A little girl stunned me in front of my entire company when she pointed out the tattoo I'd kept hidden for thirteen years—and the instant her mother whispered my supposedly dead brother's name, I realized she was the key to a deadly family secret.

The meeting place was an abandoned lumber mill halfway down the mountain, a neutral zone that neither family actively controlled. The smell of rotting wood and damp earth filled the air. I arrived with Marcus and four guards, leaving the rest to protect Clara and Emma at the estate.

Viktor Volkov arrived shortly after in a convoy of black sedans. He was a tall, imposing man with ice-blue eyes and a jagged scar running down his jawline. He stepped out of his car, surrounded by heavily armed men. I motioned for Marcus to bring Igor forward.

"Igor," Viktor said, his tone softening slightly. "Are you unharmed?"

"I am fine, Boss," Igor replied, walking over to Viktor’s side. "Vale speaks the truth. It was a setup at the club. Men in masks, military tactics. It wasn't the Vale family."

Viktor turned his piercing gaze to me. "The Corsicans. My father used to tell stories of them. He said they were like rats, hiding in the walls until the house was empty."

"They're not hiding anymore," I said, stepping closer to the center of the muddy yard. "They want the shipping ports, and they want the city. They figured if they threw a silver coin at my doorstep and burned my truck, I'd blindside you. We'd kill each other, and they would sweep up the pieces."

"And why should I ally with a Vale?" Viktor spat. "Your father killed my uncle."

"And your father killed my cousin," I shot back. "That was the old generation. I don't care about the past, Viktor. I care about the future. My family's safety. If we fight each other now, the Corsicans will slaughter us both."

Viktor remained silent for a long minute, the rain dripping from the brim of his dark coat. Finally, he extended a gloved hand.