I don't care how far it went. Jack Walker put his hands on Kristen. He stole from her. He tried to take her daughter. As far as I'm concerned, Liam could have mailed him back to New York in pieces, and I'd have slept fine.
"The papers?" I extend my hand.
Liam produces them from inside his jacket—crisp, official, bearing Jack's signature on every required line. I flip through the pages, scanning for anything missing. But it's all there. Complete.
She's free.
"Anything else?" Pietro asks Liam.
"The legal counsel will process the documents today. The divorce should be finalized within the week." Liam straightens his cuffs. "Regarding Mr. Walker's legal representation—I confirmed it was self-funded. No Russian involvement."
"You're certain?"
"Completely. He was simply a desperate man making desperate choices." Liam pauses. "He won't be making any more of them."
Pietro nods. "Good work."
Liam gives a small bow of his head and exits as silently as he entered.
The door clicks shut. Pietro stares at me.
"You're smiling," he observes.
I hadn't realized. I force my expression neutral. "No, I'm not."
"Nico." Pietro's voice softens. "This is a good thing. You're allowed to be happy about it."
Am I? In our world, happiness is a target painted on your back. The people we love become leverage. Weapons. Weaknesses waiting to be exploited.
But Kristen's face flashes through my mind. The way she laughed when Lily named those rabbits. The way she looks at me like I'm more than blood and violence. The way she fell asleep in my arms last night, trusting me completely.
Maybe some things are worth the risk.
"The Russians," I say, changing the subject. "What does Dmitri want?"
Pietro accepts the deflection. For now.
"Territory negotiations. They want the docks."
"Absolutely not."
"I know." Pietro sighs. "But we need to hear them out. Keep your enemies close and all that."
Kristen
My phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen. Jack Walker.
Every instinct screams to let it ring. To watch his name flash and fade into voicemail oblivion. But something cold settles in my gut. Jack doesn't call twice in one week unless he wants something. Unless he's planning something.
I answer before I can talk myself out of it.
"Kristen." His voice drips with that disappointed-father tone he perfected during our marriage. The one that made me feel six inches tall. "I have to say, I'm genuinely shocked at you."
"What do you want, Jack?"
"What do I want?" A bitter laugh crackles through the speaker. "I wanted to be a father to my daughter. But apparently, you've decided to put her in the middle of a goddamn mob family instead."
