The welcome home party lasted three hours before everything went to hell.
Knox had organized a celebration—both clubs together, toasting the legitimate transition, the new businesses, the hope of something better. I held Grace while accepting congratulations from bikers who looked genuinely optimistic for the first time in years.
Albert stood beside me, one hand always on my back. Protective. Present. My husband and my partner in rebuilding what our fathers had broken.
"Speech!" someone called out. "Eva, say something!"
I handed Grace to Sienna and stepped forward. "I am not good at speeches. But I want to say this—my father built these clubs on blood. My family poisoned them from within. And for years, I thought the only way to escape that legacy was to run from it." I looked around a
