The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Chapter 34

Because this isn't just about power anymore.

It's about her.

I push the door open without knocking.

My father looks up from his desk, one brow arched.

He's dressed like always—button-down shirt, gold cufflinks, a neat vest over his chest. His laptop glows. A tumbler of scotch sits to his right, untouched. His hands rest calmly on a stack of documents like nothing outside this room exists.

But it does.

I stand in the doorway, my shadow cutting across the marble.

He says nothing.

Neither do I.

I shut the door behind me. Quiet. Final.

Then I speak.

Voice low. Even. Sharp enough to draw blood.

"Who the fuck tried to kill Aurora?"

He doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. Just slides his glasses off and sets them on the desk with slow precision.

"You walk in here covered in blood and that's your opening line?"

"Yes," I bite. "Because I held her in my arms while she bled out onto the street. And I need to know why."

He leans back in his chair, folds his hands, and regards me.

"You think this was my doing?"

"I think you know more than you're letting on," I growl. "And I'm done sitting quiet like some obedient soldier while my girl takes a bullet meant for a message."

He scoffs. "You think this is about you?"

"No," I snap. "It's about her. And the fact that someone knew exactly where we were. Knew which door she'd come out of. Knew to aim."

My dad's mouth is a thin line.

"She almost died," I say again. "And you—sitting here like this is just another day at the office—"

He slams his hand on the desk, standing sharply.

"Don't confuse composure for apathy."

I grit my teeth.

"Then give me answers."

He stares at me. Long and hard. Then finally he turns, opens a drawer, and pulls out a sleek black folder. Tosses it on the desk between us.

"Two years ago, I shut down a weapons trafficking pipeline tied to the Santori family out of Long Island. We cut them out. Cost them seven million in projected returns."

He opens the folder.

Inside are grainy surveillance photos. License plates. Maps. A profile sheet with a name blacked out and a photo of a man with a snake tattoo curled around his wrist.

"That SUV was registered to one of their shell companies," dad says. "It was cleaned before the cops even traced it."

"You think they were sending a message?"

"They did send a message," he says, his voice dropping to a cold rumble. "They didn't just shoot her. They waited. Made sure she was alone. Made it public."

I grab the folder and stare at the image of the man with the snake tattoo.

"Who is he?"

Dad looks at me carefully.

"One of their enforcers. Operates in shadows. We've never had a clean photo of him until now."

"What's his name?"

He shakes his head. "We don't know."

I laugh darkly. "You're telling me you've had a guy on our radar for years and you don't even know his name?"

"He works under layers. Fake IDs. Operates through intermediaries. But he doesn't miss."

My stomach twists.

"He wasn't aiming to scare her."

My father nods grimly. "No. He was aiming to kill."

The word rings in the air like a gunshot.

"I want everything on him," I say. "Every file. Every whisper. Every location he's been spotted."

He raises a brow. "You planning to hunt him down?"

"I'm planning to end him."

Silence.

Then my father says quietly, "You understand what that means, right? If you go after him, this becomes war."

I step closer to the desk, eyes locked with his.

He holds my stare for a long moment.

Then nods once.

"I'll have the file sent to your room."

I turn to leave.

But just as my hand hits the door—

"Joshuan."

I pause.

His voice is quieter now. Rough.

"I'm glad she made it."

My throat tightens.

Me too.

But I don't say it.

I just walk out—rage simmering beneath my skin, her face burned into my thoughts, and one truth anchoring every step I take:

Someone tried to take her from me.

And they're going to wish they hadn't missed.