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“You good, boss?” Skylar asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
I paused at the entrance of our designated meeting spot, the heavy door shielding us from prying eyes. For a fleeting moment, the weight of my family's legacy bore down on me—the violence, the sacrifices, all the damned souls we couldn't save.
"Blood doesn't always have to define you," Justice's words echoed in my head, her voice a balm to my fraying nerves. Her faith in me, in what the Miami Knives could become under my command, was the beacon guiding me through this darkness.
Inside, the atmosphere was charged, as if the very room anticipated the crossroads we were about to navigate. I walked in, the sound of my footsteps absorbed by the thick carpet, carrying with them the gravity of this encounter.
"Isabella," I greeted, my tone a delicate balance of strength and diplomacy. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Sebastian," she acknowledged with the slightest tilt of her head, her presence commanding even in stillness.
“It’s Bash, actually,” I said. “Silly name, I know…but your grandson has that name now. It’s his, not mine.”
A smile ghosted over her lips, unexpected. “You care about him.”
“I do,” I nodded. “He’s…”
More mine than my brother’s.
Mine and Justice’s.
I didn’t say it, even though I wondered what her reaction would be.
As I took my seat opposite her, I felt the presence of my brothers in arms, their silent support a tangible force.
We were the Miami Knives, ready to carve out a future for Sebastian—one without the shadows that had plagued us for too long. Hassan sat beside me, stoic and proud; Skylar on my other side, flashing Isabella an affable grin that showed off sharp teeth. My most diplomatic associate on my right…the most feral on my left. Two sides of the same coin, with me at the center.
I knew I needed to show her my power. And I knew she liked it.
Isabella raised her eyebrows.
"Insurance," I said. "You understand."
"Of course," she replied, her tone devoid of any surprise. Her cool gaze scanned each one of us in turn, her analytical mind undoubtedly gauging the situation, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of her current company. I didn't underestimate her for a second.
Hassan was silent, his eyes sharp as they watched Isabella with an unending vigilance. The air thrummed with tension as he maintained his role as our eyes and ears in this delicate dance. He had been the one that suggested looking into her. He'd said that Valentina had never referred to Vito's wife as Alicia's mom, and that was good enough for me.
"Still," she said. "You better be careful. I have a feeling Vito is watching you closely."
"Vito’s always watching," Skylar intervened, his British accent a stark contrast against the Italian nuances in the room. "It’s like his favorite hobby, innit?”
The comment hung in the air for a moment—a beat of humor in our grim reality before we all returned to the matter at hand. I admired Skylar's ability to find levity in tense situations. It was one of the things that made him indispensable to our crew.
Mostly the fact that he was a psycho, though. That one really, really came in handy.
“I was surprised you wanted a meeting,” Isabella said, “but I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked when you seem to enjoy keeping dangerous company.”
“It’s all part of the job,” I replied. “Dangerous company is powerful company.”
“You’re overestimating how much power I have,” she said with a bitter laugh. She picked up her glass of wine, took a sip. “Vito’s made sure of that.”
“Yeah…I heard he got a younger, less interesting model,” I said.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Not a compliment; just a fact,” I said. “You were a player. His new wife…I’m not so sure.”
