Lola studies him for a long beat, chest rising with a slow inhale. Then she turns back to Bishop. “Fine. One-eighth. So whatever pitch you’ve got?” Her gaze sweeps all four Calloways. “It better be worth it.”
Bishop lets out a bitter, humorless sound and pushes off the wall. “Great. Then we’re done here.”
“Perfect,” Lola fires back, already half-turned toward the door.
Gage steps forward quickly, palms up. “Hang on, hang on. Nobody’s walking out. Let’s just talk this out.”
Bishop whips toward him. “Talk it out? You said she had a plan, and she’s not sharing. So as far as I’m concerned? We’re done.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, pushing off the island. “Bishop Calloway, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re throwing a tantrum.”
He turns, slow and deliberate. A stormcloud passes over his expression before he locks it down. “A tantrum?”
Something hot and wicked unfurls low in my belly. I know I shouldn’t poke him, not when we're literally in the middle of a meeting to build enough trust to pull a job together. But there's something about Bishop. That rigid control stretched thin. That sharp-edged restraint just begging me to test it.
That sharp jawline and those dark eyes. I can't help myself.
I straighten, letting my smile unfurl across my face. “I know how you like to bein control,” I say calmly. “But if this is going to work, you'll have to be willing to hop in the back seat.”
The room stills. It’s not silence but suspension. Like everyone’s holding the same breath.
Rafe’s low chuckle rolls through it first. Cruz follows with a quiet huff of laughter. Gage mutters something under his breath. My brother releases a strangledare you kidding mesound.
But I don't tear my focus from Bishop to really read anyone's expressions.
The oldest Calloway holds my gaze, his jaw flexing once. It's the sort of lethal glare that I shouldn't enjoy as much as I do. The kind that promises consequences.
“Gage told us you pulled the yacht job out from under us,” Rafe says.
The spell breaks, severing the hold Bishop had on me. Gage exhales sharply, and Lola mutters a curse under her breath.
I drag in a breath and look at Rafe. “Alright. So you all know.”
Rafe nods once, his eyes tracking the slight twitch at the corner of my mouth, the way my fingers curl against the countertop, how I shift my weight to my left foot—all the little tells I'm trying desperately to control.
I swallow hard and meet Rafe's gaze head-on. So they know. The secret's out, hanging in the air between us like smoke. Better to have it exposed now than to spend weeks wondering when the other shoe would drop. At least this way, I can watch their faces, catch the micro-expressions, the silent communicationsbetween brothers. If revenge is on their agenda, I'll see it coming.
“Then let’s begin.”
15
BELLAMY
No one speaks.The silence stretches—tight, deliberate, waiting for someone to flinch. I don’t.
The tension in the room changes shape—less explosive, more assessing. Like four dangerous men recalibrating their understanding of me in real time.
Good, I think.
I draw in a slow breath. “It wasn’t intentional.”
Cruz lifts a brow. “Didn’t say it was.” The faint edge in his tone sounds almost like respect.
Bishop doesn’t share the sentiment. His stare pins me like I’ve disrupted the natural order. “Doesn’t matter if it was intentional. You still scooped our job.”
“Or perhaps you were the ones who tried to scoopourjob,” I say evenly. “Or it was just a coincidence and that’s it.”
Bishop scoffs. “Yeah? Funny how these coincidences keep piling up.”
