“Oh, it was,” I said, biting down on my smile. “But now it’s easy. Just the one arrogant lawyer.”
“One arrogant lawyer who knows exactly what you need.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, lawyer.”
He smiled. “Too late.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent.”
“And you’re not?” he wondered. “Your lips seem to find mine first every single time.”
I scoffed. “Noteverytime.”
“Yes,” he corrected. “Everytime.”
“Would you rather I be inconsistent? You’re not the only man in a suit who knows how to fuck well.”
His mouth twitched. “I thought you preferred monogamy.”
“I prefer a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I get what I want.”
“And what exactly do you want, Valentina?”
You, apparently.
“Right now?” I said, looking up at him at him through my lashes. “For you to stop pretending you don’t already know.”
He didn’t bother giving me a response before I turned on my heel and made my way toward the bedroom.
“Valentina.” He said my name like a warning, stopping me dead in my tracks. “I don’t say this lightly, but if I find out you’re seeing someone else, I’d probably have to kill him. Just on principle.”
I just stood there for a second, hand on the frame of the door, breath stuck somewhere between“what the fuck?”and“don’t read into it.” Leave it to Marco to say something borderline unhinged with the same tone most people used to order their coffee.
I hated that it had hit me somewhere I couldn’t name. He’d said it like it was a fact, maybe even a promise, and God help me, some messed-up part of meliked it. Liked the idea of beingsomeone worth getting angry about. Worth keeping. Worth protecting in the most dangerous, irrational way.
“On principle?” I wondered.
He nodded. “It’s how the Outfit operates.”
I knew that.
Of course I knew that. Everyone who’d grown up adjacent to this world knew what that meant. It wasn’t just a possessiveness thing. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even about cheating most of the time.
It was aboutreputation. Territory.Pride. All three.
It was about a man staking a claim, and what happened when someone else crossed it.
Max had done it. Years ago. Before Rosalie was even officially his. He’d killed three men—not because they were in love yet, or because Rosalie had promised him anything, but simply because she was his the second he’d decided she was.
That was how this world worked. Men in power didn’t wait to be handed something; they took it. It didn’t matter if that something was a woman, a business, or loyalty. Ownership started the moment they chose to claim it.
“You ever kill anyone, lawyer?”
His eyes narrowed like he was deciding exactly how much truth I deserved tonight. “You want an answer to that?”
“Are you scared I won’t like the answer?”
“Scared you will.”
