Instead of waiting for his answer, I gripped his chin and tilted his face up to mine.
And kissed him in the middle of Lucky Losers' executive floor.
His eyes went wide. A full-body tremor ran through him as decades of careful boundaries collapsed. His surprise lasted only a heartbeat before he surrendered, a guttural moan tearing from his chest as his lips parted under mine.
Let the cameras catch it. Let the board whisper. Shaw had already tried to weaponize our relationship with those photographs. I was done letting fear of exposure dictate how I touched what belonged to me.
My tongue invaded his mouth, taking what had always been denied in this building. When I bit his lower lip, he whimpered. His hips ground against mine.
When I finally pulled back, his lips were red, his eyes unfocused.
I traced one fading mark beneath his collar. "Shaw believes he can hurt me by exposing my past. By bombing a trailer parkin Oklahoma." The words came out roughly. "He's attacking the wrong target."
I leaned in until my mouth was inches from his ear. "After Shaw is dead, I want a life. Not just Lucky Losers. Not just power. A life with the only person who's ever truly known me. That's what Shaw threatens. That's why he dies."
His hand found my wrist, pressing my fingers harder against his skin. "I've spent thirty-two years arranging your life. I've never considered what comes after."
"Then consider it now." I released him and watched him fight to regain composure.
He straightened and nodded.
"Before we leave for Macau, we should gather the family. Your sons. Their partners." I paused. "Tell them about us."
"Why now?"
"Because Shaw has shown us what we stand to lose. If we're going to risk everything, I want them to know the truth first." My hand caught his wrist. "This matters to me. That they know. That it's not hidden."
His fingers turned in my grip until our hands linked. "Then I'll make it happen."
For a moment, we remained connected. Then he withdrew and reached for his tablet.
"One more thing," I said as he reached the door.
He paused and looked back.
"When this is over. When Shaw is dead and the prototype recovered..." The words caught in my throat. But Shaw had taught me one thing: time was precious. I'd wasted too much already. "I want us to have a real life together. Whatever that looks like."
His eyes held mine. "Always. I'm already working on it."
The door closed behind him.
I turned to the window. Darkness was settling over Cincinnati. Somewhere across the Pacific, Shaw prepared for his auction, prepared to sell a weapon that could replicate Oklahoma's horror worldwide.
I wouldn't let that happen, even if it meant returning to the violence that had created me, even if it meant becoming Jackson Wheeler one more time.
I would do it to finally put him to rest for good.
The timer chimed inAlgerone's kitchen, and I crossed the marble floor to silence it before the sound could carry through the house. Reid's team had deployed six hours ago. Our own flight to Macau left at midnight. Between now and then, we had this single window, one evening to gather Algerone's family before everything changed.
I checked the tourtière through the oven glass. The duck breasts rested under foil. Vegetables roasted at 425 degrees. The sauce reduced on the back burner, approaching the nappe stage that would coat a spoon without dripping.
Eight minutes until the bread needed to come out. Twelve until optimal serving temperature. Twenty-seven until guests arrived.
My hands trembled as I arranged the appetizers. I noted the tremor with detachment, the same physiological response I'd experienced before hostile takeovers, before congressional hearings, before the morning I'd walked into the penthouse knowing Algerone had learned the truth about his sons.
Pathetic that a dinner party could reduce me to this.
"You're going to wear out my marble if you keep pacing like that."
