It's death by a thousand cuts, and it's working.
"We need to do something," Enigma says at church, frustration bleeding through his voice. "We can't just sit here and take this."
"What do you suggest?" I keep my voice level. "We hit back, we give Varro exactly what he wants. An excuse to come down on us harder."
"So we just let him walk all over us?"
"We play the long game." I look around the table, meeting every eye. "Varro's emotional right now. He's grieving his son,and he's making mistakes. Illegal searches. Harassment. Abuse of power. We document everything. And when the time is right, we use it."
"And in the meantime?" Stark asks. "We just bleed money and take the hits?"
"In the meantime, we survive. We stay clean. We don't give him anything he can use against us."
The room is quiet. I can feel the tension, the frustration, the simmering anger.
These men aren't used to playing defense.
They're used to hitting back, hard and fast, making examples of anyone who crosses them.
But that's not how we win this fight.
"There's something else." Klutch's voice is careful. Measured. "Some of the guys are talking. About the woman."
My jaw tightens. "What about her?"
"They're saying this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't killed Cain. If you hadn't brought her into the clubhouse." He holds up a hand before I can respond. "I'm not saying they're right. I'm just telling you what I'm hearing."
"And what are you hearing, exactly?"
"That maybe she's not worth the trouble."
The rage that surges through me is immediate and blinding.
I want to reach across the table and grab Klutch by the throat, demand to know who's been running their mouth, make an example of anyone who thinks they can question my decisions.
I don't.
Instead, I take a breath. Let the rage settle into something colder. More controlled.
"Let me be clear," I say, my voice quiet but carrying to every corner of the room. "Ripley is undermyprotection. That's notup for debate. Anyone who has a problem with that can turn in their patch and walk away right now."
Silence.
"No?" I look around the table. "Good. Then this discussion is over."
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, trying to get a grip on the emotions churning in my chest.
Zenon doesn't leave.
He waits until the room is empty, then settles into the chair beside me. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"Bullshit." He leans back, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. "You nearly took Klutch's head off."
