“A coup is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“What would you call three men coming together to kill me because they’re upset I’m in charge?”
“Sexism?” I shrug, pride filling my chest as I draw out a soft chuckle from Zahra.
“Fair enough.” She clicks her tongue, though she looks partially defeated.
“What is it?”
She angles her head toward me, opening and closing her mouth as if speaking would somehow be her demise.
“You’ve already heard some of my darkest thoughts, Zahra. I promise I won’t scare easily from yours.”
“It’s not that, it’s just… Sometimes I wonder if I should just step down. Let Cyrus take over. It would be easier for him. He wouldn't have to prove his worth every time he stepped into a room. He would just garner the respect. Isn’t that what every mob boss should have? Immediate respect.”
I shake my head vehemently. “He only has that respect because of your father. Without Naser, he’s nothing.”
“That makes two of us, I guess.”
“No. No, it doesn’t. Your father was an incredible man, don’t get me wrong, but I have no doubts your legacy will supersede his tenfold.” Between her hacking skills, ability to sniff out a rat, and the absolute dominance she maintains in the most dangerous situations, she’s more than a force to be reckoned with. “I made you a promise to fight. Canyou make a promise to me?”
Her eyebrows furrow together. “Depends on what you’re asking me.”
“To never let anyone steal your light, or take your fight from you.”
Her jaw hardens as my words settle. The shield she let down for me, only for me, is put back in place as she looks me dead in the eye and says, “I promise.”
23
ZAHRA
“Iordered twenty yards of silk in mulberry, not periwinkle. I’m going to murder someone!” Samirah screams, tossing the pastel purple fabric on the floor.
“Mmm, maybe it’s time to take some deep breaths. Killing people is more of my forte.” I take in her disheveled appearance, from the loose bun on her head, to the lopsided way her glasses sit on her face and the way she keeps frantically sketching in her notepad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Samirah so frazzled.
“Don’t you start! The whole reason why I’m like this is because of you.” She points her pencil at me, and for a moment, I really think she might stab me.
“What the hell did I do?” I shrug.
“What did you do? How about the fact that you gave me less than two weeks' notice that you were going to get married, and that it was going to be one of the largest events this side of the country has ever seen? A million-dollar budget?—"
“Technically, our budget is ten million dollars,” I tease.
“Jesus Christ. Ten million dollars and you had initially toldme to just order cotton. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Samirah tsks.
“A dress is a dress.” I shrug.
Samariah shoots daggers at me. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that to me of all people. Especially given that I still have to make your wedding dress. I’d consider staying on my good side, or else I’ll have you walking down the aisle looking like a pom-pom.”
“Well, she’d be the most beautiful pom-pom on this side of the Charles River so I guess she has that going for her.” Declan’s deep voice fills the room, sending an electric trickle down my spine.
I turn around and look up, meeting his gaze. “What are you doing here?”
It’s been just over a week since the warehouse incident, which was followed by my concussed impromptu therapy session with Declan. He continued to insist on nursing me back to health, though he did compromise by letting me heal in the comfort of my own home. Declan had finally returned to his manor a few days ago once my doctor gave me the all-clear, and I’d figured he’d want to spend as much time alone as possible, given we’d be living together very soon.
“Samirah called me in for my tux fitting.” He smiles, giving Samirah a small wave. “How’s your head?”
“Well, I haven’t had any complaints yet, so.”
