"Let's get to it," Chaos says. "First order—Los Cuervos."
He lays it out clean. The combined efforts with the Chaldeans and the Black Kings are paying off. Raven distribution in our territory has dropped by over eighty percent. Los Cuervos has pulled back—not entirely, but we figure it’s only a matter of time before they cut their losses and get the hell outof Detroit. Many of their dealers have scattered. Their supply chain is fractured. The few remaining players are struggling.
“The Black Kings intercepted another shipment last week," Fury reports. "Small one, but they're not restocking."
"Trafficking angle?" Chaos asks.
“Possibly moving south,” Demon answers. “Nashville or maybe Atlanta. Intel says they’re slowing operations here. Too much heat."
Chaos nods. "Good. Keep monitoring, but it looks like we’re squeezing them out."
A murmur of satisfaction ripples around the table. Six months of coordinated warfare against one of the most ruthless opponents we’ve ever faced, and we’re winning. Not with a single decisive battle, but with sustained, relentless pressure from every angle until the bastards had no choice but to go somewhere more hospitable.
"Now." Chaos's gaze shifts to me. "The other matter. London Mitchell."
Curious heads turn my way. Everyone's aware of what's been happening. I claimed responsibility for her. I put her on the back of my bike. We made out like teenagers in front of the club.
"She's Fiend's daughter," Chaos continues, addressing the table at large. “It hasn’t been DNA-confirmed, but Zeus is satisfied she's legitimate.
“However.” Chaos drums his fingers once. "She doesn't know the full story about her father."
Every set of eyes in the room lands on me.
"I'm asking for time." I keep my voice even, controlled. “I want to be the one to explain what happened—all of it. On my terms, when the moment's right."
"And when's that gonna be?" Fury asks. Not a challenge—a genuine question.
"Soon. She's still settling in. Finding her footing." I run a hand through my hair. "I want to be sure she’s ready first."
Chaos watches me. That long, assessing look he gives when he's reading a situation three moves ahead. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, and he nods.
"Your call. Your timeline. But don't sit on it too long, brother."
"Understood."
"On a related note—" Fury leans back in his chair, the ghost of a grin pulling at his mouth. "Good to have you back, Zeus."
I shoot him a look that’s supposed to be a glare, but I can’t help it that the corners of my mouth turn up slightly.
“Amen,” Fuzzy adds.
“Yeah. You've been a miserable prick for months, bro, and today you look like a human being instead of a walking corpse." Mayhem doesn't bother softening it.
A few brothers knock their fists on the table—their version of applause. Heat crawls up the back of my neck.
“Alright, alright. Y’all are makin’ it weird," I growl.
“It is weird.” Jinx grins. "Accept it."
I flip him off, but there's no venom behind it. They're not wrong. Only days ago, I was a black hole swallowing everything in my orbit. Now… I can’t say I’m back to the carefree man I used to be, but I can say I feel about a thousand pounds lighter now that I give a damn about something besides the bottom of a whiskey glass.
London did that. One small, fierce, brave woman walked through our gates and broke down a wall I'd been constructing for half a year.
"One more thing," I say as the laughter dies down.
The room quiets.
I look at Chaos, then Demon. “A man named Greg Bowman. London's stepfather."