We’re safe here.
She’s safe here.
My queen.
My consigliere’s daughter.
This is a fucking mess.
But she’s mine now and nothing’s going to change that.
But when we climbed from the helicopter, Dallas took me to one side and placed her hand on my arm. I could feel the sultriness of her palm through my shirt, my hunger for her rising to a deafening howl inside of me.
“Can we not tell him, not yet?” she’d whispered. “I know, it’s not good … sneaking around. And I’ll understand if you want to cut this off—”
“Never,” I growled, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close to me, smashing her body against mine. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t stop this if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. I never will. You’re mine now. Forever.”
“I know,” she’d said quietly, her frantic breathing telling me everything I needed to know about how badly she wanted it, too. “But everything is just spinning out of control and I don’t know if telling Dad right now is the best idea.”
I’d reluctantly agreed, only because I could see the reason in what she said. Gabriel has been my most trusted man since I joined the mob, back when I was a teenager and he was just a kid. The last thing I wanted right now was to throw something like this at him.
Or is that just an excuse?
I don’t know.
All I know for certain is that the Irish can’t get away with this and Dallas is the only woman I’ve ever felt this way about. Everything else is up in the goddamn air.
“Skip?” Gabriel says, tugging me back to the present.
I sigh, looking over the balcony at the well-tended garden, maintained all year round even if we only use this safe house once or twice a year for large gatherings. The lawn stretches to a large stone fountain, cherubs spraying water in the air from their mouths, and on all sides, trees and flowers cast hazy shadows in the setting sun. Poppet lopes up and down the garden, frantically sniffing the flowers, snow-white tail stuck straight in the air.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “It’s war now, my friend.”
Gabriel nods grimly. “Hitting us in Downtown is one thing. But killing two guards at my fucking apartment building? That’s crossing the line.”
“It is,” I sigh, massaging my forehead. “I want you to lead a party into the city and capture two members of the Irish. I want you to bring them to me—alive.”
“Alive?” Gabriel murmurs, a dark note in his voice. “Are you sure about that?”
“Listen,” I growl, leaning forward, laying my trembling fists on the table. “Don’t you think I want to charge into the city and paint the fucking streets in their blood? Don’t you think I want to wring as many necks as I can get my hands on? But we can’t be like the Irish, Gabriel.”
“Oh, what?” he rages, slamming his hand down on the table. “Are you going to tell me we’re better than that?”
“No,” I sigh grimly. “This isn’t some moralistic bullshit. It’s practical. The second we show ourselves to be like them, we can no longer count on the Chief of Police to back us, and without her, we lose our dominance over the city. Or we have to take it back with blood … which brings its own problems. We need to be smart about this.”
“And what about Patty?” Gabriel snarls. “Are we just going to let him get away with this?”
“No,” I say, turning back to watch as Poppet throws herself in the air to try and snap up a dragonfly. “If I have to, I’ll put that bastard in the fucking ground myself.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dallas
“Okay, so I know you’re going to call me a hippy,” Mom says, her voice sounding giddy on my voicemail. “But Cillian and I have decided to do a technology detox. So if you don’t hear from me for the next ten days, that’s why. Please try not to worry. We’re going to go to a cabin in the woods and eat strawberries off each other’s—well, no, it’s not all about the sex, Cillian, I know that. Hey! You better be careful or you won’t be getting anything, strawberries, or no strawberries.”
I sit cross-legged on my silk sheets, the morning sun shafting through the window. Yesterday has already taken on a gloss on unreality as I sit here, the first edition set on the bed before me. My bedroom is absurdly large, more like a queen’s chamber, with its four poster bed and separate lounge area, an ensuite with silver shower heads and heated floors.
I run my hands over the walnut case, a physical reminder that yesterday was real, it happened.
I remember the kiss and the way it felt to have Dom’s mouth between my legs, consuming me, pleasing me, tantalizing me.
A shiver of pleasure moves through my body at the thought and I’m glad Poppet is here, curled up next to me, stopping me from attacking my body with pleasure-minded hands.
I raise my head at the knock at the door. I expect it to be Dad again, checking up on me like he has three times this morning already.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted when you came to visit me,” he said, the last time, eyes downcast, picking at the edge of the dresser with his fingernail. His suit seemed baggier, as though these events were draining him. “But I promise we’ll keep you safe, okay? We’d never let anything happen to you.”
We being Dom and Dad because Dad considers his friend just that, a friend with a friend-of-the-family interest in keeping me safe, nothing more.
“Yes?” I call.
The door opens and my breath catches.
Dom steps in, the first time I’ve seen him since
