Eyes settle on me one by one, heavy and measuring. The silence that follows carries more weight than any shout because they already know where this is heading. They’re just waiting to see if I’ll take it.
Vice stands at the end of the table with his arms folded loosely across his chest. His dark eyes flick toward me with the same calm he always carries, like nothing in the world can rush him.
“You take the seat,” he says finally.
The room goes completely still.
“Or this club dies by sunset.”
The words hang there like smoke. No vote follows. No ceremony. Miami doesn’t pause for mourning.
I don’t answer right away.
My mind isn’t on power or retaliation.
It’s upstairs.
Darling is in my bed.
The thought hits harder than anything that happened in the alley. She’s probably still asleep, curled beneath the sheets in one of my shirts.
She smells like coconut shampoo and ocean wind. For two years she’s slept beside me. Two years of stolen mornings and quiet nights after the club settles down. Two years of her laugh echoing through this place like something bright that never belonged in a room full of killers.
Oficial o no, she’s mine.
The realization twists deep in my gut.
Because belonging gets people killed.
The meeting drags on in a blur of anger and strategy. Brothers argue over territory lines and retaliation plans while enemy names fly across the table like bullets. Every alliance Rafael built suddenly feels fragile.
Some men already wonder if I’m strong enough to hold the city together.
Carmen sits across from me the entire time.
Rafael’s daughter looks nothing like the girl who screamed in the alley. Her spine stays straight against the chair while her expression settles into something cool and controlled.Dark hair falls neatly across her shoulders, framing a face that could grace a magazine cover even under harsh fluorescent lights.
But her eyes never leave me.
She studies the room the way a chess player studies a board.
Calculating.
When the meeting finally breaks apart, the brothers drift out slowly to organize a retaliation. The room empties until only the two of us remain.
Carmen rises from her chair.
“My father trusted you,” she breathes.
I nod once.
Trust feels like a strange word tonight.
“He would want the club protected,” she continues, stepping closer to the table. “And united.”
I already hear the trap closing.
“You want a crown,” I say.
