He didn’t answer.
My eyes narrowed. “No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to just sit there being all calm, and, mysterious. I need a distraction. You owe me your day.”
He stayed silent for another moment. I straightened, turning toward him fully.
“Vince. Tell me about your day.”
He lifted one brow at the way I said his name, but he didn’t look annoyed. More… entertained.
I pointed a finger at him, very lightly, because he was a Crow and I valued my continued existence. “I’m serious. I need something to focus on that isn’t imminent death or my humiliation spiral. So talk.”
A slow grin tugged at his mouth, infuriatingly confident.
“My day started at four.”
Four.
A.M.
Of course it did.
“I had to deal with a shipment that arrived late. One of our suppliers thought he could skim off the top.” A pause. “He can’t.”
My eyebrows drifted up. “Oh.”
“So we corrected that,” he continued. “Then I spent the morning at the docks checking our numbers. Construction crews were behind schedule on a site, so I fixed that too.”
“How?” I asked before thinking.
He gave me a look. “Directly.”
That… did not clarify anything.
“Then a meeting at the Black Vault. Someone tried to pass counterfeit chips through the tables.” His jaw flexed, the first hint of irritation. “We corrected that too.”
He kept usingcorrectedlike it was an ordinary verb. Like vacuumed. Or emailed.
He leaned his head back against the wall again, eyes on the ceiling. “And then someone tried to strong-arm one of our clubs. Not in a cute way.”
I blinked. “There’s a cute way to strong-arm a club?”
“No. But this was dumber than the usual way.”
My stomach dropped a little. “And you handled that too?”
“Obviously.”
Right. Obviously.
“Nikolai called about a dynasty contract that needed amending. After that, a meeting about weapons distribution. Then an enforcement run in Old Dock because some idiot lit a warehouse on fire trying to cook meth in a paint room?—”
“That’s… specific.”
“It happens more often than you’d think.”
No. Actually. It didn’t.
Not in my world.
