Page 125 of Jayson
The Round Table isn’t a literal round table, though it used to be. Now it’s a converted corner room with plush seating, panoramic views of the property, and the kind of coffee machine that costs more than a small car. It’s a place the brothers use to talk when things need to be said without bloodshed.
Kanyan’s already there.
Showered, fresh clothes, sleeves rolled up. Always with therolled sleeves. Forearms covered in ink. Watch on his wrist. Fingers tapping a rhythm I recognize from years in the field—it’s the count of a man always aware of exits.
He doesn’t look up when I walk in. Just gestures to the cup across from him.
“Black. Like your soul,” he says, deadpan.
I sit. Sip. Let the silence do its thing before he breaks it.
“You ever think about how you got here?” he asks suddenly.
I blink. “Like… existentially?”
“No,” he says. “I mean specifically. How you ended up at this table. Sitting in this house. In this life.”
I glance at him. “Mason.”
“Exactly,” Kanyan says, nodding. “Mason brought you to me. Pulled you out of Brando’s stable and said, ‘This one’s different. This one’s got a spine. A code. Don’t waste him.’”
He leans back, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I thought he was full of shit. But you proved me wrong. Again and again.”
I don’t answer. Just sip the coffee. Let it burn down my throat.
“I’m proud of what you’ve become, Jayson,” Kanyan says. “Not just the weapon. The man.”
It hits deeper than I’m ready for—like hearing something from a father I never realized I’d been waiting on my whole damn life.
“I need to keep you close,” he continues. “This place isn’t just headquarters anymore. It’s something else.”
He watches me. Not pushing, but not quite inviting either.
“I want you to move in permanently,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”
I swallow. “I was thinking of staying with my grandmother.”
Kanyan smiles at that. Almost fond.
“Ah, yes. Nina.” He chuckles low. “She told me to offer. She has no issue with you moving in here. Said, and I quote, ‘He’ll besafer with you boys. And you know how to make him eat his vegetables.’”
My brows lift. “You two talk like that?”
“We’ve done business together a long time.”
I pause. “How long?”
He shrugs, but there’s weight in his answer. “Long enough.”
The wheels in my head start turning. I think about the packages she used to have delivered. The trips she never explained. The time she told me, “You don’t want to know how deep the roots go. Just trust that I made sure you could survive whatever tries to bury you.”
I look at Kanyan. He sees it.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” he says calmly, “your grandmother has always had your best interests at heart. Even when it meant blood. Even when it meant secrets.”
The coffee tastes bitter suddenly.
“You’re part of this family now, whether you want to admit it or not,” Kanyan adds. “We look after our own. And Keira?” He leans forward, voice low but steady. “She’s not just a girl. She’s your girl. You don’t have the luxury of being detached anymore.”
