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My heart started beating faster.

“What does that mean?”

One of my uncles spoke for the first time.

“It means when disputes happen between sets, crews, or families, they are brought to us. When money moves through ports and warehouses, it passes through channels we built. When politicians need neighborhoods to stay quiet, they speak to men who speak to us.”

I stared at him.

“You’re telling me my family runs gangs?”

“We run structure,” my grandfather corrected. “Gangs are reckless. We built order, hierarchy, and an empire that does not crumble because one man gets emotional.”

I looked at my father. “You kept all of that from me?”

“We kept you away from blood,” he said. “You have no idea how many retaliations were postponed because you were alive.”

That shut me up for a second.

My stomach dropped as I tried to understand what he meant.

“How the hell does me being alive stop somebody from going to war?”

“Because your existence gave both families another option,” my grandfather answered. “The Delacroix and Laveau families have not been aligned in decades. There were killings, betrayals, and losses on both sides.”

The name caught my attention.

Delacroix.

“They are not simply a rival family,” my father continued. “They are the European branch of an international network. They have ports in France, real estate holdings across Italy, and shipping routes that move more than luxury goods.”

“So we’ve been at war with them?”

“A cold war,” my uncle answered. “Long, quiet, and expensive.”

My mouth went dry.

“You think marrying me to one of them fixes that?”

“It does more than fix it,” my grandfather said. “It seals it. Blood to blood. Heir to heir.”

I looked at my father and barely recognized the man standing in front of me.

“So this is strategy?”

“This is survival.”

“You’ve survived fine without me.”

“Barely,” he admitted.

That pissed me off more than a lie would have.

“The older generation is dying. The younger men are impatient, and violence is easier than diplomacy. A marriage binds what contracts cannot.”

“So I’m the contract.”

“You are the bridge,” my grandfather corrected.