Sín gives me the smallest shake of his head. It’s barely there. If I weren’t watching him so closely, I’d miss it. A tiny, desperate movement that says don’t, please, whatever you’re about to do, leave me out of it.
A smarter man would listen. Dragging a man I had once in the dark into the middle of a club alliance because I like the color in his face would be reckless if lust were the only reason.
It isn’t.
The problem is where he’s standing. Nobody puts an irrelevant man there. He isn’t at the door with the muscle, and he isn’t behind Canon like a son being displayed. That placement speaks louder than Canon has all morning. Sín is important to the machinery and invisible to the men who benefit from it, which means Canon has spent decades staring at his own blood and missing the only interesting thing on his side of the table.
I feel my mouth start to curve.
Bricks notices first. “Oh, hell.”
Canon stops mid-sentence. “Problem?”
Bricks looks at me, then at the Rogue side, and leans back like he’s settling in for a show. “Probably.”
Sol’s attention sharpens, though his posture doesn’t change. “Saint.”
He says my name quietly, a warning and an invitation to explain myself before I turn the table over. I pick up the contract and read the marriage clause one more time while the room waits. Waiting is pressure when you know how to use it. Canon almost fills the silence, but I lift one hand before he starts.
“Who’s the man behind Varina?”
Every head shifts toward the wall.
Sín freezes under the sudden attention, and there’s a mean little part of me that enjoys the way the whole room finds him because I decided they would.
Canon follows my gaze with irritation already forming. “That’s my eldest. Oisín.”
Oisín.
The name settles into the room with a softness that doesn’t belong there, and I feel the small private syllable he gave me in the club become something fuller. Sín was darkness and anonymity. Oisín is daylight and bloodline and a problem everyone forgot to count.
Canon gestures vaguely, already dismissing him. “He handles logistics. Books. Support work.”
Oisín’s expression doesn’t break, which makes the dismissal uglier. He’s heard worse in that same tone, probably from that same mouth, and his body knows how to take the hit without making anyone else uncomfortable.
I set the contract down and look at Canon. “Support work got him in this room?”
Canon’s eyes narrow. “He compiled the financials and route projections. Varina wanted him present in case numbers came up.”
Varina cuts in before he can say more. “I wanted him present because he knows the routes better than anyone at our table.”
Oisín looks at her then, startled by the defense. Canon’s jaw tightens, and when he says, “He’s useful,” the word comes out like a compliment men are supposed to survive on.
I glance at Oisín. His eyes are lowered again, but the red in his face has turned painful. He shakes his head once more, no longer hidden well enough to escape Varina’s attention. She looks from him to me, confusion slowly taking over her expression.
“What the fuck is this?” she asks.
Canon turns on her. “Watch your mouth.”
“No, I’m asking a real question.” Varina leans forward, eyes on me now. “Why are you looking at my brother like that?”
Rook’s hand moves under the table, Bricks stands halfway from his chair before the man can get stupid, and Moth says, “Hands visible,” in a tone so flat it takes a second for the threat to land.
Sol exhales smoke. “Everybody stays seated.”
Canon’s gaze cuts to Oisín, then back to me. He’s behind the moment, but catching up fast. “You know my son?”
Oisín’s breathing changes. I hear it, or maybe I imagine I do because I remember how he sounded when he was trying to stay quiet. Either way, the room feels suddenly too focused, too hungry, every predator turning toward the softest movement.
