“Yeah, and I have to give him a call.” There’s noise in the background. “No, actually, I’m going to visit him and scare the fuck out of him for . . . I need an explanation.”

And so did Malerick, who glances at the folder on his desk, the printed bulletin with Blythe’s old life staring back at him. Not the woman he saw during dinner, but the version of her Winston curated. The polished wife. The trophy. The woman who, according to official records, is an unstable addict in need of supervision.

Bullshit.

And yet, Winston’s playing the long game.

“He’s desperate,” Malerick mutters, almost to himself. “He won’t say it, but he knows this is bigger than just a runaway wife situation. Winston isn’t playing fair. In my experience, he could be setting traps.”

“Fuck.” Gil growls again. “Men like Winston don’t play their own hands. He has a team. Money, influence, and most importantly—he has connections. He plans on getting his wife and destroying any evidence that she was anywhere but close to home. He’ll destroy any loose ends.”

Malerick knows that’s true. Winston wouldn’t be walking into this town unless he’s ready for a war.

“I need to research more,” Malerick states.

Derek doesn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to. Apparently, we already ran his financials last year, back when we were tracking some of the Miami Syndicate’s accounts. He doesn’t work for them. He has ties to them. Winston has at least three offshore accounts tied to shell companies that lead back . . . he’s tied to many, but the Hollow Syndicate too.”

“Are you telling me,” he says slowly, voice edged with something lethal, “that Winston is connected to the same people we’ve been trying to keep the fuck away from Birchwood Springs?”

Derek’s voice is flat. “I’m saying he’s been in their pocket for years.”

Malerick closes his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm.

That changes everything.

Because it means this isn’t just about Atlas or Blythe anymore. This could be another excuse to fuck up the town, his brothers. And if Winston’s move puts them on the radar of another fucking syndicate, then everything they’ve worked toward—everything they’ve been building—is at risk.

Gil finally speaks. “We need to contain this. Now.”

Derek clicks his tongue. “And that means we need a plan.”

Malerick lets out a slow breath. “As I told Atlas, I can slow things down on my end. Buy us time. But that’s not going to be enough. Winston has money, power, and if he has the syndicates with him, he has muscle too.”

Gil’s voice darkens. “Then we make sure his resources are cut.”

Derek hums in agreement. “We’ll start small. Squeeze his resources before he even steps foot in this town.”