“And because they haven’t seen you in a while and thought you’d gone soft.”
I scoffed. “No one in this city can afford to think that.”
He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “Lord of Villain still has teeth. Good.”
God forbid a man has two weekends off a month.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it without thinking.
One new message.
Madeline: Landed. Headache is tolerable. Ate. Hydrated. Call you in an hour, if that’s okay.
The tightness that had been under my ribs eased, just a fraction.
Rome peered over, shameless. “Your little sub checking in,” he said. “Good girl.”
I shot him a look.
“Hey. I’m happy. You’re less of an asshole when she’s checked in.” He raised both hands. “Let the Hollis boys sweat. We’ll send someone for Rivas. You should go wash your hands and be soft on the phone.”
I slid the phone back into my pocket.
“Soft,” I repeated dryly.
“For you, softer…less Lord of Villain, more Daddy of One Very Specific Sub.”
My mouth twitched despite myself.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah. But I’m not wrong.”
He wasn’t. I could barely keep the stupid grin off my face knowing in an hour I would be talking to her. Finally.
33
Madeline
If dying from embarrassment were possible, I would have right there between the dynasty banners. My father’s voice carried that superior tone he saved for opponents he wanted to belittle, and unfortunately, my Dom had no patience for it.
The moment they faced off, Crow Dynasty against Thorne dynasty diplomacy, the nerves started to eat me alive.
Of course my father wouldn’t back down.
And of course Vincent Crow didn’t know how to.
I leaned slightly toward Atticus DuPont purely out of survival instinct. He slid his datapad a centimeter closer, letting me see the numbers. His hand drifted near mine just long enough for me to realize he was offering me his water. I took it with a grateful nod, swallowing against nerves I didn’t want anyone to see.
My father and Vince continued the verbal sparring match. Vince didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to—stillness was his weaponand silence was the knife.
But whatever calmness he projected was undercut by the ruthless precision of every word he laid down like law. He wasn’t negotiating. He wasremoving optionsuntil only his answer remained. And my father hated being handled.
I probably shouldn’t have looked at Vince when the tension peaked. I did anyway.
His eyes were already on me. And I didn’t see the man who kissed my shoulder before bed or murmuredmy girl.
I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy under that stare or just the Crow in him assessing every angle. But there was something there, when he saw how close I sat to Atticus.
