His eyes flare—just slightly, but I see it. “You need to stop threatening me,” he hisses. “I merely had a conversation with the ex yesterday. She was my wife. And I do miss her. She was a sweet little thing to look at. Still tastes sweet too.”
Before the words even register, my fist connects with his nose. The crack echoes off the walls. He staggers backward, nearly falling, catching himself on the table. He wipes blood off his face and spits it onto the floor.
“You think one punch will stop me?” he sneers. “Tasting Briar yesterday lit a fire in me you’ll never put out. I’ll have her again, no matter what you do. I’m a Romero. I don’t take orders from a Moretti.”
My voice drops to a deadly whisper. “You so much as breathe near her again, and it will be the last breath you take.”
Romero’s smirk twists. “Are the Moretti’s back in the extermination business? I thought you were all clean and respectable now. How very disappointing.”
Oh, it’s disappointing. No one knows that more than me. But I will make an exception. A permanent one. “Think very carefully about what I said,” I murmur. “If you think I’m joking, that would be unwise.” I turn and walk away. Stephen follows, and we step into the elevator minutes later, leaving Romero behind us.
“Do you think he’ll listen?” Stephen asks once the doors slide shut.
“No,” I say. “He won’t. But I’ll deal with him.”
“You don’t want anyone else involved?”
“No.” I’m adamant on this. I don’t want my brothers to be implicated should the worst happen and I’m pinned for Romero’s death. They lived under our father with no security, sometimes regarding their lives or homes. I won’t allow that to happen to them again.
“What are you planning to do?”
“What I must.” I stare straight ahead, jaw tight. “He won’t get another chance to threaten Briar. I won’t allow her to live in fear.”
“You’re putting everything at risk,” he says quietly. “Your life. The business. Everything you’ve built for the family.”
“It’s not wise,” I agree. Nothing about this is wise. Nothing about this is clean. Nothing about this is survivable. I meet my brother’s concerned gaze. “Wise or not, he’ll get what’s coming. And it will be by my hand.”
TWENTY-TWO
BRIAR
I wake late,sunlight already filling the bedroom. It takes a moment to figure out where I’m, my brain slow and foggy, my body heavy. When I shift, pain streaks along my jaw and lip, a sharp reminder of yesterday.
I sit up and press my fingers gently to the butterfly bandage. My injury is tender and swollen, but not as bad as I feared. I check my reflection in the mirror across from the bed. My lip is a dark purple, but at least not too bad. Faint bruises mark my jaw. Unfortunately, that part of my body looks like I lost a fight with a steel door. Which, technically, I did.
But I’m alive. And I’m safe here.
Safe. God, that word feels like a lie. But I want it to be true so badly.
I pull my hair into a messy bun, throw on leggings and a soft sweater, and step out into the main room. Stacy is already awake and curled on the sofa with a coffee, her laptop open, spreadsheets glowing across the screen.
She looks up and smiles. My cousin tries to hide her worry, but I see it anyway.
“Hey,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” I admit as I drop beside her. “But better.”
She watches my face carefully. “You should rest today. Lucien said not to worry about work.”
I shake my head. “I would rather be busy. If I sit still long enough, I think too much.”
She nods. “Then we work.”
I open my laptop and pull up the event files for the fundraiser at the Met. The giant black tie charity event is only days away, and there is still too much to finalize. Stacy leans over my shoulder as we scroll through the guest list, confirming dignitaries, CEOs, philanthropists, and the small handful of celebrities expected to attend.
“Do we want a red carpet or just controlled entry at the museum entrance?” Stacy asks.
“A red carpet,” I say, rubbing my lip gently. “It’s expected. Media will be there either way. Might as well make it work in our favor.”
