Page 70 of Mason

But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he stays on task. “We’ll be ready when the time comes.”

I nod, exhaling slowly before pinning him with a look.

“Keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”

Jayson doesn’t hesitate. He nods once—curt, firm, absolute.

“Understood.”

Because this will be one of the biggest operations we’ve undertaken, and there’s no room for mistakes.

No room for hesitation or loose ends.

Everything has to be airtight—every move calculated, every contingency covered. This isn’t just some territorial skirmish or a quick hit to send a message. This is war, and the kind that reshapes power.

One wrong move, and we don’t just lose—we burn.

I glance at Jayson, who’s already running through scenarios in his head, no doubt lining up failsafes before I even ask for them. “Everything else running smoothly? Kanyan?”

I haven’t spoken to him since we saw each other at Shelby’s house three days ago—the night we buried David Eddy in the history books.

He was there when we wiped the slate clean, when we erased every last thread of that man’s existence. No body. No case. No more David.

Now? It’s about Altin Kadri.

Jayson nods. “Kanyan knows you’ve got your hands full. He’s keeping everything locked down on his end, no questions asked.”

I exhale, bracing my hands on the edge of the pool railing, my eyes fixed on the rippling water. Kanyan understands better than most the weight of power, the responsibility that comes with making sure the right men die and the right men remain standing.

And he understands why this has to happen.

Kadri isn’t just another enemy. He’s a plague. A cancer. A man who should’ve been put down a long time ago, but was allowed to keep breathing because of politics, because of business, because of all the little technicalities that let monsters thrive.

But that ends now.

I straighten, rolling my shoulders, already feeling the tension winding up again. “And he understands what I’m willing to do to make that happen.”

Jayson doesn’t respond immediately. But when he does, his voice is calm, sure, deadly.

“He understands. And he’s all in.”

Good.

Because when this is over, there will be a power vacuum the size of a fucking crater.

And we need to be the ones who fill it.

22

SHELBY

“You have no idea who torched the house?” Clay asks, his brows furrowed in suspicion.

I shrug, shaking my head, because lying outright feels like betrayal. But the truth? That would be worse.

Clay leans back in his chair, jaw tight, his fingers tapping against the armrest in a steady, rhythmic beat. A habit from prison, no doubt—small movements to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from losing control.

“Definitely David Eddy,” he mutters, gaze flickering to the window as if expecting the bastard to slither out from the shadows. “Trying to scare you back into his arms again.”

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