READER DISCRETION ADVISED
This chapter contains intense scenes of violence, peril involving a child, and graphic descriptions of a kidnapping situation. Please prioritize your comfort and well-being while reading.
POV Julian
The metal pole whistled through the air. I could do nothing but curl my body around Juliet, making myself a human shield. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow.
CRACK.
The impact was a lightning bolt of agony across my back. I cried out, my vision blurring. I could feel the bone-jarring thud deep in my chest.
"Stop! Please!" I begged, my voice a ragged sob. It wasn't for me. It was for her.
The man with the cruel smile just laughed. "The great Fernandez family. Begging."
He raised the pole again, aiming for my head. This was it. The final blow.
I met Juliet's terrified eyes. "I'm sorry, Jules," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."
BANG.
The sound wasn't the pole. It was a gunshot, shockingly loud in the ruined space.
The smiling man screamed, a high-pitched, animal sound. He dropped the pole, clutching what was left of his knee. He crumpled to the ground, writhing.
I looked up. Standing in the doorway, framed by smoke and dust, was Leo.
He wasn't holding a tablet. He was holding a smoking pistol, his hand shaking but his aim terrifyingly precise. His glasses were askew, his face pale, but his eyes were blazing with a cold, calculated fury I had never seen in him before.
"The femoral artery is in the thigh," Leo said, his voice eerily calm despite the tremor in his hands. "You'll bleed out in approximately ninety seconds if you don't apply a tourniquet. I suggest you start now."
The second thug, stunned, stared at his screaming friend. He only looked away for a second.
It was all the time Riven needed.
A blur of motion erupted from the shadows. Riven didn't make a sound. He moved like the predator he was. He snatched the fallen metal pole from the ground and, in one fluid, brutal swing, brought it down on the back of the second man's head.
THWUMP.
The man dropped like a sack of stones, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Silence descended, broken only by the moans of the knee-shot man, the crackle of fire, and Juliet's hysterical crying.
Riven didn't even look at the bodies. He dropped the pole and rushed to my side. His eyes scanned my trapped leg, then darted to Juliet.
"Hey, little boss," he murmured, his rough voice suddenly soft as he gently pried her from my weakening arms. "Riven's here. You're okay. Shhh."
He cradled her against his massive chest, his hand supporting her head. Her cries immediately softened into shuddering, hiccupping sobs against his neck. Safe. She was safe.
Then, Riven's eyes met mine. The relief in them was instantly replaced by a ferocious, protective rage. He braced his feet against the concrete slab. "Leo! A little help!"
As Leo rushed over, I let my head fall back against the rubble. The pain was excruciating, but it didn't matter. I watched Riven rock my baby sister, and a single, clear thought cut through the agony.
They had her. My brothers had her.
And for the first time since I got that text, I finally felt like I could breathe.
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The pain in my leg was a white-hot fire, but it was a distant thing. All that mattered was the sight of Riven holding Jules, his big hand cradling her head, her tiny body finally relaxing against him.
"Okay, on three," Riven grunted, digging his heels into the rubble. Leo positioned himself, ready to pull. "One... two... THREE!"
A fresh wave of agony exploded as they pulled me free. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. But I was out. Leo immediately started ripping fabric from his own shirt to tie around my ankle, his movements clinical and fast.
"Compound fracture. Don't look at it," he said, his voice tight.
I didn't want to. My eyes were fixed on my sister. My reason for breathing.
That's when he appeared.
Elijah.
In one hand, he held a pistol, dangling loosely at his side. In the other, he was dragging Esteban Mendoza by the collar. The man who had killed our parents.
The Mendoza don was barely conscious, his face a bloody mess, one leg dragging uselessly behind him. Elijah stopped a few feet from us and dropped him like a bag of trash.
Elijah's eyes found mine, then dropped to my leg. A flicker of something—concern, maybe—passed over his face before it hardened again.
Then his gaze landed on Riven, on Juliet, who was now quiet, just sniffling against Riven's shoulder.
The storm in his eyes finally settled. The monster had done its job. The protector was back.
He walked over to Riven and held out his arms. Wordlessly, carefully, Riven transferred Juliet into them.
Elijah cradled her, his large hand supporting her entire back. He looked down at her tear-streaked face, and his thumb gently wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek.
"It's over, mi sol," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that was meant only for her. "The bad men are gone."
He looked at me, then at Leo and Riven. His family, battered but together.
"Viktor is cleaning up. Let's go home."
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The car ride home was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that comes after all the screaming is done. I was in the backseat, my busted ankle propped up, watching Elijah.
He had Juliet on his lap. She was still hiccupping, her little body trembling with the aftershock of terror. Elijah didn't say a word. He just reached into the baby bag at his feet with the practiced ease of a seasoned pro.
He pulled out a ready-made bottle. He tested the temperature on his wrist, a quick, automatic gesture, then brought it to her lips.
For a second, she just stared, confused. Then, instinct took over. She latched onto the nipple and began to drink, her sucking loud and frantic in the quiet car. She was starving. She drank like she was trying to swallow safety itself.
Elijah watched her, his expression unreadable. He didn't look at the passing city lights. His entire world had shrunk to the baby in his arms, the rise and fall of her throat as she swallowed.
A fresh wave of agony shot up from my ankle, mingling with the deep, throbbing pain in my back where the pole had hit. The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright was finally draining away, leaving only sheer, raw hurt. The edges of my vision started to get fuzzy.
I fought it, blinking hard. I needed to see this. I needed to know she was okay
When the bottle was empty, he put it aside and pulled out a small jar of banana puree and a tiny spoon. He unscrewed the lid, dipped the spoon, and held it to her mouth.
"Come on, Jules," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a little more."
She opened her mouth obediently, eating the puree without any of her usual fussiness or playful attempts to grab the spoon.
She was too tired, too drained from the terror. She just ate, her eyes starting to droop.
The food, the warm car, the rhythmic motion, and the sheer exhaustion finally overpowered the fear. Her head nodded forward onto his chest.
Elijah put the jar away. He adjusted her so she was curled against him, her head tucked under his chin. He started that slow, steady pat on her back that he always did.
He finally looked up, and his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. They weren't soft. But the raging storm was gone, replaced by a weary, unshakable resolve.
He finally looked up, and his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror... He didn't have to say anything.
...The pain won. My eyes closed. The last thing I heard was the soft, rhythmic pat of Elijah's hand on her back, a steady drumbeat leading me into the dark.
And in that darkness, I finally understood the family business. It wasn't about money, or territory, or fear. It was about this. The brutal, terrible, beautiful math of creating a single, quiet moment of peace, no matter the cost.
She's safe. She's fed. She's sleeping.
It was peace.