The crowd cheered in approval. Feet stamped, and thunder boomed as Rayko’s thick blade flashed through the air right on cue.
I gripped Poppy’s hands, squeezing them as my soldier sliced the finger off at the base.
Rayko sauntered over and knelt once more. He held the leaking digit out in his palm.
“Boss.”
I stroked the damp, shivering skin of Poppy’s forearm. “My queen, would you like the token?”
Poppy looked between Rayko and me. Her face was decidedly pale. Those soft, gentle brown eyes were swallowed by the pupils.
“That’s kind of sick,” she wheezed. “This is like a badly rehearsed play.”
My thumb rolled over the three rings on my right hand. “We’ve rehearsed plenty of times.”
Horror washed over Poppy’s face. “Take them off!”
I leaned back. “Really?”
“Yes! Now,” she hissed, grabbing at my hands.
Because I couldn’t refuse this woman anything, I plucked the rings, one by one, tossing them to Rayko. “Put them in the vault.”
“No, get rid of them!” Poppy grabbed my fingers rubbing them as if to wipe the memory away.
I arched a brow. “They areevidence, little flower. I can’t just let them go.”
“Then melt them down,” she ground out.
Too cute. Too beautiful for a heathenish den like this. She might belong here in spirit, and she definitely deserved the crown I would place on her head one day soon, but for tonight, she’d endured enough.
“I’ll give you a proper ring,” she hissed, squeezing my fingers. “But no more of wearingthose.That’s fucking barbaric, Ivan!”
The dirty word dancing off her tongue was music to my ears.
Suddenly, I was done. Done with this show, done with the gory business. I wanted to be back home, making her scream for me.
I tapped her, helping her off my thigh.
Jumping up, Poppy gestured absently to where Rayko still knelt before us with the garish offering. “I’m serious. Get rid of them.”
“Alright, my love.” I placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and stood.
“Wait, where are we going?” she gasped as I tugged her to my side.
“I’m taking you home while my guests entertain the commissioner—”
“No.” Poppy planted her heels on the floor. “No, not yet. I’m not finished.”
In a flash, before I grasped what she was doing, she pulled at my side. Three steps and she was out of my hold.
“It’s my turn,” she wheezed, talking to me but looking at the commissioner.
The scum wriggled in the Italian enforcer’s hold.
Mancini’s brute realized what was happening right as I did. The man—Damien? Dustin?—jumped out of the way as three shots rang out through the club.
The commissioner gargled and choked as he fell.
