MasukEMILIA POV
The front door burst open before Marco could argue further. Five men in Crimson Reapers colors strutted in like they owned the place. I recognized their president immediately Victor "Viper" Kane, a man whose reputation for cruelty was legendary even by MC standards. Kane was tall and lean, with pale eyes and graying hair slicked back from his angular face. Expensive suit instead of leather, but the gun under his jacket was visible to anyone who knew how to look. "Marco," Kane said pleasantly. "Sorry to interrupt your family reunion." "Victor." Marco's voice was ice, cold. "You've got some balls showing up here." Kane's gaze swept the room, cataloging the number of Iron Serpents present before landing on me. His smile turned smug. "And you must be the famous Emilia," Kane said, taking a step in my direction. "You've grown up nicely." Every Iron Serpent in the room tensed. I felt Axel move up behind me, his presence solid and reassuring. "Back off, Victor," Marco warned. "Relax," Kane said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I just came to pay my respects. Vincent was a worthy adversary." "You killed him," I said before I could stop myself. Kane's smile widened. "Did I? That's a serious accusation, sweetheart." "Don't call me sweetheart," I snapped. Kane laughed, genuinely delighted. "Oh, I like her. She's got fire, just like her old man." "State your business and get out," Marco said flatly. Kane's expression turned serious. "My business is simple. Vincent's dead, which means his territory is up for grabs." "Like hell it is," Tank growled from across the room. "Now, now," Kane said mildly. "Let's be civilized about this. I'm prepared to make a generous offer for the Iron Serpents' operations." "We're not selling," Marco said firmly. "Everyone has a price," Kane replied. "Even you, Marco." "Not everything's for sale," I said, surprising myself by speaking up. Kane's attention shifted back to me. "Everything's for sale, princess. It's just a matter of finding the right currency." The endearment made my skin crawl. Axel's hand settled on my lower back, a possessive touch that didn't go unnoticed. "Ah," Kane said with interest. "The famous Ghost. I've heard about your work. Such an Impressive kill count." "Not impressive enough," Axel said quietly. "Yet." The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees. Kane's men shifted nervously, hands moving toward weapons. "Gentlemen, please," Kane said with amusement. "No need for threats. Yet." He turned back to Marco. "You've got seventy, two hours to consider my offer. After that, I will be forced to take a more direct approach." "There's nothing to consider," Marco said. Kane shrugged. "We'll see. Grief has a way of changing a man's perspective." His gaze lingered on me one last time. "Miss Romano, it's been a pleasure. I do hope we'll see more of each other." "Not if I can help it," I muttered. Kane laughed as he headed for the door. "I don't think you have as much control over your circumstances as you believe, sweetheart." The Reapers filed out as suddenly as they'd arrived, leaving the clubhouse buzzing with tension. "That was a threat," Tank observed unnecessarily. "No shit," Marco said grimly. "Double the watch rotation. Nobody rides alone." "What about the funeral tomorrow?" Carmen asked. Marco's jaw clenched. "We proceed as planned. But everyone stays armed and alert." The club members began to disperse, discussing security arrangements and contingency plans. I remained frozen by the wall, processing what had just happened. "Are you okay?" Axel asked quietly. I nodded, though I wasn't sure it was true. "He's going to try to take over Dad's business." "He's going to try," Axel agreed. "But he won't succeed." "How can you be so sure?" Axel's green eyes were cold. "Because I will kill him first." The casual way he said it sent a chill down my spine. This was what Marco had been talking about the man Axel had become in the years he'd been gone. "You can't just kill him," I said weakly. "Watch me," Axel replied. Before I could respond, my phone started ringing. Unknown number again, but this time local. "Hello?" I answered cautiously. "Miss Romano?" An unfamiliar male voice. "This is Detective Ray with the Desert Ridge Police Department." My stomach dropped. "Yes?" "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I understand you just returned to town. I was hoping we could meet tomorrow to discuss your father's case." I glanced around the clubhouse, where several conversations had stopped. "What about it?" "There are some inconsistencies in the witness statements that I'd like to clarify with you," Detective Ray said. "Would ten AM work?" "I... yes, I suppose." "Excellent. The station on Fourth Street.” The line went dead. "Who was that?" Marco asked immediately. "Detective Ray," I said. "He wants to meet about Dad's case." Marco's face darkened. "You're not going." "Actually, I am," I said firmly. "Someone needs to find out what really happened that night." "We know what happened," Marco said. "The Reapers killed him." "But can you prove it?" I asked. "Because Kane seemed pretty confident he couldn't be touched." Marco and Axel exchanged a look I couldn't interpret. "Em, there are things you don't understand" Marco started. "Then explain them to me," I interrupted. "I'm not a child anymore, Marco. Stop treating me like one." "Some things are better left alone," Axel said quietly. I looked between them, frustration building. "Are you seriously going to shut me out of my own father's murder investigation?" "We're trying to protect you," Marco said. "From what? The truth?" "From getting killed," Axel said bluntly. "Kane wasn't making idle threats tonight. He wants something, and he thinks you're the key to getting it." "What could I possibly have that he wants?" I demanded. Again, that look between Marco and Axel. "What aren't you telling me?" I asked. Marco sighed heavily. "Dad left something behind. Something valuable. And Kane thinks you know where it is." "What kind of something?" "The kind that could end the Reapers permanently," Marco said grimly. "Or get us all killed trying to use it." My phone buzzed with another text. This time, it wasn't from David or Sofia. Unknown number: I had to get through hoops to secure your number, east if I might