Shattered Bonds A Second Chance Mate (by Yui) novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220

Blam.

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They came to my room because the council chambers felt too public for the words we needed to speak.

The hall had already been used for the ritual of bread and truth; this was going to be the ritual of planning.

The light here was softer, the rugs newer, the one crooked chair that had once been mine in Florence now bearing the weight of men used to iron and ink.

Here, with the curtains half–drawn and the garden scent drifting through the window, we could say what we meant and watch the faces around us for signs of fear or steel.

Francesco sat with his back to the bed, one arm across my shoulders as if he’d learned overnight that I was something to rest against when the world wanted to lurch.

Alfonso was at the small desk, half–sitting on it with his ledger closed and his gaze like a blade under a cloak.

Audrey leaned in the doorway, always a silhouette, always an edge; Marlow had one knee up on a chair, boots scuffed, looking like a man who only pretended to be comfortable; Monica clasped her hands in her lap, the healer’s worry softening into a look of readiness; and Lira–Lira had arrived like a winter wind and set herself on the footstool, watching the way wolves watch a trapped hare: careful, sure she could catch what tried to get

away.

“This isn’t my place,” Francesco started, and he didn’t look like a man asking for permission.

I raise an eyebrow.

He sounded like a man naming a fact he’d begun to live with.

“Truly our territory,” he corrected quietly, as though saying our aloud claimed it further. “There’s more here I didn’t know–old bargains and worse. Whatever the previous Alpha left behind was not just neglect. It was rot dressed as tradition.”

We all knew the story–how Henri had given up the pack and how, later, this place had been abandoned, its young taken to bring his mate back, its roots eaten by whatever greedy thing prefers covenant to kindness. We’d taken it on because we could not abide a place left hungry. That was the short version that looked good

on paper.

The truth had teeth, and it showed itself when men like Dorian decided to buy rumor with coin and throw it into countries where the poor have long memories.

Marlow nodded. “French Alphas never welcomed us. They spun it into a story the night the rookery burned -the Italian King wants more land, they said. Now they make rumors into arrows.” His voice had the gravel of long roads under it. “Poison the Luna. Kill the witness. Watch the pack wobble. It’s tidy, if you like to work with other men’s tragedies.”

I listened to the men name the enemy and felt something small and fierce in

I walked and stood beside Francesco, letting my shoulder rest against his.

my

ribs.

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Chapter 220

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He wrapped his arm around my back and kissed the top of my head–the small, domestic thing he has given me that always balances the world. The gesture steadied me more than steel ever could.

“New places are never easy,” I said, gathering their attention.

Their faces turned; I felt the weight of their hope and fear like weather.

“I’ve missed being with you In Florence too. I know you worried I’d vanish again. I know the poison–both the bitter taste and the rumor that follows–hurt everyone. But people here are depending on us. They started because they believed we would hold them. To leave now would be cowardice.”

I could see it in their faces–respect, surprise, that little crack of awe some people get when they realize a woman means what she says. We have been poured by long nights into something that looks like a kingdom.

It was easy to forget sometimes how much raw courage such gentle things take.

“Danger is everywhere,” I continued. “Playing nice worked yesterday because warmth was our weapon then. But warmth alone does not intimidate the kind of men who hire hands to stir a poison with a song. They don’t respect shepherds or bakers. They respect only two things: the sharpness of teeth and the measure of your reach.” I looked at Francesco then, my voice softer. “If they want the Lycaon to be a story of ruthless blood, let them. We’ll answer the story with a new chapter–one where warmth has teeth.”

Alfonso scooped a brow. “You want us to trade our bread for blades?” His ledger hit his palm like a small thunderclap–paper and ink that always smelled of diplomacy and lists.

I turn my gaze at him when I answer “No.” I shook my head. “Not trade. Add. Hearth to hammer.” I tapped my finger on the edge of the table. “We continue the warmth–food, shelter, the open ward. That is our root. But above that root we build a wall, and along that wall we post men and wolves who do not smile when coin clinks suspiciously at the tavern table. We teach our people the smell of the fen and the taste of a hum in an egg. We don’t let ruin wear kindness like a cloak.”

Audrey’s lips twitched in a way that almost counted as a grin. “In other words: we stop being velvet and start being iron, too.”

Marlow barked a laugh. “About time. My men were beginning to feel too polite.”

Lira lifted one eyebrow in amusement. “And how does Ellaine suggest we be dangerous without becoming monsters ourselves?” Her voice had that dry humor that always preceded a plan so precise it would leave

scars.

I give her a wide smile “You know how,” I said. “We set baits that catch more than spies. We force the ones who hide behind rumor to walk into the light, and we measure them there. We keep the kitchens open but locked to strangers. We let children keep their cakes, but we sit beside the ovens and teach them how to crack the last egg. We make every stall and every well a watched and honored place. And when we find the hands that stir-”

I let the silence cut like a blade.

“-we make sure our punishment is not poison returned for poison. We set it into law, into labor, into making good. We’ll break their networks, not their spirits.”

Alfonso’s mouth softened. “You’re giving them dignity,” he said, thinking like a ledger man who knows the

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Chapter 220

power of a list. “Turning punishment into restitution. Not all men will like it.”

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“They won’t.” I agreed with a nodded head. “But the people will. And the ones who matter in the long view- those who’ve lost daughters to the fen or sons to old bargains–will stay because we do not make them into spectacles for the fearful to gawk at. They’ll stay because we chose them instead of choosing vengeance like a feast.”

There was a long, quiet moment.

I watched each of their faces–Francesco’s steadying, Alfonso’s calculations cycling through, Audrey’s jaw flexing at a smile too reluctant to come out, Monica’s hands tightening into a knotted promise, Marlow’s grin splitting the line between amusement and the thrill of the hunt. Lira’s lips pressed together like a seam not yet cut. It was enough.

“First step,” Francesco said, voice low but certain, make our gaze turn to him. “we show them our teeth without losing our hands. Patrols increase. No one goes to the well alone after sunset. The stalls stay open,

but

we instate a watch that includes mothers and elders, not only men with spears. We teach the market to sing our story before the rumor does.”

I smile. That’s my Alpha!

“You want the women at the watch?” Monica asked, the healer’s mind already envisioning how hands could be

trained.

“Yes,” Alfonso answered for me. “Mothers know whose steps belong by the river shops. The watchers will be our people–farmers, midwives, cooks–those with eyes on what matters. Not strangers with coin.”

Marlow slammed a palm on the table once, delighted. He looks like a young children just get a new toys. “And we lay traps. Not for killing, but for catching–snare the footprints, pin the threads. If they think to move in by night, we move in first. Let them think twice before they try to suffocate our kitchens.”

“Second step,” I said, leaning forward so my voice was the room’s new gravity. “We take the debate to Dorian’s doorstep. Not by blood, not by insult, but by law. We send emissaries with petitions–lists of the missing, names of the children who gave me cakes, records of our patrols. We make the case so public and so proper that his men cannot hide behind gossip when the square can read what we say.” I paused, thinking. “If we go to him with a hand full of truth and an open ledger, he cannot simply snarl and say we’re weak without showing himself for the bully he is.”

I watch everyone nodded in agreement.

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