’ll let us back in. Let us be part of your life. Your sons’ lives. Whatever that looks like. However messy and complicated it is.”
“I don’t know how,” she admits, and the vulnerability in her voice cracks something in my chest. “I don’t know how to need people. How to trust. How to not run when things get hard.”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” I say simply. “Together. One day at a time. Starting with tonight. The talk we promised. No more delays. No more avoiding.”
She searches my face, looking for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or proof that we’ve changed. That we’re worth the risk.
“Okay,” she finally whispers. “Tonight. We talk. About everything.”
“Everything,” I agree.
“But right now—” She straightens, composing herself. “Right now, we need to explain to my brother why one of our business partners is bleeding.”
“He’ll understand,” Jace says from the elevator. “McCoy crossed a line. There are consequences for that.”
“In the old organization, maybe,” Parker says. “But we’re supposed to be different.”
“We are different,” I say. “But different doesn’t mean defenseless. Doesn’t mean letting people disrespect us without consequence. It just means we’re more strategic about when and how we respond.”
Parker looks between Jace and me, conflict written across her face. Then she nods slowly. “Okay. But next time?—”
“Next time we’ll discuss it first,” I lie smoothly.
“You’re lying.”
“Probably.” I offer my arm. “Come on, firefly. Let’s go face your brother’s wrath together.”
She takes my arm, and that small gesture—her choosing to accept my support instead of walking away—feels like a victory.
We’re not fixed. Not even close.
But we’re moving in the right direction.
