Justin POV
The leather seat felt colder than it should’ve, or maybe it was just me. Liam sat beside me, looking ahead, one leg bouncing ever so slightly. His dad’s driver was silent, the engine humming low as we cut through the early morning traffic.
I glanced sideways at Liam. He didn’t look nervous. Not like me. He looked focused—sharp even, like he already had the entire conversation mapped out in his head. I wish I had that clarity. But all I had was a restless mind and a tightening in my chest.
“We’ll just talk,” Liam had told me before we got in the car. “Just explain what happened, and let him help.”
But it didn’t feel that simple. Not to me.
This wasn’t just about what happened anymore—it was about who I was dragging into it. Uncle Edward. The man Liam called dad, and I called uncle, though we shared no blood. He was someone I respected more than most people in my life. Going to him with this… whatever this mess was—it felt like crossing a line.
But what choice did I have?
I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes closing for a second. Just a second.
Liam finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “You okay?”
I opened my eyes again. Nodded, even if it wasn’t entirely true.
“No,” I admitted. “But I know we need to do this.”
He gave a small nod, the kind that said he understood. Of course he did. He always did.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking into something bigger than we knew. And somehow… I had the sinking feeling that after this talk, nothing was going to be the same again.
My ribs throbbed with every breath. The cut on my shoulder still burned. But none of it compared to what was crawling under my skin now.
Panic.
Not loud or dramatic-but the quiet kind. The kind that crept up your spine and settled in your chest, heavy and cold. I hated that I felt it.
To distract myself, I pulled out my phone. Scrolled through the social media updates. Just something. Anything. Mindless scrolling. Pretty people. Dumb captions. That's what I needed right now.
I swiped it away, moved to Twitter. Nothing. News. Jokes. Lia's name wasn't there, but somehow, everything reminded me of her anyway.
Back out. Home screen.
And then-almost without thinking-l opened the browser and typed: Cole & Whitmore Strategic Risk and Intelligence Group.
The words stared back at me.
I blinked, like I wasn't the one who typed it.
I didn't even know what I expected to see. A company page? A list of accomplishments? Maybe some proof that the man Liam insisted we visit-Uncle Edward-was still just that.
Founded in 1989 by Carlton Cole and longtime associate Edward Whitmore, Cole & Whitmore Strategic Risk and Intelligence Group is a premier provider of discreet security consulting, advanced surveillance technologies, and global risk management services. With headquarters in New York and satellite offices in D.C., London and Geneva, the firm became one of America's most sought-after names in private security and global risk intelligence.
The articles were sparse. Clean. Too clean. One page talked about "private intelligence consultancy" and "international threat assessment."
Another about "strategic political negotiation support." Fancy ways of saying: they know everything, and they're very good at not being known.
One link mentioned a closed case in Eastern Europe. Another talked about "former government affiliations" and "discreet asset recoveries."
I scrolled further. Past the polished headlines. Past the neat blurbs.
And then I saw it-just a brief mention, a comment under an old news article. Nothing official. Just a whisper.
"Cole & Whitmore? They don't just clean up messes. They bury them."
I locked the phone and dropped it on my lap like it burned.
The silence in the car stretched.
"You okay?" Liam asked without looking.
No.
"I will be," I lied.
He gave a small nod. Said nothing more. But his grip tightened slightly on the wheel.
I leaned my head back against the seat, exhaling slowly, chest still tight.
Cole & Whitmore wasn't just a name.
It was a warning.
A few minutes later
Justin POV
We were already seated. The dining room was exactly how I remembered it sharp corners, straight lines, polished everything. The kind of space where nothing was ever out of place. Not even emotions.
Edward Whitmore sat at the head of the table like he was born there. Still. Quiet. Watching.
He wasn't intimidating in the loud, overbearing way. He didn't need to raise his voice to command a room hell, he didn't even need to move. Just being in his presence felt like you were sitting in front of an open file with your sins printed in bold.
"You look thinner," he said finally, voice flat. "You're either not eating properly or you're too damn anxious to remember how."
I didn't answer. Mostly because he wasn't wrong.
Liam huffed beside me, blowing on his soup dramatically. "He's been eating. Junk, sure, but it's still technically food. You know he likes those sad instant noodles."
Uncle Ed didn't even blink. "Those 'sad instant noodles' are going to rot your gut by the time you're thirty."
"You sound like the doctor," Liam muttered.
"I am your doctor," he replied dryly, "considering I'm the only one who actually gives a damn if either of you make it to thirty."
