I wasn't sure how long I hid in the crawl space. I could still hear Lionel and his men's voices faintly and every time I thought it might be safe to come out, one of them would speak again—too close, too calm—and I'd freeze all over.

I kept checking the camera feed like it was a lifeline, but the angles were limited. I could only see parts of the house, only guess at where Lionel might be. That was the worst part—the guessing. Not knowing if he was downstairs like he said or if he'd doubled back, waiting outside the hatch with that same quiet amusement in his eyes.

At one point, one of the men asked, "You sure he's not gonna show?"

Lionel's response came cool and certain: "He will. He always does."

They were talking about Manolo.

They weren't here for me.

Not really.

I was just a lever. A threat. A pressure point to push until Manolo made a mistake.

And that meant I had to stay hidden. I had to make sure I wasn't the reason he walked into a trap.

Eventually, the voices quieted again. Muffled footsteps moved through the house in intervals, too soft to track.

Then came the creak of the floorboards again—slower this time. Deliberate. I held my breath, the gun steady in my hand even though my fingers trembled slightly around the grip.

Lionel's voice drifted through the silence like it belonged there.

"You know," he began like we were having a conversation over coffee instead of him hunting me through the house, "this place isn't half bad. Manolo always did have a taste for quiet corners, tucked-out-of-the-way places. I think he liked pretending he could keep the world out if the windows were thick enough."

His footsteps moved to the left. Closer to the hallway.

"I remember when we were kids, he used to build these little hideouts. Under the stairs, behind the shed, once in an old drainpipe. He was always trying to find somewhere to be alone. Somewhere the rest of us couldn't reach him. Guess he never really outgrew that."

There was a long pause. Then another step. Another creak. The sound of something being set down—maybe a cup, or his gun.

"Everyone always told me Teodoro was the brother I needed to keep an eye on. He's young, thinks he's larger than life and acts like the world owes him something. But Manolo?" Lionel chuckled softly, no real humor in it. "Manolo was the one they should've watched."

Another step. I could hear the slow scuff of his shoe against the floorboard. He was drawing closer, but never in a straight line.

"He was such a hot head. Let things the rest of us would've allowed to roll off our backs fester inside of him until they boiled over. You wouldn't always see it coming, either. He'd go quiet first—real quiet—and that was your only warning. Then came the explosion."

Lionel's voice stayed light, conversational.

"I used to think he'd outgrow it. Thought maybe Hilda would ground him. She had that kind of effect on people. She saw the best in him, even when the rest of us... didn't."

Another creak. Closer now. I could almost feel the vibration in the floorboards.

"But she didn't know what he was capable of. Not really. She thought he'd protect her. And maybe he meant to. Maybe he really did. But love doesn't mean much when hesitation kills faster than hate."

My grip on the gun tightened. I didn't move, didn't breathe, afraid that even a whisper of sound would give me away.

"Do you know what he did after she died?" Lionel asked, his tone tilting softer, colder. "He disappeared. Ran like a coward. Left me to deal with everything—Teodoro, the mess, the silence. I buried her. I cleaned it up. I made sure nobody asked questions."

He let that hang in the air.

"I don't hate you, Wesley. Don't know you. You're just another person he's dragged into the fallout but your...involvement has already caused me more trouble than you're worth."

Then, with a suddenness that made me freeze in place, Lionel spoke again—closer now, so close his voice felt like a whisper in my ear.

"I can hear you breathing, Wesley. And I can feel your heartbeat, too. You think you're hidden, but you're not."

I didn't dare move, didn't even blink, but I knew it was too late. He'd found me.

And then, as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment, our eyes met. His gaze, sharp and calculating, bored into me from above the hatch. I could see the satisfaction in his eyes, the kind of satisfaction that only came from knowing you had the upper hand.

He tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Found you."

Fuck!

He pried open the hatch and his hand started to reach for me and I scrambled to remove the safety on the gun, but before I could even consider pointing it, let alone shooting it, I heard the quiet sound of another person approaching. Lionel turned around and I was hopeful that maybe, maybe it was Manolo.

But it wasn't.

