His blue-green eyes spark with warmth as he takes in my appearance. I feel his gaze drift over my tattoo and my scars, but the attention doesn’t make my nerves prickle with discomfort like it normally does when people look at my ruined arm. Instead, it sends a small spark of heat shooting through me.
Nothing has happened between us since the morning we found solace and comfort in each other as he kissed away my tears.
But the way he looks at me sometimes… the way I feel when I look at him…
It scares the fuck out of me.
Because it feels real.
As if drawn by my thoughts, Theo steps closer to me. His arm goes around my waist as he tucks a small, escaped strand of hair behind my ear. It’s an embrace that walks the fine line between platonic and so much more, and I find myself leaning into his touch, turning my head to chase the brush of his fingertips.
His hand lingers at my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as he gazes down at me. His blue-green eyes hold more than I could ever hope to decipher, and the silence between us fills with things neither of us are ready to say.
The version of Theo I’ve lived with for the past week is more serious, more somber than the charming man with the laughing eyes I met at Duke’s all that time ago.
I miss that version of him. I hate seeing the light in him so dimmed.
Maybe it’s that thought that spurs me to reach up and grab his hand, cradling it in mine as I turn my head to press a kiss to his palm.
He makes a noise low in his throat, and that small sound somehow manages to travel all the way through my body. When I look back up into his eyes, he threads our fingers together, giving my hand a squeeze.
“Come on. It’s time.”
Ryland meets us downstairs. His suit is pure black, and it fits him perfectly, setting off the deep, rich colors of the tattoos that crawl up his neck all the way to his jawline. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and a shadow of scruff dusts his jaw, making him look just a little disheveled.
His gaze flits down to where Theo’s and my hands are still clasped, and something passes behind his eyes. I can’t quite tell what it is, but it makes my stomach flip over.
Is he angry?
Fuck, I hope not.
Whatever the emotion is, it’s gone before I can identify it, and he nods to both of us before leading the way out to the garage. He takes the back seat with me while Theo gets behind the wheel, and we arrive at a large church in downtown Halston thirty minutes later.
People are already starting to arrive. Well-dressed men and women in expensive-looking black clothes walk up the wide steps leading into the church, and Ryland and Theo fall into place on either side of me as we join them.
Inside the church, the pews are filling up. We end up in one near the front, and as I settle onto the seat, a man with dark hair catches my eye.
Dominic.
He’s on the other side of the aisle, sitting next to an older couple—his parents, maybe?
My pulse jumps, adrenaline flooding my bloodstream as my body prepares for a fight that won’t come. Violence isn’t permitted right now. I know that logically, but the animal part of me looks at Dominic and sees only a threat.
The last time I saw him, he aimed a gun at Ryland. He almost shot Ryland, and it’s impossible for me to think of anything else as I stare at his angular face.
Theo rests a hand on my knee, probably feeling the discomfort pouring out of me. I force myself to draw in a shaky breath as I drag my gaze away from Dominic, sweeping it over the rest of the crowd.
“Michael and Gabriel,” Theo murmurs, inclining his head toward two other men who sit in the middle of the crowd. They’re the ones he said belong to mafia families, and both have dark hair and dour looks.
“And Victoria.” Ryland’s voice is a low rumble, heavy with dislike. I turn my head, my gaze following his.
The woman sitting several rows ahead of us has auburn hair that’s caught in a half-updo. Several long strands tumble down around her shoulders, and when she turns to survey the crowd herself, I get a glimpse of her profile. She has a long, elegant neck, a perfectly straight nose, and high cheekbones. Her face is stunning, honestly, but there’s something cold about her that gives a sharpness to her features. Like she’s been carefully carved out of ice.
“She’s the only woman competing to be Luca’s successor,” Theo tells me quietly.
My eyes widen a little, and I examine the woman more closely. She’s probably not more than a few years older than me, maybe twenty-five at the most. But I wonder if she ever looked childlike or innocent, even when she was an actual child.
Music begins to play, stealing my attention away from Victoria. The song continues as the last several people make their way to their seats, and when it stops, a priest steps up to the lectern on the raised dais.
“Ladies and gentleman, friends and family, thank you for being here with us today as we celebrate the life and mourn the death of Marcus Evan Constantine. He is survived by his loving parents, Norah and Gideon, and although he is no longer with us, his memory will endure in our hearts.”
At the mention of Marcus’s parents, I scan the crowd again. When I see them, I freeze. They’re up at the front, sitting on the other side of the aisle. I can only make out their profiles, but I can see the family resemblance between them and their son—particularly Gideon Constantine. The strong lines of his