say. Your father hid something that belongs to me. Find it, or your family pays the price. You have 72 hours. I showed the message to Marco and Axel. Both men's faces went deadly pale. "Pack your things," Axel said immediately. "You're not staying here tonight." "Where am I going?" I asked. "Somewhere safe," Axel replied. "My place." "Absolutely not," Marco said flatly.EMILIA POV The sun had completed its descent behind the jagged peaks, leaving the entire valley wrapped in a deep, cool purple twilight that smelled of sage and wet earth. The children were still lingering near the edge of the lawn, their movements slowing as the exhaustion of the summer day finally caught up to their small frames. The peace inside the courtyard felt absolute, a perfect, unbroken seal that nothing could penetrate. And then, with a synchronized, jarring vibration that cut through the silence like a blade, three distinct cell phones buzzed simultaneously on the porch. Axel’s phone chimed from his breast pocket. Marcus’s phone let out a low, metallic ring from the adobe wall. My own device vibrated violently against my hip. The timing of the notification was entirely surgical—all at the exact same second, all tracking from the exact same encrypted, unknown international registry that we hadn't seen since our years in Europe. Axel pulled his phone out first, the soft
EMILIA POV The summer evening hung over the valley with a rare, absolute stillness that made the desert feel infinite. The sky was bleeding into a deep, magnificent amber that turned the entire property, the orchard, and the distant mountains into a sharp silhouette against the golden hour. Every single piece of our circle was gathered in the backyard for the sunset. Axel and I stood near the porch steps, our shoulders touching, while Marcus and Catherine were seated on the low adobe wall near the garden bed, and Isabella remained anchored in her rocking chair beneath the trees, her wool blanket neatly covering her lap against the incoming cool air. Marco and our little Isabella were leading the twins through the final patch of grass near the fence line, their young voices ringing out clearly through the quiet, amber air. The children were completely lost in their own world, oblivious to the adults watching them. Dmitri was charging after a stray yellow butterfly with a loud, energ
EMILIA POV The second summer after the twin heartbeats first filled the nursery arrived with an intense, golden heat that turned the entire valley into a beautiful, sun-drenched sanctuary of peace. The orchard was heavy with fruit, and the mountain winds kept the air sweet and clean. Late one Sunday afternoon, the light was bleeding a brilliant, warm amber across the lawn as all the children played together in the backyard, their voices echoing off the adobe walls. Dmitri was charging through the thick grass with a loud, joyful energy, chasing his sister Katarina, who was navigating the flowerbeds with a quick, clever agility that kept her one step ahead of his lunges. Marco, now taller and carrying himself with his father's steady posture, was leading them through a series of elaborate lawn games he had invented, while our little Isabella was sitting on a checkered blanket nearby, her serious dark eyes completely focused as she organized her wooden dolls in a neat line. They were e
AXEL POV The first birthday of the twins arrived exactly one year after that frantic morning in the Albuquerque delivery suite. We turned the entire central courtyard into a massive celebration, inviting our core foundation directors and the local staff who had become our extended family over the long journey out of the dark. The day was brilliant, the high desert sky a flawless sheet of blue that made the adobe walls glow like gold. Marco was tracking perfectly through his elementary school classes, running around the lawn with his friends from the valley, while our little Isabella was proving to be a terrifically sharp toddler, her dark eyes tracking every single movement in the courtyard with an intensity she inherited directly from her mother. Isabella, the elder, remained anchored in her wicker chair beneath the shade of the large cottonwood trees, her posture frail but her presence completely central to the geography of the room. Marcus and Catherine brought the twins out int
EMILIA POV Six months after the twin heartbeats first filled the wooden cribs by the window, Catherine had completely found her internal, maternal rhythm. She was still visibly exhausted—there is no version of raising twins that allows for a full night of uninterrupted rest—but the dense, suffocating cloud of her early postpartum depression had entirely cleared from her eyes. She carried herself through the courtyard with a quiet, vibrant confidence, completely present in every single moment of her new life. I would walk over to their cottage in the sunny afternoons and find her sitting comfortably on the living room rug, expertly nursing Katarina while her intelligent, observant eyes kept track of Dmitri as he rolled across the blanket toward the toy chest. Or I would see her pushing the heavy double stroller down the long dirt driveway between the orchard rows, taking long, peaceful walks through the valley with Marcus walking steady at her side, his large hand resting against the
AXEL POV Three months after the twin heartbeats first filled the nursery inside the guest cottage, the daily routine on the property had settled into an entirely new, exhausting rhythm. Marcus had adapted to fatherhood with a calculated, operational precision that was both completely surprising to the foundation directors and entirely inevitable given his nature. The man who had once been our most lethal asset, the man who handled logistics for high-risk extractions, was now entirely locked into the daily tracking of feeding schedules, sleep intervals, and diaper allocations. I would stand by the nursery door in the quiet evenings after my own office hours, watching him sit in the wooden rocking chair with Dmitri balanced carefully on his knees. He would use his low, gravelly voice to patiently teach the boy how to hold his chin up against the weight of his head, murmuring to him in a low, rhythmic song that sounded like an old security mantra. Then he would transfer his attention t







