Page 1 of The Silent War
Chapter One
BASTION
Being a Crow meant you inherited every war your blood hadn’t finished. Every feud, secret, alliance forged before you could walk—was yours the moment you took the oath.
It meant I’d die for my cousins, their wives, their kids. For any living Crow with the crest tattooed on their back.
The weight wasn’t optional. You didn’t pick your enemies, and you protected the family like it was a religion.
And when someone tested that?
You reminded them this bloodline had been built to end things one way.
Our way.
Which was how I ended up pacing the penthouse with blood on my knuckles. Rome was groaning into an ice pack on the couch, and Luca was washing a bat in the sink.
So much for the basketball bet between brothers.
“For the record, I was winning.” Rome winced, pressing the ice higher to his jaw.
I pulled the medical kit from under the bar, grabbing the peroxide.
My ribs ached every time I moved, but pain was proof I’dlived through it. “No one gave a shit about your jump shot. They swung because of the crest on your chain.”
“They swung because they thought maybe we’d gone soft,” Luca said, rinsing the bat clean of blood.
Rome groaned. “Maybe next time we don’t wear the chains at the court?”
I poured the peroxide on my knuckles. “Maybe next time we don’t let six street rats surround us without noticing.”
“They weren’t rats. Two Southbound. One from Marlan’s crew.” Luca turned.
“Marlan’s?” Rome moved the ice pack.
“Yeah.”
That changed everything. It wasn’t just men needing an ego boost.
“Their mistake wasn’t swinging first. It was leaving us breathing,” I muttered, feeling the anger rise again. So much for leaving my rage at the court.
“They wanted humiliation. Phones out, get one of us bleeding on camera,” Luca added, and I tossed him disinfectant.
He caught it without looking, same hand that had shattered that fucker’s wrist for pointing that phone at us.
Rome groaned, holding his ribs. “Fuck, my jaw feels dislocated. They weren’t even good. Just fast.”
“Fast and dumb wasn’t survival. It was open casket,” I said, and gestured for him to put his hand out.
“Maybe a closed casket is more fitting.” Rome leaned back into the couch, watching as I poured the peroxide on his knuckles. “So, what’s the move?”
Luca’s eyes flicked to mine.
We didn’t need to discuss what came next. We’d been raised in the same blood and trained with one response. The only question was how hard, and how much noise.
“Quiet retaliation,” he said.
I nodded. “No noise, no mess, no mercy. We bleed them slow.”
