Chapter 3

The smile froze on Serena’s face.

She dug her fingers into Damien’s arm, silently urging him to react. But he didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on me, dark and unreadable.

She shot me a glare — then her free hand flew to her mouth and she gasped at Garrick. "Boyd?! I thought you were dead. No wonder Eva won’t come back with us."

Damien's eyes went bottomless cold suddenly.

“Don’t stay here,” I told Garrick, my voice low and urgent. “Go find Don Calder. Or Consigliere DeLuca. Now.”

Both names carried weight in all four families. Every made man between New York and Vegas knew them on sight. Damien would recognize them.

Garrick hesitated, then turned to leave.

But Damien moved faster.

He lunged before anyone could react. His gun cracked once—Garrick’s shoulder burst red. Then he slammed an elbow into Garrick’s skull, dropping him to the dirt.

“Damien, stop! He’s Calder family!” My chest seized. I screamed it.

He didn’t listen.

Garrick rolled, dodging the worst of it. But he was alone. Serena's bodyguards swarmed him — and round after round punched into him at point-blank range.

Hot blood sprayed across my face. My mouth fell open.

"Don't hurt him! He doesn't deserve this!"

No one heard me. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

They kept firing. Garrick dropped to one knee in the dust, bleeding from a dozen wounds, still trying to hold himself up. One of Serena's men stomped his boot down on the back of Garrick's neck and ground his forehead into the dirt.

Damien holstered his gun, disgust curling his lip.

"Calder's man? Eva, please. He pulled a weapon on me. That makes him an assassin."

Serena laughed, bright and relieved. She stepped closer, her voice honeyed poison. “Eva, maybe you should think about the children. Are you going to save them or not?”

"I save."

Eight bullets wouldn't kill me. These kids' parents had kept me alive these eight years. I owed them.

Four shots.

The iron stink of blood hit the air thick enough to taste. Every kid in the clearing flinched.

Rowan ripped a Beretta from one of the bodyguards' hands, veins standing out at his temple.

"Eva! You're still going to save them?!"

Somewhere behind me, a tiny voice choked on a sob.

I was soaked in sweat and blood, trembling with every breath.

“I’ll save them. And I’m not going back to the Marchetti family.”

Rowan exploded. He fired again—four more rounds, each one precise. Non‑lethal. Shoulder. Hip. Thigh. Forearm. He was trained to hurt without killing. He knew exactly where to shoot.

"That's not your call. You haven't paid what you owe Serena. You haven't paid what you owe the Ashford name."

I swallowed the scream. Planted my palms in the dirt. Slowly — slowly — pushed myself back upright.

Serena watched me struggle, her smile growing. “Rowan, look—Eva’s bleeding so much. Do you think she’s pregnant? Coming home with a baby she can’t hide… Oh, this is my fault. I shouldn't have pushed her so hard."

I looked down. It was Marco's blood. Pooled on my lap from where I'd been pressing against his arm.

Damien's head whipped around. The words ground out between his teeth.

"Get rid of it."

The bodyguards seized my arms, wrenched them behind me, dragged me back — forcing my stomach exposed.

Fists slammed into my abdomen. I doubled over, choking on air. Every organ inside me felt knocked out of place.

"Lies — all of it — Miss Eva lives alone, there's no family brand on her skin anywhere—There’s no child!"

Garrick spat the words through a mouthful of blood. Still defending me.

Serena slowly laid a hand on the neck of the kid closest to her. Her fingers gradually tightened.

"Am I?" She caught the panic flaring in Garrick's eyes and let out a soft, mournful sigh. "If they're not Eva's kids… then why do you care so much?"