Jax Little POV:
I woke up with a headache that felt like a rusty drill boring straight into my temples.
The room smelled thickly of stale champagne and cheap vanilla perfume.
Catalina was asleep on my chest, her arm thrown heavily over my neck.
I felt a sudden, violent wave of revulsion.
I shoved her off.
She groaned and rolled over, pulling the silk sheets up to her chin.
I sat up and rubbed my face roughly.
I needed coffee.
More than that, I needed to clear my head and figure out how to punish Eliana for the scene she caused yesterday.
She needed to learn that walking away from me wasn't just forbidden—it wasn't an option.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and stalked downstairs.
My mother was sitting at the dining table.
She wasn't eating.
She was staring at a diamond ring resting in the center of her empty plate.
My stomach dropped.
"Where is she?" I asked.
Karen looked up.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
"She's gone, Jax."
I laughed.
It was a dry, humorless sound.
"Gone where? Her parents' house? I'll go drag her back."
"She's gone," Karen repeated coldly.
"And the Carters are gone."
I froze.
"What do you mean, 'the Carters are gone'?"
"They transferred," she said.
"Your father is in a meeting with the Capos right now."
"The Commission approved the transfer to the Tran Syndicate in New York."
She paused, her gaze hardening.
"Because of you."
"Because you couldn't keep your zipper up and your property in line."
"No," I said.
"That's impossible."
"New York wouldn't take them. It breaks the truce."
"They took them because the Carters offered them fifty percent of their shipping routes," she said.
"To buy Eliana's freedom."
I turned and stormed toward the study.
I slammed the door open.
I went to the secure archives concealed behind the false wall.
I pulled the heavy leather ledger for the current month.
There it was.
In stark red ink.
The Carter Family: Terminated.
Status: Transferred.
Protection: Tran Syndicate.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
She didn't just leave me.
She defected.
She had cut the strings.
I slammed the book shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the silent room.
Did she think a few hundred miles and a new flag could protect her?
Did she think she belonged to New York now?
She was wrong.
She had worn my ring on her finger for three years.
She carried my mark on her soul.
She could run to the ends of the earth, and she would still be mine.
