Page 140 of The Silent War

I held his gaze and kept my body very still. If I admitted I’d felt it—if I confessed I’d known something in me went out when the line cut and I hadn’t found him fast enough—I’d be signing both our names in blood. I’d be telling him he was right to separate us to control us. I don’t give that man the satisfaction of being right about anything.

Damius’s jaw twitched. He liked when you made him ask twice. “I asked you?—”

“Because we’re Crows,” I said.

His head tilted a fraction.

“The Salveres planted trackers in our corridors,” I continued. “The Galleos defaulted on three syndicate contracts, then tried to renegotiate with threats. The Vale’s bribed one of ours for encrypted access into a file that isn’t theirs.”

He said nothing. Silence is how he feeds.

“He didn’t plan it,” I said. “He snapped. No strategy. Just carnage. Like a fucking Crow.”

Damius exhaled, a thoughtful thing he does when the scent in the air shifts from weakness to utility. Something in the room changed. His eyes sliced through me, merciless. The man loved two things: power, and blood spilled in the name of the Crows. You give him both, and he calls it balance.

He turned and started to pace, a measured line from decanter to window to desk. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said slowly, “with reminding the dynasties why the Crows are feared.”

He tapped the desk once, a little sound that ordered a dozen men on other floors without calling their names.

“Luca acted like his bloodline tonight. One doesn’t punish a Crow for being what he is.”

Rome stayed still beside me. But I could feel him watching, waiting for the trap. There’s always a trap with Damius. Even praise has a hook.

“Salvere. Galleo. Vales.” He spat the names out. “Three dynasties who’ve grown arrogant feeding off our mercy. The Vale’s especially…” his smile thinned, “rumors said they were negotiating a union. Now, all they’ll be organizing is a funeral.”

He always smiled before he ordered something that risked the parts of us we could not replace.

“Here’s what happens next.” He didn’t sit. He liked the height advantage when he cut you. “You will face the families.” He met my eyes. “And you will tell them the Crows are ending all public association. They are cut. Forgotten. Buried.”

Just like that, the contracts he’d complained about were leverage to be spent. He didn’t care about treaties. He caredabout being the hand that signs them and the hand that tears them.

He leaned back on his heels. “Send the bodies. Whatever’s left. Return them with dignity, or at least the illusion of it.” He smirked, the old cruelty. “I always liked a good show.”

My chest didn’t loosen. Approval today meant ownership tomorrow. I pulled my phone out to stop the crews from burning what was left of the three rings. We’d dress them for delivery, stage solemnity we didn’t feel, and make sure the right eyes watched.

“And Bastion?”

I looked up.

“Don’t let the dynasty forget this moment.” His voice softened into something like affection, which is how he says he owns you. “Let them remember who we are.”

He meant what we are. Crows are violence. Our blood isn’t like’s theirs.

Rome’s weight shifted beside me, a warning and a promise. I slid the phone back into my pocket.

I nodded, because that’s what kept my twin breathing.

I turned to leave.

“Tell Luca,” Damius added, almost idle, “that I expect him at dinner next week. Family should eat together after a… performance.”

I stopped with my hand on the door. I didn’t look back. “He’s recovering.”

“Then he’ll enjoy dessert.”

I walked out before I said something that would put a blade between us. Rome matched my stride.

Elevator doors closed.