Page 112 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Then he drops his voice, just for me.

“It’s about fucking time.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder once, firm, and turns to face the room.

“You fucking heard the boss.”

Someone pulls the double doors shut.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Cal

Istayonmyfeet. I don’t take the chair that someone quietly slides toward me from the side of the room.

I stand at the head of the table, and I tell them what I know.

The Russians. The café on 5th. The drive-by that was a distraction, not a hit. The ambush in the alley that was planned, not reactive—they knew we’d go out the back, knew there was only Gio with her. Gio is with the doc. He’s going to make it.

Murmurs around the table.

Someone clearstheir throat from the back of the room.

I look up.

A hand goes up. Tentative. Young—I clock it immediately. The kid is barely old enough to be in a bar, let alone a room like this one. Ferraro leans slightly toward me. “Dominico. Dom Senior’s boy. He’s a little green.”

His comment may be meant to dissuade me from letting the kid speak.

I nod at the kid anyway. “Go ahead.”

His eyes widen before he clears his throat. “So, you bring a random girl here a few months ago and now she’s someone we—” he catches himself, recalibrates, “—respectfully—should die for?”

The last words come out in pieces. The man sitting in front of him stands, reaches up and smacks him on the back of the head.

“Coglione,” the man curses.

The kid winces. Rubs his head. Looks at me, probably waiting for an explosive reaction.

I hold up a hand as two other guys start walking towards the kid.

“No. It’s a fair question.” I look at the kid directly. “I’m sure everyone in this room is thinking it. Thanks for being brave enough to ask it.”

Something shifts in his posture. He sits up a little straighter. Brushes the other man’s hand off his shoulder with an exaggerated shrug and almost smiles.

“Max isn’t some girl,” I respond, and I look around the table as I say it. “She’s been mine for nine years. So yes. She is family.” I let that settle. “But regardless—an act on one of us or one of ours is an act on all of us. Women and kids have always been off limits. That’s not new. That’s not my rule. That’s one of the only rules that’s ever mattered in a room like this one—mattered between families like ours. But apparently the Volkovs don’t care.”

Murmurs of agreement move around the table like water.

I look at Nico.

“Come here.”

He moves from the doors to the table to stand beside me.

“This is my brother, Nico.” I look around the room. “Most of you know him. All of you will. He’s my second.” I look at Nico when I say it. He looks back at me.

Something with a surprised edge, like gratitude or pride, moves across his face. He recovers quickly, likely never expecting to be named underboss—something reserved for someone older, typically, but there’s no one else I trust more.