The relationship between DaVinci and Jefferson was clear: they were a different brand of rival while still close comrades. The silver idiot knew him too well, had made his suspicions, and pinpointed the loopholes in Jefferson's words and demanded explanations as to why the brute would ever try to leave something out in the face of his knowing subleader. Even though their packs were feuding with Inferni, DaVinci knew the three that arrived were not there for pack reasons. Jefferson sighed, giving up. "They're my kids," he mumbled shallowly. "About a year old. I raped and killed their mother at different times. ...Miriette is one of them." He wasn't too keen on admitting it, but that was that. He moved on quickly in the conversation.
Jefferson watched unflinchingly as DaVinci lashed out at a chair in impulsive anger. The cyclops leaned against the wall and glared. "I spoke with Ryan about her, DaVinci. She's under your girlfriend's care. Zana is safe and healthy; you should be grateful. She wouldn't have stayed here even if she could have."
DaVinci muttered something about telling Iskata things, losing his temper, looking for Zana. The Patriarch clearly didn't follow his thought patterns, though he was able to put two and two together and assumed DaVinci had some knowledge on Iskata's death, though Jefferson had been the one to tell him when it was clear it had happened. The cyclops said nothing on this, however, but perked his ears at the sound of Ahren's name. In actuality, the brute hadn't the slightest idea who this "Ahren" was (though the name rang a bell, somehow), and his furrowed brows and shrugging shoulders made it clear that he was clueless and unconcerned.