I don’t join. I listen. Catalog. Denton. Three confirmed hubs. Six possible. Forty-eight hours. Men downstairs. Matteo. RICO. Olivia.
Always Olivia.
Logan’s gaze moves to me. “You’ll be there when they talk.”
“Yeah.”
“But you don’t kill them before we get everything.”
I hold his stare. “No.” He waits. I give him more because he needs it. “I won’t kill them before we get everything.” That’s not comfort. It’s agreement.
Good enough.
Logan nods.
Then the room shifts toward the part none of us wants to say out loud.
Eli.
Logan leans back slightly, and the movement makes something pull in his knee. His face doesn’t change, but Mac is going to tear him apart later if she sees him limp again. “Eli,” he says. The room goes still. Different stillness. Grief has its own weight. “He died refusing an order no man should ever have to hear,” Logan says. “He died protecting a woman under this club’s protection. He died with more honor than most men who’ve worn full patches for years.”
No one speaks. The prospects aren’t in church, but I can feel them beyond the door anyway. Waiting. Shaken. Young enough to think death is something that happens around the club, not inside their own line. “He was a prospect,” Logan continues. “But he died like a brother.” His eyes move around the table. “Any objection to burying him as one?”
None.
Not a breath. Not a look. Not one fucking hesitation.
Logan nods once. “Then that’s settled.”
Something in my chest shifts. Not softer. Respect. Eli earned it. Permanent. He sat on a floor tied up, bleeding, terrified, and still said no. That is brotherhood. Patch or not.
“We’ll notify who needs notifying,” Logan says. “If he has family worth calling, we call them. If he doesn’t, we stand in their place. Funeral in three days.”
Blaze looks down at the table. For once, he says nothing.
Joker does, but not as a joke. “Kid had balls.”
Shadow answers quietly. “Yeah.”
The room holds that for a second.
Then Logan moves on because leaders don’t get to stay in grief too long. “Matteo.” The name changes the air again. Not grief. Debt.
Carter’s expression closes first. He knows Matteo better than anyone in this room, which means he trusts him least in the most informed way. “We owe him,” Carter says.
“No shit,” Blaze mutters.
Joker leans back. “Owing the mob. That’s going to age beautifully.”
“Shut up,” Shadow says.
“What? I’m just saying, next time we want to fuck up our lives, we should aim lower.”
Hammer looks at him. “You never aim lower.”
“Because I’m gifted.”
Logan’s stare cuts across the table again.
