Chapter 78 Game changed
Caleb
My father’s study always smelled of old paper, cedarwood, and rules I never agreed to. I stepped inside and found him behind his desk, reading something he pretended was more important than the conversation he had dragged me here for.
“Sit,” Malcolm said without looking up.
“I’ll stand.”
He finally lifted his eyes. They were filled with anger he had been holding in since morning. “Where is the girl, Caleb?”
I didn’t look away. “She’s safe.”
“That is not an answer. You will hand her over to Diego. Tonight.”
“I will do no such thing.” My voice came out steady, though his tone was already trying to crawl under my skin. “Diego works for us. He follows orders. He doesn’t get to order me around.”
My father slammed the file shut. “You were told not to involve yourself in that part of the business.”
“If you didn’t get her kidnapped in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
His jaw clenched. There was a rare moment of honesty in his eyes when he said, “She is a mole, Caleb. She was digging through my files. I don’t know who sent her. But she was snooping, and she wasn’t talking. She was messing with the house. With you boys. With everything we built. Can’t you see that?”
I took a slow breath. “What I see is a girl you decided to destroy without proof. And I am not giving her to Diego.”
He rose from his chair. “I did not raise a weak son.”
“No,” I said, meeting his stare. “You raised a man who thinks for himself.”
Malcolm’s mouth curled, not into a smile, but something colder. “Lately, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Maybe Jacob would be a better heir. Or Aiden. Or both. They understand what it means to protect the empire. You… you are letting a woman cloud your judgment.”
The words landed sharper than I expected, but I kept my face still. My fists tightened at my sides.
“I will not deliver the girl,” I said, every word pulled from something deep. “And you will not replace me.”
I didn’t wait for his reply. I turned and walked out before I exploded in his study and did something I couldn’t take back.
I drove without thinking, only realizing where I was headed when the neon lights of the casino spilled across the street. I got out before the engine even settled. Inside, men paused and straightened as I passed. Someone tried to greet me, but I brushed past him.
One of the boys stood by the poker tables. I stopped in front of him.
“Where is Diego?”
The boy swallowed. “In his office, sir.”
I pushed the office door open and stepped inside.
Diego was sitting behind his desk with a bottle already half gone. His tie was loose, his eyes red, but he forced a grin when he saw me.
“Well,” he said, lifting the bottle slightly. “Did you come to deliver the girl you stole from my men?”
I shut the door behind me. “Go and bury your son, Diego.”
His face twitched. The bottle lowered.
“Your son made a stupid choice,” I continued. “And he paid for it. If you raised him well, he wouldn’t be out there putting hands on people.”
The bottle hit the table with a sharp crack. Diego stood, slow, breathing hard, and walked around the desk. He stopped right in front of me. He was shorter, so he lifted his chin to meet my eyes, anger shining through the alcohol cloud.
“You think you can talk to me like that?” he said.
“You’re drunk,” I replied.
“I’m grieving,” he snapped.
Neither of us blinked.
“So,” Diego said after a moment. “You’re proving stubborn. You refuse to deliver the girl.”
“I said what I said.”
“Then it will be an eye for an eye.”
My shoulders tightened. “What are you talking about?”
Diego gave a dry laugh. “House number… 18 Willow Ridge Court.”
My stomach dropped.
He watched me carefully, waiting for the reaction he already knew would come.
“There is a little boy there,” he continued, almost softly. “Dante. Pretty kid. Quiet. Looks exactly like you.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. My chest stopped moving.
“He has your eyes,” Diego went on, smiling now. “Your nose. Even your mouth. Talks about wanting to be a footballer when he grows up.”
My breathing turned slow and sharp.
“I see why you’re so protective,” Diego whispered. “So here is what I’m thinking. Since you won’t give me the girl, maybe I should take something from you. Maybe I should start by breaking one of his legs. Then the other. And then—”
I didn’t think. I moved.
I grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall so hard the frames rattled. His head hit the plaster with a harsh thud. He sucked in a breath, but he was still laughing.
“Do not dare me, Caleb Lancaster,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do not take my loyalty for granted.”
My grip tightened.
“Hand over the girl,” he whispered, “or lose the one thing you cherish the most.”
His words stayed in the air long after I let him go.
I walked out of that office, but my heartbeat stayed behind — pounding in the echo of one truth:
Diego knew about my son.
And now the whole game had changed.