Page 62 of Gambit
He nods and darts off to the next challenge.
Making my way back to Robert, I clap him on the back as he rounds up the last of his group. “You’ve got a great eye for detail,” I note, my voice carrying over the buzz of post-gauntlet adrenaline.
“It comes with the territory,” Robert says, catching my gaze with a glint of pride in his eyes. “You don’t grow up in our world without learning to read between the lines.”
“True,” I agree, watching as the students start to disperse, their bodies worn but spirits high. I lean against the fence, feeling the cool metal through my shirt. “This place doesn’t just need a leader—it needs someone who can make the hard calls, who can keep us ten steps ahead of the game. And you,” I poke him in the chest for emphasis, “are that man.”
He beams at me.
The noise settles, and the last of the students cross the finish line, panting, pride etched deep in the lines of exhaustion on their faces. I whistle loud and clear, piercing through the buzz of adrenaline. They gather around a sea of flushed cheeks and heaving chests.
“You have just stormed through hell and back. You pushed; you didn’t crumble. That’s Castle blood in your veins, make no mistake.”
Robert stands beside me, his gaze sharp as he watches them, already cataloguing every triumph and slip-up.
“Today wasn’t about winning or losing—it was about learning. About finding the edge of your limits and then pissing all over that line. You’re building yourselves into weapons—smart, tough, relentless. And from what I’ve seen?” I pause, letting the words hang heavy. “Your enemies should be shitting themselves.”
A ripple of tired laughter rolls through the crowd. Robert steps forward, his presence commanding their attention without a word.
“Each of you showed something out there today,” Robert says, voice steady. “Tenacity, intelligence, guts. We’ll take that raw talent, sharpen it until you’re not just ready—you’re the ones setting the pace. Jez, you really impressed me earlier. Madison slipped on the wall, and you caught her. That could’ve been a serious accident, but you didn’t leave her behind. You were a team. That kind of thinking will get you far. We aren’t justindividuals playing this game. We help each other as well. Well done.”
Jez nods once, accepting the accolade but not making a fuss.
“Robert has proven himself more than worthy—more than capable of leading you into whatever shitstorm comes next. So hear it now, straight from me: Robert is my chosen successor. The next King of Castle. You want to challenge that; you can come through me.”
The reaction is instantaneous—cheers erupt, echoing through the basement.
Robert’s face is a mask of calm, but the tightness in his shoulders eases, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks volumes.
“Power isn’t worth a damn if you don’t use it to make things better,” I say to Robert as the noise dies down. “But I think it’s time to call it a day.” The day’s work has been good and productive.
Tomorrow beckons, another day in this twisted game we play.
31
RAPHAEL
Pushingthe door of her bedroom open, I spot Eliza pacing like a caged animal. Her emerald eyes flick up to me, all that smartass bravado swallowed up by nerves just for a second. “Hey,” I say softly, closing the gap between us as Tarquin enters behind me. My hands land on her shoulders, a little anchor in the storm brewing inside her. “No need to be nervous. It’s just a casual meeting.”
She inhales, sharp and deep, then levels her gaze at Tarquin and me, who’s trying to look unfazed.
“Thanks,” she says steadily. Carefully. I know that tone. It means she’s gearing up to take on the world, or in this case, our old man.
Taking her hand, I lead her downstairs with Tarquin on her other side, flanking her, protecting her. She giggles when we hit the bottom of the stairs and drops my hand. She throws her shoulders back and marches into the living room like the goddess she is.
“Mr Carver,” she says as Tarquin and I slip into the room. No way are we leaving her to confront this alone. Not that she hasn’t got this in the bag, but Dad is a dick. Plain and simple.
“Eliza,” he says. He is seated in the armchair facing the door, legs crossed, hands steepled.
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes at him.
“Power is a dangerous game,” he says. “You think you can handle it?”
“I’ve been prepared to play since birth; of course I can.” She sits in the chair facing him across the coffee table and leans back, casual and showing no signs of fear.
“Preparation is key,” Rafe nods slightly, the ghost of approval in his gaze. “But what about ambition? What’s yours?”
“Expansion,” Eliza states firmly. “To extend our influence beyond traditional boundaries. To innovate within our operations without sacrificing honour or strength.”
