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Thereceptionhallexplodedwith noise the moment we entered, purple and silver everything, centerpieces that Mandy had obsessed over for weeks. But before the party could truly begin, Duke stood at the head table, raising his glass with presidential authority that quieted the room without a word.

"Brothers, family, honored guests." His voice carried that particular gravel that meant serious business. Even the prospects in the back stopped whispering. "Before we celebrate, we remember."

The shift was instant—laughter dying, faces sobering. I found myself reaching for Tyson's hand under the table, needing the anchor. He laced our fingers together, thumb stroking over my knuckles.

"We honor those who can't celebrate with us," Duke continued, eyes scanning the room. "Rico Martinez and JohnnieWalsh died protecting innocent lives. Died as they lived—with courage, loyalty, and without hesitation."

Someone sniffled. Tank's jaw worked like he was chewing grief. The empty chairs at the back table seemed to grow larger, more present, demanding acknowledgment.

"Rico covered three women he'd never met, took bullets meant for strangers because that's who he was. A protector. A brother. A hero." Duke's voice roughened slightly. "He was twenty-two. Sponsored by Thor, voted in unanimous. Would've made a hell of a patched member."

Thor's hand found Mandy's on the table, squeezing tight. She leaned into him, wedding dress pooling around her, understanding that this grief was part of loving him. Part of loving all of us.

"Johnnie died fighting. Wounded, outnumbered, knowing the odds—he still fought. Saved two more lives before . . ." Duke paused, collected himself. "He was twenty. Dreamed of opening his own shop someday, talked about it constantly. Kid could fix anything with an engine."

The words painted them real, not just prospects, not just casualties. Real boys with real dreams who'd died for our family. My throat burned with tears I wouldn't shed here.

"Their sacrifice made this day possible," Duke said, raising his glass higher. "Their blood bought this joy. So we honor them the way they'd want—by living. By loving. By protecting what matters." He looked directly at Thor and Mandy. "To Rico and Johnnie. And to the future they died protecting."

"To Rico and Johnnie!" The room echoed it back, glasses raised, tears flowing freely now.

I drank deep, tasting salt with the champagne. Tyson's hand tightened on mine, and I knew he was thinking the same thing—how easily it could have been us memorialized, our names added to the growing list of the fallen.

But we were here. Alive. Together. And that demanded celebration.

The DJ—someone's cousin with delusions of grandeur—cranked the music. Bodies flooded the dance floor like a dam burst, needing movement, needing release. The Heavy Kings knew how to grieve and celebrate in equal measure, sometimes in the same breath.

"Dance with me," Mia demanded, appearing at my elbow. "Before all the brothers claim you for the political dances."

Political dances. I laughed but she wasn't wrong. As Tyson's acknowledged woman now, certain protocols applied. Brothers would want to dance with me, welcome me properly, size up their VP's choice. Tribal politics wrapped in courtesy.

We hit the floor just as something with actual bass dropped. Mia moved like a woman possessed, all her nurse's precision abandoned for pure joy. I let the music take me too, hips swaying, arms raised, purple dress flaring with each spin. For these few minutes, we were just girls at a wedding, not survivors of a massacre.

"Incoming," Mia warned, then melted away as Tank approached.

"May I?" He held out one massive hand, formal as a duke despite the club music.

"Of course." I let him lead me into something that was half dance, half shuffle. Tank moved carefully, aware of his size, trying not to crush my toes. "How's the head?"

"Hard as ever," he said, touching the scar where shrapnel had caught him. "Doc says I'm too stubborn to have brain damage. Plus, I don’t have a brain."

"Sounds about right." I smiled up at him, this giant who'd fought beside Tyson to save me. "Thank you. For everything. I never properly—"

"Family doesn't need thanks," he cut me off gently. "Besides, you brought something back we thought was lost."

"What's that?"

His eyes found Tyson across the room, talking to Duke but tracking my movements. Always aware, always watching. "Him. He was going dark before you. Real dark. Seen it in too many brothers who came back from the sandbox broken." Tank spun me carefully. "You gave him something to fight for besides the past."

The song shifted, something slower, and Duke appeared at Tank's shoulder. "My turn, brother."

Tank surrendered me with a small bow, disappearing into the crowd. Duke danced like he did everything—with controlled precision and unexpected grace. Where Tank had been careful, Duke was commanding, leading with the easy confidence of a man used to being followed.

"You clean up nice," he said after a moment.

"Thanks." I tried not to feel like I was being evaluated, but Duke had that effect. Even being nice, he carried weight. "Beautiful ceremony."

"Thor cried like a baby." But his tone was fond. "Never thought I'd see it. Him or Tyson, settling down. You women have a way of changing things."