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No greeting. Straight to business.

Mom would hate it. She’d spent years teaching us that normal people exchanged pleasantries before discussing work. That pretending to be socially adjusted was an important life skill.

Right now, though, I appreciate Uncle Duncan’s straight-to-the-point attitude.

“What’s the update?”

My gaze drifts toward the hallway leading to my office.

“Manny should be back by the end of the week,” Duncan says. “I am setting up a meeting with him on Saturday.”

My attention snaps back to the phone. “Where and what time?”

I’m honestly surprised my phone hasn’t cracked yet. Anger churns beneath my skin, hot and vicious. Everything Jaxon endured. Everything his mind is still putting him through. The need to make someone pay claws its way through me. I want to tear Manny apart and watch him bleed out slowly.

“I would tell you that it’s not a good idea for you to be there. But for one, you wouldn’t listen, and second, Manny wants Jaxon there.”

For a second, I can’t process the words. Then I do, and my vision goes red. Every muscle in my body locks. The hand holding my phone tightens until the plastic creaks.

Manny wants Jaxon there. After everything. The cage, the fights, after the panic attacks I spent half the night helping him through.

“Fuck no.” The words scrape out between clenched teeth. “He’s never laying eyes on Jaxon again.”

I don’t care what Manny wants. I don’t care what deal he thinks he’s entitled to make. Jaxon isn’t a bargaining chip. He isn’t property. And he sure as hell isn’t stepping foot anywhere near that man.

Silence greets my outburst. Uncle Duncan lets me burn through the initial wave of anger. Then he delivers the part he knows I’m not going to like.

“That’s the deal if you want Jaxon totally out of this mess.”

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. I turn toward the hallway leading to my office.

Toward the closed door. He’s been in there for three hours trying to put himself back together. Trying to heal. And now Manny wants him brought back into this.

“No.” My voice is calmer this time, which is far more dangerous.

“Find another way.”

“Conor—”

“Find. Another. Way.” Because as far as I’m concerned, Jaxon has already paid enough.

“There isn’t another way unless you want us to go to war with the mafia.” Uncle Duncan’s tone remains irritatingly calm. Matter-of-fact. Like we’re discussing weather patterns instead of Jaxon’s future.

“Our involvement is already known,” he continues. “That’s what would happen.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Trying and failing to contain my irritation. Going to war isn’t the problem. If it came to that, every man in my family would be loading weapons before the conversation was finished. The problem is Jaxon. What would this do to him?

The thought of asking him to stand in front of Manny again makes something ugly twist in my chest. “Absolutely not.”

“Conor.”

The warning in Duncan’s voice is subtle. Which means it’s real.

“Talk to Jaxon.”

I look toward the hallway again. Toward the office. Toward the man currently trying to put years of trauma into words.

“Let him decide.”