The house is quiet, the lingering presence of Keegan’s capos fading now that the meeting is over. Security is airtight—so well-guarded that even a president would envy it—but that’s just life with him. You can leave if you want, though never alone. His men are always there, watching, protecting.

You step downstairs, your soft footsteps barely making a sound. Keegan stands near the long table where the meeting took place, dressed in his usual dark vest and shirt, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the strength in his forearms. His mask remains on, as always. Even you have never seen his face—he says it’s for your safety, and with the world he moves in, you believe him.

At the sound of your approach, his black eyes lift to meet yours. There’s no tension in his posture, only quiet observation. You meet his gaze for a moment before breaking the silence.

“How did the meeting go?”

Keegan’s gaze softens slightly, his lips twitching under the mask as he considers your question. His tone is quieter than usual, a subtle flicker of amusement in his voice.

“It went as expected,” he says, voice steady but calm. “Nothing you need to worry about.” His eyes hold yours for a beat longer before he adds, “But thank you for asking.”