“What if I win?”

“What if?” Landon echoed. There was a challenge in his voice.

“When I win,” I corrected, “what does Franks get out of it?”

“He’ll get oversight of all the caviar business in Seattle, New York, LA, and Chicago,” Landon said. “The feuding between the Italians stops, which is good for business in general, and the Russians get their asses out of Chicago altogether and act as Franks’ supplier overseas.”

As I processed this information, my mind cleared a little. Though we hadn’t had such a conversation in many years, it was familiar territory.

“Who’s in from New York and LA?”

“Grant Chambers,” he said. “He’s big in the arms trade in New York. There’s also Maria Hill in LA, who’s been having problems with the heroin business since the war broke out.”

“Don’t know her,” I said. “I remember Chambers.”

“She’s not been involved in the tournaments before,” Landon confirmed, “but she’s pissed off enough at Greco and Moretti to get involved. Most of her business has been with Latin America—coke and the like. She also hates the Russians and wants them out of the picture.”

“So three from Chicago, one from LA, one from New York, and me. Six players.”

“Small game,” Landon said with a nod. “And only one who is of any concern.”

“Who is that?”

“Moretti’s man,” Landon said. “I’ll let you do your own research, and you can tell me what you think.”

“You are assuming I’m going to agree to this,” I said. Even as I gave voice to my observation, I knew he wouldn’t be here if there was any choice involved.

“You are.”

There was one question I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

“What if I refuse?”

“Well, who knows what will happen to the kid?” Landon asked with a slight shrug. “He’s technically Franks’ nephew or whatever, so he could end up living with him. Then again, maybe Franks doesn’t want a kid. Maybe he’ll get rid of him, foster care or whatever.”

I swallowed hard as the muscles in my arms tightened.

Not my kid. No fucking way will that happen to my kid.

“I know for a fact that he’d get rid of you and your little piece of Ohio-born tail.”

I knew the threat was coming; I didn’t really have to ask. Hearing it still sent my mind spinning. Most of me didn’t care if Franks decided to have me killed, and Landon knew that. Threatening Raine, though—that was a whole other thing. Threatening a child I didn’t even know shouldn’t have mattered to me, but it did.

A lot.

I guess I wasn’t a heartless bastard after all.

The server dropped off the bill when Landon indicated we didn’t want to entertain the idea of dessert. I hadn’t managed to eat my meal, anyway. Landon leaned back in his chair, handed a stack of cash to the server, and looked across the table at me.

“Well?” he said simply.

“You say that like I’m being given some kind of choice,” I spat back at him.

“You aren’t,” Landon acknowledged, “but I like to give you the illusion.”

“Thanks a lot,” I mumbled with a low growl.

“You have every reason to win,” he said. “You’ll get the kid you wanted, and you’ll have the girl. I’ll also make sure you’re never asked to do anything like this again. I’ll get you set up far away—some place all of you can live and be happy together. You’ll have everything you ever wanted, and no more fighting, but you have to do this one last time.”

“One last time,” I repeated.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I tried to come up with any way to get out of this, but my mind drew a blank. Landon wasn’t one to skip any details, and he wouldn’t have approached me until there were no options left. It was probably why Jillian and her husband were dead—just so he could be sure he had more leverage over me than just Raine, as if threatening her wouldn’t have been enough.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been. Knowing they could hurt Raine would have given me time to get her and take off. We’d be on the run, but I could have still protected her. I would have tried, at least, but with my kid out there somewhere, orphaned? Landon had played me perfectly.

“One week from today,” Landon informed me, “we’ll all meet. You, me, Franks, the other bosses, and the competition will be at a location south of Miami. I’ll send you all their names so you can check them out ahead of time. John Paul is going to beef up your training a little now, but as soon as we’re done with the pow-wow, you come with me for real training.”

“Why can’t John Paul do it?” I asked.

“Because Franks wants you,” Landon said simply.

“He’s hoping I’m going to lose?”

