“You don’t get to sit there acting like I betrayed you,” I whisper, leaning forward. “You think I owe you undying loyalty when you never gave me anything but sex.”
Liam coughs uncomfortably beside me and the twins faces darken. Matthias’s eyes flash with something feral, but I keep going.
“You never even contemplated that I didn’t give Archer your brother’s name,” I hiss. “You assumed based off unsupported evidence. He backed me and Mark into a corner we couldn’t get out of.”
“You could have come to me,” he points out darkly.
I scoff. “I didn’t know you. I still don’t. How the hell was I supposed to know that you wouldn’t just kill me? You might pretend like I am your wife and that I should trust you, but you only married me for my connection to Liam. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
The words land like blows and for a moment the ice-cold mafia boss façade slips. And then it’s gone like it never existed. Go figure.
“You think I need Liam that much, little red?”
A smirk plays at the edge of my lips. “You wouldn’t have walked into McDonough’s with only two guards unless you were desperate.”
Nikolai grunts, obviously offended while Vas lets out a deep chuckle.
Matthias’s nostrils flare. “You are out of your depth here.”
“And you don’t know the half of what Christian is planning,” I shoot back. “I listened to every back ass monologue while he tortured me with cattle prods, needles, knives, and near drowning. So maybe get off your high horse before you fall and break something fragile. Like your ego.”
Liam coughs to hide a laugh.
Matthias’s stare burns into me, a slow, evaluating sweep. I’ve seen that look before. He’s trying to decide whether to strangle me or kiss me.
I’ll settle for neither. For moment, at least.
“Show me,” he finally says.
I blink. “Show you…what?”
“Everything you have,” he clarifies. “The manifests. The camera footage. The supply routing. If I’m going to waste my time on this, I want proof.”
He isn’t saying he trusts me. Doesn’t acknowledge my arguments. But at least he hasn’t dismissed me.
Which is progress, in Matthias-speak.
Mark drags his laptop in front of Matthias, typing rapidly. “Already pulled up, big guy.”
Matthias sends him a glacier stare. “Do not call mebig guy.”
“Sure thing, champ.”
Vas outright laughs this time. The two of them are messing with him and I can’t say it doesn’t give me some joy. Mark points at the timestamps on the screen.
“Here. Warehouse footage from last Tuesday. This truck wasn’t registered under Ward Holdings or Ward Security. It’s under someone named Boris Ulinov.”
Matthias’s eyes narrow. “That’s impossible. Ulinov died six years ago.”
“Yeah,” Mark pipes in. “But someone’s been renewing his old shell companies using matching handwriting on the forms. Someone local.”
“Someone with access to old Russian networks,” Liam adds.
“Somone with history,” I say, my heartbeat picking up as I flip to the next page of the printouts I brought. “And look what Christian mentioned before he beat the hell out of me.”
That gets Matthias’s full attention. His jaw twitches.
I read from my notes. “He kept calling him ‘our friend’. Said ‘our friend’ needed the port. ‘Our friend’ promised him power. And ‘our friend’ didn’t like that you beat him to the contract.”