It was Hudson fucking Frost.

...

Sitting between Lionel's henchmen and across from Hudson was one of the most awkward and simultaneously terrifying moments I've been in, which was saying something considering how my life had been going for the past few years.

"I still can't believe you found him," Hudson said to Lionel who looked more annoyed with the man's presence than he was with me, which was... impressive, honestly.

Lionel didn't respond right away. He was leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers tapping in a slow, irritated rhythm. His gaze flicked toward Hudson like he was debating whether it was even worth acknowledging him.

"I said I would," Lionel finally replied.

"You Raymond's say a lot of things. Doesn't mean you follow through," Hudson responded.

Lionel's expression didn't change, but the tapping stopped.

One of the henchmen beside me shifted in his seat.

"I follow through," Lionel said, voice calm and cool. "Just takes longer when people keep getting in the way."

Hudson leaned forward, folding his hands on the table between us. "Is that what I'm doing? Getting in the way?"

There was a flicker of something dangerous in Lionel's eyes then—not rage, but disdain, coiled and cold. "You're a footnote, Hudson. Background noise."

I expected Hudson to take offense, maybe snap back. Instead, he smiled like he knew a secret Lionel didn't. His eyes cut to me, and that smile widened just enough to make my skin crawl.

"Well, lucky for you," he said, "some background noise comes with a body count."

Lionel didn't flinch. Didn't blink. He just leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on Hudson's. "Then I guess you'll fit right in when I bury you with the rest."

No one said anything after that. Not for a long, long moment.

I studied the both of them. In a normal world, I never would've expected them to work together. They clashed far more than they seemed to cooperate. And yet, somehow, here they were. Both after the same thing. Both using me to get it.

Hudson finally leaned back, casual as ever, as if Lionel hadn't just threatened to kill him. "You know," he said, glancing at me again, "you're quieter than I remember. Thought you'd have more to say by now."

I didn't answer. Mostly because I wasn't sure anything I said wouldn't make things worse.

"You should've let me help you when I was being nice," he told me, shaking his head.

"Anyone with half a brain knows better than to trust a Frost with their life," Lionel muttered, his tone so dry it could've been dust. He didn't even look at Hudson when he said it. Just stared past him like even acknowledging him further would be giving too much attention to a stain on his suit.

Hudson smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "You Raymonds are real fond of rewriting history, huh?"

"No," Lionel said simply. "We just remember it better."

"We look after our own," Hudson argued. "Considering where we are, that's more than you can say."

"Your only sister died hating your guts, no? You call that looking after your own?" Lionel raised an eyebrow. "Glass houses, Frost. Glass houses."

Hudson opened his mouth, paused, and shook his head, muttering something along the lines of, "Why am I even entertaining this dick-measuring contest with a corpse in a suit?"

Lionel didn't even spare him a glance.

"I am tired of waiting," Hudson told Lionel instead, deciding to switch back to business-related topics. "We already got what we needed—" he gestured to me, "—I say we kill him. Whether he is alive or dead won't matter in the grand scheme of things. Manolo will react either way."

Lionel waved him off as if he were a pesky fly. "We are not killing him yet."

"Because you said so?" Hudson scoffed. "We kill him and then—"

"Did I or did I not just say we are not killing him yet?" Lionel's voice cut through Hudson's.

I glanced between the two of them, watching the irritation flood Hudson's face. He stood up quickly and moved toward Lionel, the henchmen both started to move but Lionel raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

"You seem to be confused about the dynamic between us," Hudson forced out. "You take money from my family because your family's legacy is one step away from rotting in the grave next to your father. You don't get to pull rank on me like you're still calling the shots."

Lionel didn't move. Didn't blink. He just looked up at Hudson with a kind of cold amusement that made my stomach knot.

"I always call the shots," Lionel said voice like frostbite. "The day I take orders from a Frost is the day I let my father crawl out of his grave and drag me down with him."

Hudson scoffed, jaw tightening. "Keep pretending you're still on top, Raymond. Maybe one day you'll even believe it."

