Some of the brothers look worried.
Others look angry.
A few—Behemoth, Sipher—look almost eager. They've been spoiling for a fight.
I stand at the head of the table, hands flat on the wood, and wait for silence.
"You've all heard by now," I begin. "Chief Varro's son is dead. Varro thinks we did it. He's right."
No one looks surprised. They knew. Of course they knew.
"He's coming for us. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. Increased police presence. Raids on our businesses. Harassment of our members. He's going to make our lives hell, and he's going to keep doing it until he finds something he can use against us—or until he gets tired."
"So, what do we do?" Klutch asks. "Lay low? Clean house?"
"Both." I look around the table, meeting every eye. "Starting now, everything goes through the books. No side deals, no shortcuts, no sloppy shit. If there's anything that could come back to bite us, get rid of it. I want us clean enough to pass a federal audit."
Nods around the table. They understand.
"What about the shipment next week?" Enigma asks. "We're supposed to move product through the south side."
"Cancel it. Or reroute it somewhere outside Varro's jurisdiction. I don't want anything moving through Pittsburgh until the heat dies down."
"That's going to cost us."
"It'll cost us more if we get caught." I straighten, crossing my arms. "I know this isn't what you want to hear. I know some of you think we should hit back, make Varro regret coming at us. But that's exactly what he wants. He wants us to make a mistake. To give him something he can use. We're not going to give him that satisfaction."
"And if he doesn't back off?" Stark asks. "If he keeps coming, no matter how clean we run?"
"Then we deal with it." My voice is cold. Final. "But we deal with it smart. Not with guns blazing, not with bodies dropping. We gather evidence, document his overreach, and we use it against him when the time is right."
Zenon catches my eye, gives an almost imperceptible nod. He understands. This is a long game, not a quick fix.
"One more thing." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "The woman. Ripley. She's still under my protection. Under the club's protection. If Varro or anyone else comes around asking about her, you don't know anything. You've never seen her. She doesn't exist."
"Is she involved?" Behemoth's voice is a low rumble. "In what happened to Cain?"
"No. She's a victim, and she stays off the radar." I look around the table. "Anyone have a problem with that?"
Silence.
"Good." I bang my fist on the table. "Church dismissed."
The brothers file out, conversations starting in low murmurs as they disperse.
I stay where I am, staring at the empty table, running through scenarios in my head.
Varro's going to be a problem. A big one.
He's got the resources, the authority, and the motivation to make our lives miserable. And unlike most cops, he can't be bought—not when it's personal, not when it's about his son.
I need to find leverage.
Something to keep him in check.
Something that'll make him think twice before coming at us too hard.
The buried police reports I mentioned were a bluff—I don't know if they exist.
