He’s right, and I hate him for it.He can see through my walls so easily.Somewhere between the first kiss and this moment, I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with him.I did the one thing I’ve been trying so desperately to prevent.
But I don’t say any of that.Instead, I pull him back down toward me and kiss him again, because words feel too fragile.They’re too easily taken back.Actions are what matter.Actions are what last.
What happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas, but we both know that’s not going to happen.We’re bringing this carefully constructed facade back to Boston, and we’ll have to figure out how to make it real.
The thought terrifies me.
It also exhilarates me.
And somewhere in that contradiction, I understand that I’m about to become someone I’ve spent my entire life refusing to be—someone completely, vulnerably in love.
God help us both.
8
Shelby
The flight back from Vegas is quiet in a way that feels deliberate.Serena sleeps most of the way, her head resting against the window of my private jet, her left hand positioned so the diamond catches the dim lights in the cabin.The precious stone gleams like a promise.
Or a threat.I’m still not sure which one will prevail.
I spend the flight trying not to think about what comes next.
We land at Boston Logan at six in the morning, the kind of early hour when the city is still mostly asleep, and the airport moves with minimal traffic.My phone has been buzzing since we crossed into the EST time zone.Each time it vibrated, I glanced at the display to find messages from Joe, from Dave, from my father.All variations of the same question:Where the hell are you?
I haven’t answered any of them.There’s no good way to explain that I got married to Joe DiLorenzo’s little sister without prior approval or family consultation.There’s no strategic spin that makes this look like anything other than what it is: an impulsive decision made by a man who couldn’t say no to a woman in distress.
I don’t want to make Tommy pick sides.I shouldn’t force Tommy to choose between loyalty to me and the rest of our family, so I don’t call him either.
The black town car is waiting for us at the private hangar.I help Serena into the back seat.As she settles, I notice her gradually shift from vulnerable exhaustion to a guarded stance.Her armor is back up.Her shoulders are straight.The woman beside me now is the one who negotiates Syndicate politics, not the one who came undone in my arms in Vegas.
“We should tell my family first,” she says as the car pulls away from the airport.“Before the Syndicate rumor mill turns this into something worse than it is.”
“It’s going to be bad either way,” I tell her, pushing my glasses up on my nose.The nervous habit feels justified this time.“But you’re right.Joe needs to hear this from us, not through gossip.”
I find Joe’s number in my contacts and press the green button.
He answers on the second ring.“Shelby,” he says, with an edge in his voice and a question buried in that single word.
It’s early morning, and I’m calling.Joe will assume that something has happened.
“I’m back in Boston,” I say, keeping my tone level.“You and I need to meet.In private.”
There’s a pause.I can almost hear the wheels in his head grinding as he runs through scenarios.When he speaks again, his voice is carefully controlled.“Your penthouse in fifteen?”
He hangs up without waiting for confirmation.Efficient.Direct.That’s how Joe operates, which is probably why he and I have been friends for as long as I can remember.Neither of us wastes time on social niceties.
The penthouse is exactly as I left it, with its minimalist, contemporary furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the city sprawled out below like a kingdom waiting to be conquered.I pour myself a whiskey and stand at the windows, watching Boston wake up.Serena sits on the couch, still in her traveling clothes, her hands folded in her lap like she’s preparing for an execution.
“He’s going to be angry,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
“He might try to have you killed.”
“Possibly,” I acknowledge, because it’s true.Joe’s primary loyalty is to his sister, and marrying her without his family’s consent could be interpreted as a threat to her safety or autonomy.“But he won’t.Not if I can convince him I’m serious about this.”
“Are you?”she asks, and there’s something in her voice that suggests this is the real question she’s been asking herself since we left Vegas.“Serious about this?About us?”
