Page 38 of Rose

“Come sit,” Saint said, gesturing toward the empty chair at the table. “These are my sons—Sin and Khaos—the best killers in the city. And my daughter, Olivia. She’s federal.”

The man nodded, his movements slow and deliberate as he lowered himself into the chair. Savior’s gaze never left him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” the man rasped. “My name is Cain.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Savior asked, voice tight and eyes cold. His tone wasn’t personal, but he didn’t do strangers. Especially not ones limping into Carter territory like they belonged.

Cain didn’t flinch. Instead, he coughed, chest shaking with the effort. Olivia quickly passed him a cold water bottle, which he accepted with a nod of thanks.

“It’s hard to speak too long these days without my lungs betraying me,” Cain said dryly. “Some days I’m amazed I’m still breathing.”

He took a long sip, then set the bottle down.

“I’m a survivor of the Joyful Hearts massacre,” he said quietly. “Four years ago. Atlanta, Georgia.”

The room fell still.

“The terrorist attack?” Olivia asked, her voice sharp with recognition. “At the children’s charity festival?”

Cain nodded.

Savior remembered it clearly. Everyone did. It had dominated national headlines for weeks. Explosives planted throughout the park had detonated in synchronized waves, wiping out over a thousand lives—half of them children. The world called it a tragedy. A random act of terror.

But it wasn’t random.

It was a message. A brutal warning to a private weapons contractor who tried to double-cross a ghost. A man named Lazarus.

The name sent shivers down even the coldest spines. A shadow with no face. A myth that became real. He orchestrated mass death and disappeared without a trace. Presumed dead.

“What can we help with? Why are you here?” Sincere asked, his tone even, but his body coiled with alertness .

Savior didn’t speak. He just watched the man—Cain—with that sharp, unreadable stare of his, analyzing everything from the tremble in his hands to the pain behind his eyes.

“I lost my entire family,” Cain began, his voice tight with grief.

“Because a son of a bitch who called himself Lazarus set explosives under a children’s charity event.

I watched my wife… my baby girl take their last breath.

” His jaw quivered, and he swallowed like it hurt.

“I couldn’t move. I was already on fire.

Burned. Crushed. I should’ve died with them. But God left me here.”

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled the water bottle to his lips again.

“Every day since then has been hell. Learning how to walk. Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Even take a fucking shit. I live with those screams in my head.”

The room remained silent, the weight of his pain pressing down on everyone.

“They said Lazarus died,” Cain continued. “But I never believed it. So I dug. Hard. For years. Eventually, I found out he moved here. Changed his identity.”

Lazarus . Savior had heard that name before. It struck a nerve—familiar, haunting—but he couldn’t place it. Not yet.

“How do you know he’s still alive?” Savior finally asked.

Cain leaned forward. “Because I saw him. Walking down the street like a fuckin’ civilian. Like he ain’t a mass murderer.” His voice shook. “He goes by William Davis now.”

He shook his head, fury flashing in his tired eyes.

“It took everything in me not to shoot him right there. But look at me. I can’t take him alone. I don’t have the strength. But I do have the money.”

“You got a picture?” Olivia asked, voice low. Suspicion clear in her tone.

Cain reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph, sliding it down the table toward Savior.

Savior’s fingers paused just before grabbing it. The second his eyes landed on the image, his chest tightened.

He’d seen this man before.

He was one of Savior’s past contracts. A high-level assignment from the mayor of Atlanta himself. Savior was certain his team completed the job—watched the fire consume everything. The mission had been classified as successful.

But Lazarus wasn’t ashes. He wasn’t buried. He was walking freely.

Savior said nothing as he passed the photo around the table.

Saint’s scowl deepened the second he looked at it. Sin's eyes widened. Olivia stiffened, recognizing the man. No one spoke, but every mind at the table was reeling.

“And how exactly do you know who we are?” Savior pressed, voice sharpening.

Cain looked at Saint.

“I play poker with Mr. Saint every Saturday. I told him my story. Told him how I wanted revenge. He said he had a family that could help. A family that gets things done. He vouched for you. And I trust him.”

Savior looked at his father. Saint gave a firm nod, but didn’t speak.

“I’ll be the judge of your trustworthiness,” Savior muttered.

