"Yes," Silas breathes. The hunger in his eyes flares up again, darker this time. "We did."
"So let’s finish it," I say. "Let’s take the rest. Let’s take his territory. Let’s take his life."
Silas wraps his arms around me, crushing me to him.
"You are bloodthirsty," he murmurs admiringly.
"I’m a Vane," I say. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"It’s more than I dared hope for."
He kisses my forehead.
"Okay," he says. "No Bali. No running."
He walks past me, heading back into the main room.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"To make a call," he says over his shoulder. "If we’re going to war, I need to call the cavalry."
"Who’s the cavalry?"
He stops at the laptop he set up on the coffee table. He looks back at me, his eyes gleaming with cold, calculated violence.
"Everyone Nikolai Sokolov has ever pissed off," he says. "We’re going to buy the loyalty of every gang in New York City. And then..."
He types a command.
"...we’re going to invite them to a party."
CHAPTER 24
THE COURT OF WOLVES
POV: SILAS
War requires three things: capital, violence, and a symbol.
I have the capital—fifty-two million dollars of Nikolai Sokolov’s dirty money, sitting in offshore accounts that I now control.
I have the violence—it is stitched into my DNA, honed by my father, and perfected by necessity.
But until tonight, I didn't have the symbol.
I stand in the center of the loft, adjusting the cuffs of my black dress shirt. I am not wearing a suit jacket. I want them to see the holster strapped to my chest. I want them to see the muscle coiling beneath the fabric. Tonight is not about corporate diplomacy; it is about feudal law.
"Zip me up," a voice says from behind me.
I turn.
The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, sudden rush.
Ivy stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She has discarded the oversized tactical gear. In its place, she wears a dress that looks like it was forged from liquid onyx. It is leather, tight enough to cut off circulation, with a high neck and long sleeves, but the hem stops high on her thighs.
She has dyed her hair. The soft caramel waves are gone, replaced by a deep, midnight chocolate that makes her pale skin look porcelain-white. Her eyes are rimmed in kohl, sharp and predatory.
She looks nothing like the girl I snatched from that apartment. She looks like the woman who stabbed a Bratva boss in the chest.
