The clubhouse smelled of stale smoke and leather, the kind of scent that clung to the walls after years of secrets and blood. Morning light cut through the blinds, striping the table where the men sat—Luca, Salvatore, Matteo, Dad, Hovak, Grim and Ripper. My brothers in arms, my family.
I leaned forward, knuckles pressed against the wood. “Kat and Sarah will handle Tiffany.”
The words hung heavy. Luca’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight of his silence was louder than any shout. Finally, he spoke, low and deliberate.
“She’s my daughter, Wolf. My little girl. I don’t like her hands getting dirty.” His gaze flicked to me, hard as steel, then softened with reluctant acceptance. “But she’s the club’s queen now. A mafia princess. It was bound to happe
