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Even their criminal enterprises operated differently. Somehow, the Ifrinns seemed to have the respect of the community, which isn’t to say Patrick Ifrinn didn’t bring down the hammer when needed. But it appeared he didn’t have to very much. The Ifrinns controlled through loyalty and mutual benefit. The Keans, on the other hand, use fear and violence.

The more I research, the clearer the contrast becomes. And the more I understand why Flint and his brothers want revenge. The Keans didn't just kill their family. They corrupted everything the Ifrinns built.

But I'm not naive. The Ifrinns weren't saints. They were still criminals who made their wealth by skirting or outright breaking the law. They killed when deemed necessary. I have to consider that the positive press coverage could have been bought and paid for, just like Marshall's police protection. Money talks, whether it comes from a family that builds hospitals or one that runs underground fight clubs.

The question is, what did Hampton Kean offer the community that had so many of them at the very least turning a blind eye to the Ifrinn murders, or at the most, being a part of carrying it out? More money? More power? How many people helped the Keans take down the Ifrinns from the inside?

I rub my temples, fighting another wave of nausea. The truth is, there are no good guys in this story. Just different shades of corruption wearing different masks. The Ifrinns may have been more benevolent dictators, but they were still dictators. As far as I can tell, Flint and his brothers plan to take back what the Keans took and resume the life that had been stolen from them.

My hand drifts to my stomach again. I could call Flint right now, tell him about the baby. He deserves to know, doesn't he? I think of Flint's gentler moments. Despite everything, I can't forget how carefully he taped up my wounds that first night or how protectively he'd hover nearby at the fights. Even when I was reckless, putting myself in danger, he was there, watching, guarding, saving me.

But he's also the man who killed Marshall in cold blood. The same hands that tenderly caressed me were capable of brutal violence. How can I reconcile these two sides of him?

I’m torn between what my heart wants and what my head knows is safe. This baby changes everything. It's not just about me anymore, or even about getting the story. I have to think about what's best for our child.

But what is best? Keeping the baby a secret from both Flint and the Keans? Telling Flint and hoping he'll protect us both? Running away like my sister suggested?

A sharp knock at my door sends my heart racing. It's after midnight, and unexpected visitors are the last thing I need right now. I grab a knife as I go to the door.

Through the peephole, I spot Ash's stern face illuminated by the hallway light. My pulse doesn't slow. If anything, it speeds up. After days of silence from the Ifrinns, why is he here now?

"What do you want?" I call through the door, keeping my voice low. All my new locks stay firmly in place.

Ash shifts his weight, glancing down the hall. "Let me in, Lucy. We need to talk."

"About what? I thought you said I was on my own now."

His usual confident demeanor seems rattled. "Open the door before someone sees me standing out here."

I hesitate, remembering how easily Flint broke in before. If Ash wanted to force his way in, a locked door wouldn't stop him. He probably has an extra key. I can totally see Flint asking for one. But something in his expression makes me nervous. It's not his typical controlled mask.

“What do you want?”

He glares at the peephole. “Flint is asking for you.”

“Flint knows where I live.” Not that I’d let him in. I like to think I’m strong enough now to resist his charm and my heart’s yearning for him.

“Yeah, well, Flint isn’t going anywhere.”

My heart stops and my hands unlock the door. “What happened?” I ask as I swing it open. Is he dead? Is the father of my child dead? Except, didn’t he say Flint was asking for me?

It’s too late for me to backtrack as Ash enters my apartment. "The fight tonight…" Ash pauses, and my stomach drops. "It didn't go well. They rigged it against him."

The memory of that first bloody boxing match flashes through my mind. How’d I seen the cheating. How terrified I was watching Flint take those hits.

"How bad?" My voice cracks.

"Bad enough that he's asking for you."

Flint had always seemed invincible in the ring, but I'd seen how the Kean fighters fought dirty.

"What did they do?" I ask Ash, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Mace on the knuckles." Ash's jaw tightens. "First hit blinded him. After that…"

He doesn't need to finish. I'd seen what those men were capable of when their opponent could fight back. Against a blinded man? My knees weaken and I sink onto my couch.

I start to ask why no one stopped it, but I already know the answer. The Keans control those fights. There are no rules, no mercy.