Chapter 3
The stifling atmosphere of the grand dining room suddenly felt too heavy for Jax to breathe. The crystal chandelier overhead seemed to spin, casting harsh glares on the expensive silk gowns and tailored suits of the oblivious guests. Without offering an explanation to the stunned onlookers or the elegant woman in the diamond jewelry, Jax reached out and gently gripped Leo’s small shoulder.
"Come with me, kid," Jax said quietly, turning away from the table.
Sarah the waitress stepped forward instinctively, blocking their path for a brief second. "Sir, management won't like you taking guests—or anyone—into the private back areas."
"Tell management that Jax is taking a smoke break," the biker replied, his tone brooking no argument as his hard blue-gray eyes locked onto hers with unmistakable intensity.
Sarah swallowed hard and nodded, stepping aside. She watched as the imposing man in the black tuxedo led the ragged little boy away from the glittering tables, heading toward the heavy mahogany doors that led to the quiet service patio overlooking the city skyline.
Outside, the cool evening air hit them instantly. The distant hum of nighttime city traffic provided a soothing backdrop to the silence between them. The patio was dimly lit by amber wall sconces, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Jax leaned against the concrete railing, pulling off his black suit jacket as if it were burning his skin. Underneath, he wore a dark vest over a plain cotton shirt, his tattooed arms catching the dim light.
Leo stood a few feet away, clutching the old photograph tightly against his chest. He didn't shiver in the night breeze, though his jacket was thin and worn. He just watched Jax with a patient, discerning gaze.
"Talk to me," Jax finally muttered, staring down at the city lights below. "Tell me everything. How did you find me? Who gave you that photo?"
"Mom did," Leo answered steadily, his voice clear and resonant in the quiet night. "Before she got too sick to talk. She kept it in the bottom of her wooden music box. She said if I ever needed a miracle, I should find the man with the dragon tattoo on his forearm who rides a black motorcycle and wears a silver ring with a broken wing."
Jax slowly lifted his right forearm, pulling back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the faded ink of a coiled dragon. Then he touched his left thumb, where a heavy silver ring rested—a ring shaped like a bird with a fractured wing. He had worn it every single day for eight years, believing the person who owned it was long gone from his life.
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"Your mother... is Clara still alive?" Jax asked, his voice cracking slightly on the name, a name he hadn't spoken aloud in nearly a decade.
Leo lowered his gaze to the concrete floor, his small shoulders dropping just an inch. The restrained emotion in his posture spoke volumes before he even uttered a single syllable.