“And I won’t disappoint you,” Cain replied. “I won’t tell a soul. This is about my family, not fame. ”

Savior leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “How the fuck can you afford us?”

Cain smiled, but there was no joy in it—just grief sharpened into resolve.

“My family owns one of the largest industrial oil empires in the South. Generational money. I’ve liquidated assets, pulled from trust funds, even sold my mother’s estate.”

He met Savior’s eyes directly.

“I want him dead. I want to know that the man who took everything from me is burning in hell.”

Cain took a breath. “How does two hundred million sound?”

Savior rubbed his hands together slowly, processing.

“Five,” he said flatly.

Cain didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

He stood with effort, gripping his cane, his body clearly still in agony. But his voice carried new weight. “Thank you. You’re giving peace to the dead. To my wife. My daughter. And to the families of the thousand lives he stole.”

He started toward the door, wobbling slightly.

Once the guards walked Cain out and the door sealed shut, Saint finally spoke—voice low but laced with venom.

“Sav, when I gave you this business, I expected you to handle shit properly.”

Savior’s eyes cut to his father. “All I’ve been doing for the last four years is handling shit. Properly. ”

His tone was calm, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

He knew nothing he did would ever be enough in Saint’s eyes. Not the expansion. Not the new contracts. Not even turning the Carter name into a global powerhouse. His father would take his victories and act like they were inevitable. But let one mistake happen...

“One of your assignments is still alive,” Saint snapped. “Roaming the fucking earth. Breathing. Laughing. After everything he did.”

Savior didn’t flinch. “I remember the job. Lazarus. Raz and Wild took care of it. Burned him in the house.”

He said the names with weight. Raz and Wild weren’t just his soldiers—they were his brothers in arms. Men he bled with in war. Losing Raz that night still carved holes in his chest.

Saint scoffed. “So you sent soldiers to do a job you were hired for.”

Savior’s jaw tightened.

“I was in France. On another assignment. One that brought in millions, by the way.” He leaned forward slightly, voice sharper. “It was a clean job. Easy. So I sent my best two to handle it. And they did. ”

“Apparently not,” Olivia muttered.

Savior shot her a look.

Sincere sat quiet, brows furrowed, confused. “I remember that night. I was lead on that job. Wild called me. Said the man was dead.”

“Either Wild was a dumbass or a snake—God rest his soul—or he and Raz killed the wrong nigga,” Saint growled.

“It’s possible,” Olivia added carefully. “There’s a lot of William Davises in Miami. Could’ve pulled the wrong profile. ”

Saint turned his glare toward Savior again. “Do you have any proof he was actually dead? Because Cain just gave us a clear as day photo of that motherfucker walking the streets.”

“Did you see a body?” Olivia asked, leaning into the silence. “Did anyone?”

Savior slowly turned to Sincere.

“Did you?” he asked his brother. “Did you see a body?”

Sincere’s eyes dropped to his hands, picking at his fingernails. He didn’t answer.

That silence said everything.

Before Savior could speak again, Saint stood up, voice rising.

“Why the fuck you asking him? You ’ re the head of this family! You don't delegate death, you deliver it.”

Savior stood, too, calm but seething. “I’m the leader, not a goddamn machine. I can’t be everywhere at once. So I gave Sin the job. He was ready. That’s what we preach, right? Every Carter a killer. Every killer a leader. I trusted my brother.”

Saint stepped in closer, eyes locked with his son’s. “And your trust just cost this family everything.”

“ Okay, ” Olivia cut in, her voice soft but firm as steel. “Enough.”

The room was thick with tension, heavy with unsaid accusations.

Savior reached into his jacket and pulled the blunt back to his lips, lighting it slowly. He needed something to calm the fire burning in his chest, and weed was the only thing that wouldn’t end in blood.

The smoke curled in the air like steam off boiling water.

This wasn’t just about a failed mission. This was about control. And the past just walked back into their lives with a new name— William Davis.

Savior sat in silence, jaw locked, the blunt burning low between his fingers. He never fucked up. Not once. Not in his entire career. And the fact that this ghost of a man was walking around free— after everything —was slicing his pride open.

He trusted Raz. Trusted Wild. And he especially trusted Sincere.

But Raz was dead. Wild had taken his own life not long after the assignment. And Sincere couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

The weight was falling squarely on his shoulders now.