Carlo hisses, sucking in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t look away.
“You’ll carry that back to Romero,” I murmur. “You’ll show him the mark of my family and tell him that the next time one of his dogs touches her, I’ll take the hand that does. The time after that, I’ll take the man himself, and I’ll deliver their head on a silver salver.”
I press the blade to his throat. “And if he’s stupid enough to keep pushing me with goons like you, I’ll remind him why the Moretti name used to make men like him bleed before they even opened their mouths.”
Carlo shudders and looks away.
“Franco.” No need for more words, my brother knows what to do.
Franco steps forward and takes his turn in burying his fist deep into Carlo’s ribs. The sound of air rushing out of him is sharp, violent, and oh so satisfying.
“That’s for touching her,” I murmur. “Be grateful that’s all you get.”
Anthony cuts the ropes from his wrists and ankles. Carlo slumps forward, coughing, one hand instinctively cradling his stomach.
I grab his chin, forcing his gaze up to mine one last time. “Walk back to Romero’s with my warning carved into your skin. Make sure he sees it.”
Carlo hesitates, panting hard, then nods once.
Anthony shoves him toward the door, Franco and Mace flanking him on either side. The heavy steel door groans open and slams shut behind them, leaving only silence and the faint metallic tang of blood in the air.
Anthony lingers in the shadows. “He’ll run straight back to Romero, but I doubt he’ll listen to the warning. You went a little easy on him.”
“For now.” But my restraint would only last so long. My grip tightens around the knife before I flick it shut. “I want them to think we’ll not strike as hard as we once did. That we’re all talk, it’ll only make it more satisfying when Romero and his mob find out that they were wrong.”
“You know Romero,” Anthony says carefully. “Fear doesn’t stop him. It fuels him. He’ll enjoy going down in a blaze of glory.”
I glance over, meeting his gaze. “Then we’ll burn him out before we get singed.”
Anthony studies me, jaw tight. “This path? There’s no going back from it.”
“There was no going back the moment he put his hands on her,” I mutter. I didn’t want to return to this world, but I would if it meant keeping those under my protection safe. I would do it for any of my brothers or those who work for me. None of them deserves to be harassed by goons who had nothing better to do with their lives than abuse others.
But to touch Briar has sparked an anger in me that’ll not be doused. Only retaliation of the same kind is the currency in which this game is played.
Anthony exhales, nods once. “Understood.”
“My brothers know what’s being asked of them and they understand,” I add, sliding the knife into my pocket. “If Romero wants to drag us back into his world, I’ll remind him why it was better that we’d stayed away.”
Anthony claps a hand to my shoulder before turning away, his boots echoing across concrete as he disappears into the night. The warehouse goes quiet. I breathe deep, steadying the hum of adrenaline beneath my skin, but it doesn’t settle. Not this time. Not when Briar’s name has already been dragged back into Matteo Romero’s orbit.
I picture her pale against the pillows in my loft, stubborn as hell even through the pain, and something sharp twists in my chest. She doesn’t belong in this world. She shouldn’t be anywhere near it. That she walked into this life while on vacation in Spain, was a cruelty reserved for no one and not something anyone would choose willingly.
But Romero dragged her into the fire anyway, lied to her, led her to believe he was something he wasn’t.
A good person.
And now he’ll pay for that lie.
TWELVE
BRIAR
The past few days felt…different.
Lucien hasn’t said anything outright, but something has shifted in him. He’s on his phone more than usual, always texting or taking calls in low, clipped tones, his jaw tight like he’s grinding back curses. He rarely leaves for the office, preferring to work from home. I do the same, since I’m his PA and we’ve fallen into a routine that feels awfully intimate. His gaze sweeps every room we enter, always assessing, always watching. He doesn’t tell me why, but I know the reason.
But he’s also…gentler with me. Softer somehow.
