A knock on the door interrupts before Driton can answer.
We all freeze. Hands move to weapons in synchronized motion, muscle memory and training taking over.
Driton holds up one hand, commanding without raising his voice. "Settle down. Everything will be clear very soon."
He crosses to the door with measured steps. Opens it without checking who's on the other side, which either means he's expecting someone or he's lost his mind.
Standing on the other side of the threshold is Cormac O'Rourke.
The Irish leader. The man whose organization we're supposed to be at war with. The man who walked into Lily's engagement party and offered truces. Walking into this room now like he was invited. Like he belongs here.
What the actual fuck is happening?
Is Luan's uncle working with the Irish? Is this an ambush? A setup? Are we about to be executed in this hotel suite?
I draw my gun in one smooth motion. Point it directly at Cormac's head.
Artan does the same, his weapon trained on the Irishman's chest.
Luan goes further. Grabs Cormac by the collar of his expensive shirt. Presses his gun to Cormac's forehead with enough force to leave a mark.
"Where is she?" Luan yells, his control finally breaking, rage spilling out. "Where the fuck is Lily? What did you do to her?"
Driton doesn't try to physically intervene. Doesn't grab Luan's arm or step between them. Just says coldly, with absolute authority, "Don't shoot him, Luan."
"Give me one good reason why not." Luan's finger is on the trigger. One twitch away from ending this.
Driton looks at Luan. Then at Cormac. Then back at Luan.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet but carries the weight of a bomb detonating.
"Because he's your brother."
40
LUAN
Everyone in the suite is stunned. Processing what Driton just said, the words hanging in the air like smoke after a gunshot.
Because he's your brother.
Everyone except Driton and Cormac, who stand there with the calm of men who've already had time to absorb this particular bomb.
I release Cormac's collar, my fingers uncurling slowly from the expensive fabric. Take a step back, putting physical distance between us even as my mind struggles.
Force myself to look at him.
Green eyes stare back at me. The same shade as mine.
Staring at me from a face that's different but somehow familiar in ways I'm only now noticing.
"Brother?" The word comes out of my mouth disbelieving, hollow, like I'm testing its weight and finding it doesn't balance right.
Driton takes a step toward me, his movement slow and measured. Puts a hand on my shoulder with the kind of grip that's meant to ground, to anchor. "Yes, Luan. I was surprised too when I found out a few months ago. Shocked, actually. But there's no doubt. The evidence is conclusive."
He keeps talking and I hear the words but they feel distant, like they're coming from underwater. My brain is trying to process, to categorize, to make sense of something that rewrites everything I thought I knew.
"When Ramiz died, his lawyer sent me several documents as required by law. I was his executor, responsible for managing his estate and affairs. Among those documents were letters. Personal correspondence. Records that your mother kept hidden for years. DNA test results from when you were a child that Ramiz commissioned but never acted on. Proof that your mother had an affair with Cormac's father. You're half-brothers. Same mother, different fathers."
