Page 136 of Dirty Game

"Five million," I repeat, and Varrick looks up from where he's making Dante breakfast, alert to the danger in my tone.

"Seems fair. You're worth at least that much to Bane, right?"

I look at Varrick, at Dante carefully spreading peanut butter on toast with intense concentration, at the life I've built from the ashes of what they burned.

"Fine," I say. "I'll bring it today. In person."

Marco's surprised. "Yeah? Just like that?"

"Just like that. Text me where."

I hang up, and Varrick's already moving toward me. "You're not going alone."

"I'm not going alone," I agree. "But I need to do this. Need to face them one last time."

"Why?"

"Because they still think I'm that scared girl they could hurt whenever they wanted. They need to see who I've become."

He studies my face, then nods. "After breakfast. And we take backup."

"Can I come?" Dante asks suddenly. We both turn to look at him. "I want to see Rosa be brave."

"Not this time, buddy," Varrick says gently. "But Uncle Korrin and Uncle Cyrus are coming over to play with you."

As if summoned, the elevator opens and Varrick's brothers appear.

Korrin immediately scoops Dante up, making him squeal with laughter.

But Cyrus approaches me, something formal in his bearing.

"Before you go," he says, pulling out a slim box. "From both of us."

Inside is a knife. Small, elegant, deadly. The handle is engraved with a single word: "Family."

"Anyone who hurts you hurts us," Korrin says, still holding Dante upside down. "That's the Bane way."

"Welcome to the family, officially," Cyrus adds. "Even if the wedding isn't for another month."

I slip the knife into my boot, feeling its weight like armor.

Two hours later, we're standing outside a run-down bar on the South Side.

Uncle Enzo's territory, or what's left of it.

The place reeks of desperation and cheap whiskey.

Gomez and three other men wait by the cars, but Varrick comes inside with me.

Not to save me—to watch everything that’s about to happen.

Uncle Enzo looks like death warmed over.

His skin is yellow, eyes bloodshot, hands shaking with more than just age.

Marco stands beside him, trying to look intimidating but mostly looking desperate.

"Rosalynn." Uncle Enzo attempts a smile that looks more like a grimace. "You look... expensive."