Because this falls on me. This decision isn’t a group vote. Not this one. The others can plan logistics, call contacts, move money. They can argue tactics all night. But the moment we shift from defense to abduction, from guard to hunt, it’s my call, and we all know it.
This is the first time in a long time that the call involves family.
Not the old money kind. Not bloodlines. Not alliances drafted at cigar tables.Us.
Her.
Something in my chest tightens hard enough to hurt. Damien tried to touch what’s ours. He walked hands-first at our gate. He looked Ember Calloway in the eyes last night and pretended not to know her name. He told the world Owen was dirty so no one would look too closely at how clean he kept his hands. And he sent men to my fucking door.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Ash’s mouth curves in a predatory smile. “Still in London. He didn’t run.”
“Idiot,” Vale says cheerfully.
“Arrogant,” Saint corrects softly.
Both are true.
Ash taps the screen. “He’s tucked into a Syndicate-adjacent safe space in Shoreditch. Not one of the main houses. Somewhere low-profile. Looks like an import office on paper. Third floor over a shuttered café. He rotated there in the last four hours. Means he moved as soon as we left him, and he thinks it’s quiet enough to regroup.”
“How many bodies?” I ask.
“Six on rotation I can see,” Ash says. “Maybe eight total. He’s not carrying a full security detail yet. He thinks he doesn’t need one. He thinks his word still protects him.”
Vale laughs. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“What’s the building look like?” I ask.
“Brick,” Ash says. “Narrow stairwell entrance off the alley. One lift, probably fucking ancient. Windows overlooking Redchurch Street. Fire escape off the back. Easy to block off. Harder to breach without noise.”
Saint leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. “Noise doesn’t scare me. Witnesses scare me. That neighborhood sees everything and says nothing until someone pays them to.”
Ash’s mouth tightens. “Which is why we don’t walk in through the front like Syndicate muscle. We ghost him.”
Vale tilts his head. “Define ghost.”
Ash looks right at him. “We make him leave.”
Now Vale’s smile turns sharp. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, that’s fun.”
Saint chuckles low, already following. “Start a fire.”
Ash nods. “Literal or metaphorical. Doesn’t matter. We give them a threat that isn’t us. Something that forces his men to pull him out fast. Something that convinces them to move him from Point A to Point B on foot or in a car we can intercept. We don’t breach his safe room. We hijack his transport.”
“And take him between,” I finish.
Ash nods once. Saint’s eyes gleam. “Ambush on the road. No cameras. No witnesses. Mid-transfer, they’re sloppy.”
Vale leans back, satisfied. “It’s definitely poetic. Maybe even epic.”
I glance toward the sweeping staircase. If she wakes up and hears raised voices, she’ll come down. She’ll want in. She’ll argue that she deserves to be there when Damien goes down. She’ll ask to put hands on him first.
And… She’s not wrong.
But right now there’s still blood cooling on our gravel where four men tried to take her away from me while she slept. This part is ours.
And not because she’s fragile. Because we arenotlosing her. “We move today,” I say.
