A few weeks before the Mariner’s Accord, the news finally reached Luciano. Not through gossip. Not through speculation. Through confirmation. The moment he heard who would preside over the summit, the breath left his lungs. Jax. There was no doubt about it. The Kingmaker would be there—not as a guest, not as an observer, but as the axis around which the meeting would turn. For the first time in months, hope surged through Luciano like a tide he had long forgotten how to feel. He smiled. Then laughed—soft, disbelieving, almost fragile. “He’ll come,” Luciano murmured to himself. “He has to.” That certainty lit something reckless and desperate inside him. Preparations began immediately. Luciano moved through his estate with purpose, ordering changes that startled even his closes