Lionel stood slowly, deliberately. Even the henchmen were watching now, their bodies tense and ready, waiting for the order that might never come—or might come too fast for anyone to stop.

Lionel stepped in close. "If you want me to believe you're worth the trouble," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "you'll start by shutting your mouth and letting the real work get done. Otherwise"—his eyes dragged over to me, then back to Hudson—"I'll stop seeing the difference between dealing with you and dealing with him."

Hudson laughed dryly. "I'd like to see you try."

Hudson spun to face me, moving as if he were about to grab something but his hand never quite made it to his pocket. Instead, I watched with wide eyes jerked once, then twice, and froze.

For a moment, I thought he was faking it. But then I saw the shift in his expression. The confusion. The flicker of panic behind his eyes.

He looked down.

Blood bloomed across the front of his shirt, dark and sudden, like ink spilling through white cloth. He staggered back a step, hand pressed to the spreading stain, and looked up at Lionel—not with anger, but disbelief.

"You..." Hudson rasped.

Hudson dropped to one knee, blood pooling at his side, one hand braced on the floor, the other still clutching his gut. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out this time.

Holy shit!

I glanced at Lionel but even he seemed a bit surprised by the whole ordeal.

Because it wasn't Lionel who killed him.

The realization hit me a second before the echo of footsteps did. Everyone in the room turned. The henchman nearest the door reached for a weapon, but he was too slow.

A shot rang out. Loud, sharp, final. The man collapsed where he stood, a clean bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Before the second henchman could even process what happened, another shot echoed, this one tearing through his shoulder and spinning him into the wall before a third put him down for good.

Two men who I didn't recognize entered first, but when I saw a familiar head of curls, I exhaled quietly. They were Arthur's men and standing with them was Manolo.

His eyes caught mine and for a split second, he seemed to relax some. His gaze softened briefly before it flickered to his older brother who, despite everything, seemed surprisingly calm.

"Manny." He smiled. Actually fucking smiled.

The kind of smile that wasn't warm or brotherly, it was sharp and gleaming, a predator baring its teeth just before the bite. Lionel Raymond smiled like he'd just watched a chess piece finally move the way he predicted it would.

Manolo didn't return the smile. He didn't say a word at first. His expression had shuttered the moment he heard Manny. Like someone had flipped a switch inside him and killed the warmth I thought I saw a second ago.

"Get up," Manolo said to me, voice softer.

I sure as hell didn't need to be told twice. My legs were shaky, but I moved. One of Arthur's men stepped closer to me, putting himself between me and the still-warm body of the henchman on the floor.

"Is that how we're doing things now?" Lionel asked, gesturing to the bodies. "Storming in with guns and dramatics? You always were your mother's son."

Manolo's jaw clenched. He stepped forward, keeping me behind him, his voice tight. "Don't talk about her."

"Why not?" Lionel tilted his head, smile thin. "She's the only decent thing either of us ever had, and even she couldn't stand to stay. Funny, isn't it? She left right after Teodoro was born. Like she knew what this place would turn us into."

"She left you," Manolo snapped. "She left him. She stayed long enough to see what kind of monster Dad was turning you into."

"Dad was a monster," Lionel said, almost wistful. "But he taught us how to survive. He gave us a kingdom."

"You mean you. He gave you a kingdom. The rest of us got scraps."

"You didn't want the kingdom," Lionel replied, gaze steady. "You wanted freedom. You wanted to pretend you were better than the rest of us like the blood on your hands wasn't the same shade as mine."

Manolo took a breath through his nose. "You're right. I didn't want it. But that doesn't mean I was okay watching you burn it all to the ground."

"I held it together," Lionel said. "I did everything he would've done. Everything he taught us. The problem is, you always hated what we were born into. But I learned to live with it."

"I lived with it too," Manolo said. "Until I couldn't. Until it was going to kill me—or worse, turn me into him."

"And that's why he never gave you anything," Lionel snapped. "He knew you'd never amount to anything. You and I were raised similarly. We did everything together and yet, somehow, you came out weak. You ran the moment it got hard."

"No. I left because I knew staying meant becoming just like you. Because every time I looked at you, I saw him. I saw how much you wanted to be him."

