CHAPTER SIXTY
HARDIN’S POV
“Father,” I say into the phone, my voice measured, deliberate. “Everything is under control. The Marcello family will be dealt with. I don’t want her anywhere near the underground operations.”
My gaze locks on the wolf sculpture on my desk—stone fangs bared, predator frozen mid-snarl.
Silence stretches.
A slow breath hums through the receiver. “You’re speaking like a man who’s forgotten his blood.”
“I know my blood better than anyone,” I reply.
A sharp, humorless laugh. “Then why does it sound like you have gone soft?”
I straighten. “I haven’t.”
“You have,” he says calmly, which is worse than shouting. “You’re protecting her.”
“It’s strategy,” I reply. “She doesn’t need to be exposed. Not yet.”
“I don’t care what your reasons are,” he cuts in coldly. “
