"And the girl?" Klutch's voice is more careful than Stark's, but the question is the same. "She's still here. Still under your protection. Still a liability."
"She's not a liability. She's a person who was abused by one of our own, and we're doing the right thing by protecting her." I pause. "Or do you think we should throw her to the wolves? Let Varro use her as leverage?"
Silence.
"That woman has nothing to do with our current problems," I continue. "Varro's not coming after us because of her. He's coming after us because I killed his son. That's on me. Not her."
"So what do we do?" Behemoth's voice is a low rumble. "We can't just keep taking hits."
"We document everything. Every illegal search, every bullshit traffic stop, every instance of harassment. We build a case. And when Varro finally slips up—and he will—we use it to bury him."
"That could take months," Enigma points out. "Maybe years."
"Then it takes months. We've survived worse." I straighten, squaring my shoulders. "This club has been around for decades. We've weathered storms that make Varro look like a summer shower. We'll weather this one too."
The room is quiet.
I can see them processing, weighing my words against their frustration.
Some look convinced.
Others—Stark, a few of the newer patches—still seem doubtful.
"Anyone else have something to say?" I ask. "Now's the time."
No one speaks.
"Good." I bang my fist on the table. "Church dismissed."
The brothers file out, conversations starting in low murmurs.
I stay where I am, hands flat on the table, trying to keep a grip on the anger still churning in my chest.
"Well handled."
Zenon's voice.
I look up to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"You think so?"
"I think you scared the shit out of Stark, which was probably necessary." He pushes off the frame, walking over to drop into the chair beside me. "But the underlying problem isn't going away."
"I know."
"The guys are scared, Leviathan. They're watching their livelihoods get threatened, and they're looking for someone to blame." He pauses. "Ripley's an easy target. The outsider. The woman who showed up right before everything went to hell."
"She didn't cause any of this."
"I know that. You know that. But fear doesn't care about facts." He's quiet for a moment. "There's something else we need to talk about."
"What?"
"You." He holds up a hand before I can interrupt. "Just hear me out. I've known you for fifteen years. I've seen you cold, I've seen you ruthless, I've seen you make decisions that would give most men nightmares. But I've never seen you like this."
"Like what?"
"Distracted. Off-balance." He meets my eyes. "In love."
