ENZO
GRANDFATHER IS DEAD.
That was what Luke had said before Tate walked in—before the meeting went to hell and the air turned thick enough to choke on.
I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twitching against my thigh as I watched Tate. He was lying on his side, tangled in the sheets, his breathing steady, lips parted just slightly. The room was quiet except for that sound. Peaceful. Too peaceful for the kind of thoughts running through my head.
Luke’s words wouldn’t stop replaying. “Found in his study. A single bullet to the head. No witnesses. The cameras were down.”
My grandfather had ruled his part of the world with iron and smoke. He’d been the man I ran to when there was nothing left of me—when innocent Adrian had been broken down to bone and ash and needed a new name
