Page 17 of Crimson Reign

I didn’t. “You said it was urgent.”

He studies me, then nods toward Nico. “Tell him.”

Nico sighs, running a hand through his dark hair before speaking. “Word is spreading. Other families are asking why we’re putting so much effort into gutting the Caruso.” His gaze sharpens. “Some think we’re making a power grab.”

“Let them think what they want,” I say flatly.

Luca shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. If the Commission believes we’re stepping out of line, they’ll get involved.” He levels me with a look. “And that’s a war we don’t want.”

I grind my teeth. This is the problem with our world—power shifts like sand, and if you’re not careful, it buries you alive.

“We move carefully,” Luca continues. “Play this like a chess game, not a street fight.”

I nod, understanding the weight of his warning. We’re treading a fine line, and one wrong move could bring the full force of the Commission down on us.

A sound from the hallway catches my attention—Elena’s voice, soft but clear as she hums to Fiona while getting her ready for bed.

My father notices my shift in focus. His expression changes—not to disapproval, but to something else. Something thoughtful.

Then he says something I don’t expect.

“Sometimes the most honorable path isn’t the easiest one.”

I stiffen, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.

Without another word, he rises, nodding once before heading toward the door. Nico lingers for a second, watching me with something that almost looks like amusement before following him out.

The door clicks shut behind them.

I exhale, turning toward the hallway.

And I see her.

Elena stands near the kitchen, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. She hesitates, then steps closer, offering one to me. “Thought you might need this.”

I take it, fingers brushing hers briefly. “You make a habit of listening in on conversations?”

She smirks, unbothered. “Not my fault you were talking loud enough to hear.”

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I take a sip.

She leans against the counter, growing serious. “Your father… what he said. What did he mean?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I look at her—the woman caught in the middle of a war she never asked for. The woman who’s been through hell and still stands strong.

“He meant that doing the right thing doesn’t always make life easier.”

She studies me for a moment. Then, quietly, she says, “I have nightmares.”

I glance at her. “About your husband?”

She nods, gripping her cup tighter. “Every night. I see him dying. I hear the gunshots.” A shaky breath. “Sometimes I wake up, and for a second, I forget he’s gone. And then I remember.”

I set my cup down. “I know what that’s like.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, searching. “You do?”

I hesitate. “I watched my mother place a loaded gun against my sister's head, threatening to kill her.”

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