His words were like ice and yet, beneath the frostbite, there was a pulse of something... warmer.
Maybe it was the way he said it. The way he didn't look at us while saying it.
Liam chuckled, chewing a breadstick like nothing was wrong in the world. "Now that's the Edward Whitmore affection I missed."
I stayed quiet.
Still hadn't touched my soup.
Uncle Ed noticed.
"Eat." he said, with no room for negotiation. A few moments later he leaned back, eyes still pinned on me. "Justin, you know right, I'm here for you, always."
I looked up to him, gulping down a breath I'd been holding since the drive.
"Tell me. Everything."
Taking a deep breath, I began, "They were in black. Faces masked. Eyes like they'd kill me with a single look."
He listened to me carefully as if printing every detail into his mind.
I continued. "They were clearly intended to kill me. But they were just amateurs. Testing. That's it."
"And the next time?" he asked smoothly.
"What if it's not amateurs? What if it's more than 2; next time maybe 10 or 100...?"
Silence stretched thin between us. My fingers drummed against my knee under the table, barely moving, but I could feel Liam glance at me from the side.
I inhaled a sharp breath. "I didn't call because I didn't want to drag you into it."
Uncle Ed's fingers curled once against the tablecloth, the only sign of tension he allowed himself. "You boys think you're men because you fight back. But war isn't won in broken bones and bleeding carpets. It's won with information. With control."
His voice lowered - just a little.
"Next time," he said, "you call. I don't care if it's one man or ten. You call me. Understood?"
I nodded twice.
"I raised you both to survive," he said.
"Not to be reckless. You don't walk alone when the wolves are hunting."
He picked up his spoon, took one sip of the soup, and added - almost too quietly to hear:
"I already buried one friend in this war. I won't bury either of you."
The table went silent.
Even Liam.
I stared at the ripples in my bowl, heartbeat steady but heavy.
Because the thing about Edward Whitmore was...
He didn't speak often.
But when he did - it stayed with you.
A few hours later
Justin POV
"Carlton never wanted to let you know, that he was the leader of the American mafia."
I was listening carefully to Uncle Ed's words. Liam was downstairs, on a call with Ryan, informing him all about yesterday. Uncle Ed and I are currently standing besides the balcony of the guest room, slightly leaning towards the railing. Only Uncle Ed, Liam, Ryan, Andrew and my family know that I belong to the most feared and dominated American underworld mafia.
I was barely three when dad died. Barely able to speak, barely walking straight—and yet I remember him.
I remember how safe I felt in his arms. I remember the scent of his leather jackets, his cigars, his cologne.
I remember how everyone used to stop speaking when he entered a room—how their laughter would die down in an instant. I thought it was respect. Now, I realize… it was fear.
As a child, I thought my dad was a superhero.
Now I find out he was the monster every other monster feared.
And still… I can’t hate him. I don't even want to.
Because in those three short years, he was soft with me. He held me when I cried. He called me champ and tiger. He took me on late-night drives where he’d talk to me like I was his equal, like I was someone who could someday carry a legacy I didn’t understand.
And maybe now I do.
Was that why Uncle Ed raised me, fulfilling dad's place in my life, away from that world? Was it to protect me—or to erase my dad from me?
Because no matter how clean I try to be, the truth is—Carlton Cole lives somewhere in me.
And I don't know if that scares me more… or excites me.
"Dad really wanted me to take over the mafia after him?" I asked Uncle Ed, with a low cautious voice. I already know the answer would be 'yes', yet somehow my heart wasn't ready to accept it.
"He was scared."
My head shot up to him with a questioning look. A whole ocean of thoughts flooded my mind. There were thousands of questions. At this moment, I was as confused as hell. And the only man who knows each and every moment from the past, each and every enemy organizations working against dad to put him down and each and every person's relations with dad who knew him; is Uncle Ed.
"When Carlton and your mother conceived you, they were both happy about it. Your mother was the happiest." He chuckled, as if his mind was drifting him away from the present to those days... "I still remember she even used to ignore Carlton all day long just to talk to you and that too from the third month. And poor Carlton used to come to me and complain about her wife's ignoring behavior."
My eyes glistened with unshed tears. Not because of the treatment mom gave to dad during her initial pregnancy. But because of the bond my parents shared. Because of the love, trust and comfort they shared with each other.
Uncle Ed continued, "He was scared because...
This chapter was a turning point—dark truths, deeper bonds, and the weight of a legacy Justin never chose. It only gets more intense from here.
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