Page 18 of Breeding Justice

“Cow go moo!” he declared, holding up a wooden puzzle piece as if he’d discovered a universal truth. His triumphant squeal brought a faint smile to my lips. At least one of us could still find joy in something so simple.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Jade said, her tone warm but with that firm cadence that came naturally to her. She sat cross-legged on the floor, hands resting protectively over her swollen belly as she watched SJ with a patience I envied. She leaned forward slightly, though her movements were slower now, her condition visibly wearing on her.

I didn’t know much about Jade beyond the fact that she was Dante’s girlfriend, heavily pregnant, and—apparently—willing to babysit during a mafia negotiation. Her calm demeanor didn’t match the chaos we were about to step into, and I wasn’t sure if that reassured or unnerved me.

SJ didn’t notice. He toddled on unsteady legs, gripping the cow puzzle piece tightly in his tiny hand. “Tío!” he squealed, his eyes locking on me like I was his entire world. The nickname hit me square in the chest, a reminder of the bonds we’d built even amidst the chaos.

I turned, just in time to catch him as he barreled toward me, his legs wobbling and his laugh filling the room like a balm. Icrouched to meet him, and he collided into my knees with the full force of a two-year-old, his joy uncontainable. “Cow moo!” he shouted, holding the toy high for me to see.

“Yeah, buddy,” I said, scooping him up and settling him on my hip. His tiny hands grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, and he beamed at me, his lopsided grin lighting up his whole face. “The cow says moo.”

“Good job, Sebastian,” Jade said, her smile soft but weary as she shifted to stretch her legs. She pushed herself up carefully, her hands bracing against the floor before she finally stood.

“You can call him SJ,” I said, giving her my hand to help her stand up. Dante was in the bathroom or something, and all four of us were waiting for him. “Jez named him after Bash, but it can get a little confusing.”

She raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t ask questions. I couldn’t tell if she was polite, uninterested, or just smarter than to dig into a mess she didn’t belong in. Either way, she nodded. Jade nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

SJ wriggled in my arms, turning to glance toward the couch where Zane lay propped up. His bandage peeked out from under his shirt, and the tightness in his jaw told me he was in more pain than he’d admit. Still, his eyes were sharp, cutting through the fog that had settled over us.

Zane's gaze flicked from SJ to me, his hazel eyes narrowing with focus despite the sweat beading along his brow. "We need to go over it again," he said, his voice flat but unwavering. He shifted on the couch, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. "Dante’s not the kind of guy who tolerates half-baked plans."

Before I could respond, SJ squirmed in my arms. “Tío, put me down,” he demanded, his tiny fingers tugging at my shirt. Reluctantly, I set him on the plush rug, watching as he toddled back toward Jade and her collection of puzzles.

Jade gave me a reassuring smile, her hand absently resting on her belly as she leaned against the coffee table. "He’s fine, Hassan. You should focus."

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t juggling a hundred variables with Justice, Bash, and Skylar’s lives hanging in the balance. I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair as I turned back to Zane. "Fine. Let’s go through it."

“Dante sets up the meeting,” Zane said, his tone clipped as he outlined the plan for what felt like the hundredth time. “Vito has to believe we’re serious about trading SJ for the others. Jade keeps him here, safe, and we handle the negotiation.”

The word negotiation tasted bitter on my tongue. "And if Vito doesn’t buy it? What then?"

Zane opened his mouth to answer, but the low, deliberate sound of footsteps cut him off. We both turned as Dante entered the room, his presence shifting the air immediately. He moved with the kind of controlled grace that made my muscles tense, his tailored suit immaculate, not a hair out of place. He was the kind of man who could command attention with just a look, and he knew it.

“I’ll tell you what happens if Vito doesn’t buy it,” Dante said, his deep voice carrying an edge of finality. He crossed the room with an ease that belied the tension crackling in the air. “We improvise. But Vito won’t doubt me.”

Zane sat up straighter, his eyes locked on Dante. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

Dante’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile as he reached for the whiskey decanter on the sideboard. “Confidence isn’t arrogance, Zane. I know Vito. He’s desperate, and he underestimates everyone, especially me. That’s his weakness.”

“Desperate how?” I asked, stepping closer, my arms crossed tight against my chest. The word hung heavy in the room, loaded with implications I wasn’t sure I wanted to unpack.

Dante swirled the whiskey in his glass, his expression unreadable. “Vito’s dying,” he said flatly, as if the words held no weight. “Terminal. A few months left, maybe. He’s clutching atwhatever straws he can find to ensure his legacy. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I knew he was dying. I just…I think this is so fucked. SJ being part of that legacy is messed up.”

The idea of Vito’s grubby hands on SJ, of him viewing my nephew—my son, for all intents and purposes—as some pawn in his game, made my stomach churn.

“He doesn’t just see SJ as a part of it,” Dante said, taking a slow sip of his drink. “He sees SJ as the legacy. Vito’s daughter, Alicia, was the closest thing to a human connection he ever had. She’s gone, and that leaves the boy.”

“Alicia was the worst,” Zane said. “I mean, she was almost as bad as Jez.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Vito’s idea of parenting is...let’s say unconventional,” Dante replied, a sardonic twist to his lips. “But yes. Alicia was his blood, and SJ is her son, and he’s Jez’s son. That’s all that matters to him now. A chance to rewrite his story, leave behind something more permanent than money or power.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said, my words barely contained behind gritted teeth. “He’s dying, so now he suddenly wants to play doting grandpa?”

I already knew all these things—I just needed to hear them again. I needed Dante Moretti to make these things real for me.

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