I let him go. He pulls himself upright, blood dripping onto his shirt, fury and fear fighting for dominance in his eyes. Fear is winning, which surprises me a little.
"Deliver the message, Artyem."
I leave the pub without looking back. The rain has picked up. My phone is buzzing in my pocket before I reach the car.
Liam.
I answer it leaning against the hood, the adrenaline still ticking through my blood like a second pulse.
"It's handled," I say.
"The Baron?"
"His man. Yakanov. The message is clear. If the Baron keeps pushing over Anya, the Council won't be his biggest problem."
A pause. "And Yakanov?"
"Alive. Bleeding. Motivated."
Liam exhales. That particular exhale he does when I've done exactly what needed doing but in a way that's going to generate paperwork. "Good. Come home."
There it is. I've been waiting for this conversation since I got here. Every time he calls, I can feel it circling. The real reason he wants me back.
"I've got a few things to wrap up. Give me another week."
My brother’s voice is short and sharp. "No."
"Liam."
"You've been out there long enough. Come home, Rafferty."
"There's still the—"
"Connor can handle whatever's left, now he’s back from his honeymoon."
I tip my head back and look at the sky. Black and starless. Rain hitting my face like tiny needles. Twenty-six years old and my eldest brother still talks to me like I'm twelve.
That's the thing nobody tells you about being the youngest. You never outgrow the position. Liam was running operations by twenty-three. Killian had his own crew by twenty-four. Aidan was managing the financial side of the family before he turned twenty-five. Connor carved out his own territory right here in Dublin, and held it right up until he had to marry.
Me? I'm the one they send. The fixer. The problem solver. The brother who's always on a plane to somewhere because there's always something that needs handling and I'm always available. I've made myself useful in every city except the one that matters because being useful somewhere else means I don't have to figure out what I am at home.
"The Council met yesterday," Liam says.
My jaw tightens. "And?"
"You're the last one, Raff. They're done waiting."
The mandate. The same one that married off every one of my brothers and cousins. Killian first, then Anton and Aidan, Yevgeny and Connor. Every Orlov son paired and settled, bloodlines secured, alliances locked in. I've watched each of them walk into it. Some fought harder than others. All of them ended up exactly where the Council wanted them.
I've been dodging it for almost twelve months. Taking every job in every city that wasn't home. All over the US, Belfast, Dublin, London, three miserable weeks in Moscow in January. Wherever there was a problem, I volunteered to be the solution.
"I'm twenty-six, Liam. I haven't even figured out where I fit yet."
"You fit here. With your family." His words punch through my chest like a cannon ball.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"I know exactly what you mean." His voice softens. The brother, not the boss. "You think you need to earn your place before you deserve a life. You don't. You've more than earned it. Marriage won’t change that. If anything, it’s meant to strengthen it."