Lionel's lip curled. "Better to be him than to die pretending you're not."

"That's where you're wrong," Manolo said, stepping closer now, eyes locked on his brother's. "Because I'd rather die on my feet than live crawling through the rot you call a legacy. Look what you're doing to Teodoro! Why the hell would I want to be a part of that?"

"Did we not talk about this last time? Teodoro is capable of making his own choices."

"You're unbelievable." Manolo scoffed.

"I'm the only one keeping this family from falling apart," Lionel continued, his voice a bit louder now as if he could almost convince himself of the truth. "I've held it all together. You left, and I stayed. Someone had to do the work, Manny. Someone had to make sure the Raymond name still had weight behind it. I'm the one who kept it running when everyone else was too weak or too scared to. You deviated from the plan, not me."

For a second, Manolo paused. He blinked and stared at his brother with a look of disbelief. "Is all this because I left? The animosity, the behavior you've been pushing onto Teo?"

"You were supposed to be by my side through thick and thin like we always talked about. Hilda was meant to ground you some, yes, but she changed you far more than I expected. I figured once you were out of that honeymoon phase you'd go back to being my Manny, but then she died and let's face it, you died with her."

Manolo shook his head disbelievingly. "She encouraged me to stand on my own two feet. Something I should have done long before she walked into my life. Maybe then things wouldn't have gotten so bad."

A wave of silence fell over them and against my better judgment, I moved toward Manolo. He pulled me closer as if I were some kind of lifeline.

"I'm sorry you felt abandoned, but I'm not sorry for putting myself back together without you," Manolo finished. The anger that once shined brightly in his eyes had dulled and its place sat pity now. "I looked up to you far more than I did Dad. It's a shame you turned out to be just like him."

Lionel cracked a dry smile. I expected him to say something else, anything, but he didn't.

He wasn't given the chance to.

A gunshot cracked through the air.

Everyone froze.

Manolo's arms tightened instinctively around me, shielding me with his body. Arthur's men raised their weapons, eyes darting to the source of the sound. Lionel staggered back a step, eyes wide in disbelief. His hand rose slowly to the center of his chest.

Dark red bloomed beneath his fingers.

His mouth opened, a choked breath slipping out instead of words. He looked down, then back up at Manolo. Not angry, not betrayed. Just...confused. Like this wasn't how the script was supposed to go.

Another shot rang out.

This time Lionel dropped.

I blinked, stunned, heart thundering against my ribs as I tried to understand what just happened—who just made it happen? Slowly, almost hesitantly, I turned toward the doorway.

Arthur stood there.

His expression unreadable, gun still raised but steady. The room went dead silent again, a different kind of silence this time. Heavy. Final.

"You're welcome," Arthur said simply, lowering his weapon.

Manolo didn't move. Didn't speak. His face gave nothing away, but I could feel the tremor in his hand where it rested against my back.

The other men stepped forward cautiously to confirm Lionel was dead, but no one needed to say it. You could feel it in the air. That strange stillness that only comes after a life has been snuffed out.

And, if I was being honest, it wasn't even Lionel's death that broke Manolo. It was when he finally tore his eyes away from the corpse and spotted a figure hanging around in the back, looking much smaller than I last remembered.

Teodoro.

He had to have come in with Arthur. It was the only explanation I had for why he hadn't spoken up before, but he looked...shattered.

Like something in him had cracked the moment Lionel hit the ground and nothing could quite put it back together again. His eyes were glassy, ringed red, and wide with something that looked a hell of a lot like grief.

An emotional I hadn't even been sure he was capable of feeling before today.

Manolo noticed it too. His hold on me loosened as his gaze zeroed in on his youngest brother.

"Teo," he said softly, like saying the name alone might fix it, might pull Teodoro back from wherever his head had gone.

But Teodoro didn't answer. Just stared at Lionel's body like the world had slipped out from under his feet. When he did finally move, it wasn't toward Manolo but out the door before anyone could stop him.

"Teo!" Manolo called out more urgently, but it was too late.

The damage had already been done.