“No, he’s counting on you to win. Despite what you did in the past, you’ve never come close to being beaten in the fights. He needs you. Why do you think he let you live?”

I leaned my head back and stared up at the fans attached to the ceiling. I didn’t have a choice; I knew that. My mind didn’t know what to focus on first—the idea that I was going to fight again, the threat against Raine, or the fact that I had a son out there somewhere.

“Where is he?” I asked quietly. “Where’s my kid?”

“Still in Italy,” Landon replied.

“He’s safe?”

“For now.”

“What’s his name?”

Landon stared at me coldly for a moment.

“Alexander,” he finally said. “I believe he’s typically called Alex.”

Alex. The name floated around in my head for a bit. I put the dates together and realized he’d be in the first grade by now.

“I have another appointment,” Landon said as he stood up. “I’ll be in touch with your training schedule.”

“What do I tell Raine?” I asked.

“I really don’t give a shit.” Landon walked by me without another word.

I watched him walk off, turn the corner, and head up the street before I made my own way back toward South Pointe Drive. My fake calm dissolved immediately as I headed away from Landon and down the street—straight to the door of Bar Crudo. The more my mind raced, the more desperate I became.

There’s no way out of it.

I was going to have to fight—no question about it. Landon didn’t make idle threats, and if I refused, Raine would pay the price. God knows what would happen to Alex.

I was dizzy as I sat on one of the tall barstools, grateful for the high back. I leaned against it, but the dizziness turned to nausea, so I leaned forward again with my head spinning. With my eyes closed, I took several deep breaths, but I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

I have a son.

Holy fuck, a son.

The bartender approached. It was the same guy who was always there during the week in the early evenings. A deeply tanned couple sucked martinis through straws and made googly eyes at one another. There was only one other person down at the end of the bar. He was also tan with tattoos running up one arm and a pair of Ray Bans balanced on the back of his neck. He had a glass of something caramel colored perched between his fingertips. I probably would have recognized him if my mind hadn’t been in such a state.

I stared down at my hands on the bar as they twitched and shook.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.

I shook my head but didn’t look at him. I twisted my fingers around themselves on the counter top and stared at nothing.

My throat was dry. I swallowed over and over again, but it didn’t help. Everything inside of me came crashing down over my body, sending a shudder through every muscle. I squeezed my eyes shut, but that didn’t help what was going on inside my head. I opened my eyes to find myself staring at the row of bottles on the shelf.

I can’t deal with this.

The couple who had been sitting to my left got up and wrapped their arms around each other as they sauntered out. The guy at the end ordered another scotch. When the bartender came back to my side of the bar, he wiped down the counter and grabbed a tip that had been left nearby. He stopped in front of me and again asked if there was anything I wanted.

“Vodka,” I heard myself say. “A…a shot of vodka.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender responded, obviously surprised. I couldn’t blame him for that, though—I’d been coming in here for months without ordering anything.

I motioned with one hand up to the top shelf of the bar.

“The good stuff,” I said quietly.

“You got it.”

He placed the shot glass in front of me, and the clear liquid sloshed slightly for a moment before settling. I ran my finger around the edge of the glass before wrapping my hand around it.

Another tournament.

A fight to the death.

Winning meant protecting Raine and being united with my son.

I have a son.

Fuck me.

I gripped the little glass. It was quite a bit bigger than a single ounce shot and filled nearly to the top. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I tried another deep breath, but it came out in a shuddering gasp.

It will calm me down, I told myself.

Raine’s voice rose above all the other turmoil in my brain.

“I can’t be with that man, Bastian.”

She wouldn’t like this. Understatement of the fucking century. I started to release the glass, but I didn’t quite manage to get my fingers off of it. The tips remained as if they were glued there.

She doesn’t have to know…just one.

My vision blurred. I couldn’t swallow anymore—my throat was too dry.

“You aren’t that person anymore, Bastian.” Raine's voice echoed through my head again.