CHAPTER 213: DON’T MAKE ME

Ivy shook her head, backing away slightly. "Don’t make me, please." Her eyes glistened with tears, pleading with him not to force her into the past she barely survived.

"Ivy..." Winn swallowed hard, his own eyes rimmed red. "Then just nod or shake your head. That’s it. That’s all I need."

She stared down at the gravel, unable to meet his eyes.

"You were pregnant," he said softly.

Ivy nodded.

The tears spilled before she could stop them.

Winn inhaled sharply, the sound agonizing.

"You had her," he continued.

Another nod. Her knees wobbled.

"She didn’t make it?" he whispered.

Ivy couldn’t even summon the strength to nod. Her whole body folded. She collapsed onto the gravel, hands shaking, sobs ripping out of her.

Winn lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground fully. He dropped to his knees with her, pulling her into his arms. Her sobs tore through the night, echoing across the quiet estate.

And Winn held her.

For Ivy, it felt... freeing. Mourning with the one person who actually understood.

But for Winn... it was something else entirely.

Ivy didn’t see when grief shifted into devastation, then into a hollow, soul-deep collapse. She didn’t see the exact second something inside him snapped.

He held her tightly, stroking her back, whispering her name against her hair.

But behind his eyes?

Winn Kane was completely, irreparably finished.

He had lost a child he didn’t even know he had.

A daughter.

A daughter who had carried his name.

Who had been waiting for him.

And he never even got the chance to meet her.

Ivy cried loud, clutching his shirt. Her cry was a full-bodied, soul-deep rupture. Winn felt her nails through the thin cotton of his shirt, felt the violent tremble in her chest, and every second of her agony stabbed at his heart with the cruelty of a serrated knife—uneven, merciless, punishing.

Winn pulled her even closer, burying his face in her hair as if he could shield her from a world that had already taken too much. Ivy shook harder, clinging as if he were the only solid thing left in her hurricane.

Sam finally reached them. He had moved faster than any man with a bad hip had a right to move. And without a single word spoken, just by seeing them, he knew. His old eyes softened, the lines on his weathered face deepening with a pain he didn’t try to hide.

He understood the cry of a parent—had lived long enough to recognize the heartbreak of a father losing what he cannot protect, the devastation of a mother mourning what she still hopes to find.

He tapped Ivy gently on the back. "Come on, baby," he murmured. "Let’s go inside, love."

Sam signaled to one of the guards. The man stepped forward immediately. Winn felt Ivy’s grip slip reluctantly from his shirt as the guard took her weight, helping her back inside the house. She staggered once, catching herself on the guard’s arm.

Winn stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, feeling as if someone had scooped out his insides. Sam remained with him.

"It’s okay," Sam said quietly. "You don’t have to lock it in. It’s okay to cry. All fathers do."

Winn blinked hard, but tears still fell...quick, hot, unwilling. His throat burned. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore—didn’t know if he was a man, a wreck, or something in between. But in that courtyard, beneath the light of the moon, the man in front of him wasn’t Sam anymore.

Somehow, impossibly, he was George. His grandfather.

Winn’s chest caved inward with a quiet, shuddering inhale.

And then he threw his arms around Sam.

Sam, balancing on his cane, reached out with his free hand, pulling Winn close with surprising strength.

"Easy, boy," Sam murmured. "It’s alright. Let it out."

Winn did.

He sobbed. Loud, messy, shaking so hard Sam had to tighten his arm around him to keep them both standing.

"That’s it. Breathe. I’ve got you."

And for the first time in a long time, Winn believed someone actually did.

*****

The next day, Winn headed to Commissioned. Today, though, Winn wasn’t here for fun. His steps were heavy, focused. He wasn’t the man who came here for distraction.

Today, he just needed to see someone.

Reese followed closely behind—broad shoulders tense, jaw locked, one hand inside his jacket as he scanned every corner.

They were met by two men. Tattoos crawled up their necks, shirts half-buttoned, pistols visible. The guards recognized Winn instantly.

"Boss is downstairs," one of them grunted, stepping aside.

The underground office was colder, soundproofed to keep secrets from wandering. A zodiac of expensive liquor decorated the shelves. Heavy cigar smoke curled lazily in the air.

Luca sat like a king in the center of it all—legs spread casually, fingers adorned in rings. His men lounged around him, but their eyes missed nothing.

"Mr. Kane!" Luca greeted. "Whenever I see you, it is always trouble."

"Hi, Luca. I don’t bring trouble this time."

"Oh?" Luca leaned back.

"Remember that favor you asked of me last year," Winn continued.

"Yes," he said slowly.

"I’m here to cash in on it," Winn said.

"I thought we were square," Luca said. "You told me not to kill the man because your girl wouldn’t like that. I spared him. I don’t spare people who hurt my business, Mr. Kane."

"Fine," Winn said. "Then I will owe you a favor."

Reese made a soft choking sound behind him, as if he wanted to grab Winn by the collar and shake sense into him.

Luca’s smile widened slowly. "Is that truly what you want?" he asked with a chuckle. "To owe me a favor? I am the devil, Mr. Kane."

"Whatever you want," Winn assured him. Grief, rage, guilt... they all simmered beneath Winn’s skin.

Luca nodded slowly, wolfish amusement flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said, steepling his fingers. "Let’s talk business."

Winn slid his phone out of his pocket and placed it gently on the table. "I need to find these men." He swiped, revealing the blurry images Evans had sent him—two men, grainy faces, shadows masking most of their features.