Page 109 of The Collector

He didn't speak at first. Just moved with quiet precision, like he'd done this a hundred times.

The cart glided to a stop. Steam curled from the coffee.

"Good morning, Butterfly," he said, voice low.

"Good morning, love." Her eyes searched his face. "Where have you been so early? I couldn't find you." By now, Raven knew how she took her coffee. He poured her a cup, added two sugars and an ample amount of cream, and then handed it to her before sitting down beside her on the bed.

"I had to meet with the Godfathers. They flew in this morning for an in-person meeting." He leaned in and brushed her hair off her shoulder and kissed her on the neck. "They wake before sunrise and speak while the world sleeps. They whisper secrets into the dark, as if truth only survives in the hush before morning breaks."

"You should have told me. I'd have gone with you."

"You've got enough on your plate with Cyndi coming home today. I didn't want to upset you or our little ones," Raven said, laying his hand gently on the slight swell at her waist.

Mynx smiled softly at his gesture. They hadn't planned for this and had wanted more time together first—time to explore their love without the weight of futures and fragile things. But life didn't wait. And now, beneath Raven's hand, something irreversible was growing. She wasn't sure if she was ready. Wasn't sure if she could be soft enough, steady enough, safeenough after the emotional rollercoaster she'd been on. But she was trying. For him. For the children. For the versions of herself and Raven she hadn't met yet.

The upcoming birth of the twins should've been joy—pure and unshaken. But after Marcus and Stoker, the fact that they were having twins felt ironic. Like fate was twisting the moment, holding her happiness at gunpoint. What if one of them was like Marcus? What if the Cordoba blood carried more than heredity? She touched her stomach and tried to believe in the innocence of her unborn children. But fear had already taken root and nested there inside her, growing alongside the hope her children would be normal.

"We're doing just fine. You worry too much." Mynx set down her coffee on the nightstand and moved into his lap, curling into his chest. "So, what did the Godfathers have to say?"

"They're questioning whether keeping me in the Capo seat is smart after everything that's happened," Raven said. "But they've decided to wait to make a final decision. See how I handle the war with the Stallions. See if I can manage it without their interference."

"And what outcome are they hoping for?"

"They want the violence to stop. Quietly. Cleanly." He exhaled. "The beef's cutting into their earnings. They want it buried before it bleeds any more money."

Mynx shifted in his lap, her voice low. "Did they find anything else on Marcus? For you and Stoker?"

"I think they've dug up everything useful they could. There's a file on my desk—when we're ready." He paused, watching her reaction. "Apparently, Grace tried to sell Marcus back to Uncle Mateo. He refused."

"Why?"

"Hard to say. Marcus is gone now, so we'll never know for sure. My guess? She waited too long. Marcus couldn't pass him off as his and Aunt Maria's by then. The damage was done."

"That must've felt like being discarded twice," Mynx murmured. "Do you think that's what broke him?"

"That," Raven said, "and the man who raised him." His voice darkened, "Alejandro Mendosa. The Kings called him The Surgeon. He was the Godfathers' best recourse when someone refused to talk. He was ruthless, a killer with no conscience. Perfect for their needs. Until he wasn't." He looked past her, jaw tight.

"Marcus and his son trained together. Got close. When the boy died on a mission, Alejandro adopted Marcus. But it wasn't for love. The intention was to help him exact revenge on the Kings for taking his son from him. We found his journals in a secret compartment at the lake house he had tucked away. He trained and manipulated Marcus to seek revenge against his own blood family, thereby gaining his own. Marcus didn't stand a chance—not with a psychopath for a father and grief as the foundation of his identity— at becoming anything normal."

Mynx shivered. The world she'd stepped into was full of monsters. Not the kind that lurked in shadows, but the kind that wore tailored suits and spoke in measured tones. She never knew what to expect when meeting someone new in the organization. Every introduction felt like a test. Every smile is a mask. She'd learned to read the eyes first. That's where the truth lived—if it lived anywhere at all—most of the time she had to rely on Raven's guidance.

"Did you check on Elanah this morning? I know yesterday Dr. Emily said she had to give her another round of meds to keep the contractions at bay." Mynx asked with a yawn.

"I've decided to let Stoker handle her health at this point. I did it in the beginning because I knew it would be hard for him tocope with on top of everything else he's had to recover from. But he says he's ready."

"Having your brother imprison you for two years and hijack your life has to be hard enough to deal with. Especially coupled with the fact that he planned to let everything fall in Stoker and Elanah's laps with the Godfather's. I still don't understand why he impregnated Elanah with Stoker's semen."

Raven's jaw tightened.

"If you ask me, it wasn't about biology. It was about control. Marcus wanted to engineer a version of himself that looked like him—but was born under his own terms— one that might hold a place of power within the Kings when he left. It was a power move. A way to make sure even the next generation carried his fingerprints. Because he knew that after the Godfather got wind of what Stoker and Elanah had done, Raven held his fingers up in quotation marks, 'they would be dealt with.' And he hoped I would be dead. So, he was giving life to the next heir of the King's line."

"We live in a crazy world," Mynx shook her head.

"Why don't you let me help you forget all that madness for a while?" Raven's voice was low, coaxing. He slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her night shorts, fingers brushing skin with deliberate ease.

His brow lifted suggestively.

Mynx watched him, her breath catching—not from surprise, but from the quiet gravity of his touch. He wasn't just reaching for her. He was reaching through the chaos. Trying to remind her that even in a world built on violence and betrayal, there were still moments that belonged only to them. He wasn't just the man she loved. He was her home—the place where her mind could rest.

The only space that felt safe in a world where safety was a myth.

Maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

Enough to keep her sane in a world that chipped away at sanity like it was irrelevant.

Enough to remind her who she was— His Butterfly.