The living room was silent, thick with the scent of cigar smoke and old leather. Tyric lounged back in his seat, fingers curled around a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light. Across from him, Eric exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the cigar nestled between his fingers.
"Looks like Tesmee's mission didn't go as planned," Tyric said calmly, lifting his glass. "Tyson had the upper hand. Nearly killed her."
Eric's brows lifted in surprise. "What? She's alright though?"
Tyric nodded once, cool and unreadable. "She's alive. Shaken, probably. But I bet she's learned something."
Eric leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
Tyric continued, "The Hales... they move like a machine in chaos. Alliances, timing, coordination—when things go south, they don't scatter. They pull tighter."
"And Tesmee?"
"She still acts like she's alone," Tyric muttered, eyes narrowed. "She's not. But that old mindset of solo dominance? That'll kill her faster than any bullet."
"I don't think it's easy for her to suddenly trust another mafia," Eric said, his voice low, smoke curling from his lips. "She's been alone most of her life. Moving solo—it's her nature. She's wired that way."
Tyric leaned back, whiskey swirling in his glass, gaze thoughtful.
"Give her time," Eric continued. "But stay by her side. Fight for her—even when she doesn't ask. Especially then."
Tyric glanced at him. "That's no different from being a shadow under her, Father."
Eric's eyes locked on his, something old and burdened flickering behind them. "This isn't about shining together, Tyric. It's about surviving together. Don't let the Michaelsons fall again. Don't fail them... the way I did."
The words hit like a ghost returning home. Tyric cleared his throat, nodding once, firm but quiet.
"I'll see what I can do."
"I've contacted Frank. He said he'll see you by next week," Lorenzo said over the phone.
Tesmee sat by the edge of the pool, legs skimming the water, sunglasses perched low on her nose. "Well… thank you, Lorenzo."
There was a pause.
"Ask, Tesmee. I know there's something you want to say."
She exhaled softly, staring at her rippling reflection. "I was thinking… once this Tyson mess is over—the Hales, all their bullshit—me, you, Diana, Seig, Blake, Vhernom, Lyra, Chan, Tiger… we take a trip. No strategies. No blood. Just peace. Something real. We deserve to breathe freely, just once, after everything."
Lorenzo let out a short scoff. "If we all survive."
Tesmee's voice dropped low, almost like a prayer. "We will… We have to. We'll make it through alive."
"I'd rather be the one who doesn't make it," Tesmee said, her voice firm, almost like a vow. "Because I'm the one most responsible for all of this. If it ever comes down to choosing between my life and yours... I'll choose yours. Every time."
She exhaled deeply, her words heavy with a quiet storm. "I'll do whatever it takes to end this without losing any of you. Lorenzo, if any of this threatens your survival—any of you—it stops. Immediately."
There was silence on the other end, then Lorenzo's voice came low and unwavering. "Tesmee… all of us are bound to this fight. If we go down swinging, so be it. We've accepted that one or more of us might not make it out alive. That's the cost. That's the game."