If I tell him Kane is a detective... if I tell him Kane knows about the shipyard... Silas will kill him. He will have Luca trail him home and put a bullet in his head tonight.
And the game will be over. The threat will be gone. And I will be bored again.
I look at the business card tucked into my dress. I feel the sharp corner digging into my skin.
I want the game. I want the cat and mouse. I want to see if I can beat him without Silas’s bullets.
"Just a fan," I lie.
Silas narrows his eyes. "He touched you."
"He was drunk," I say. "He tried to slip his number into my dress. I told him I’m married to the devil."
Silas stares at me. He is reading my face. He is checking for the lie.
"Show me the card," he says.
My breath hitches.
"I threw it away," I say effortlessly. "In the trash by the bar. He wasn't worth keeping."
Silas holds my gaze for another second. Then, slowly, he relaxes. He believes me. Or he chooses to believe me because he wants to believe that I am untouchable.
"If he approaches you again," Silas says, "I will cut his hands off."
"I know," I say. "But I handled it."
"You did," he agrees. He pulls me closer, his hand sliding down to my ass. "Let’s go home. I’m tired of sharing you."
"Yes," I say. "Let’s go home."
We leave the gallery. We walk out into the cool night air of Central Park West.
As we get into the back of the town car, I glance back at the gallery window.
Detective Kane is standing there, watching us. He isn't intimidated. He is taking notes.
I smile in the darkness of the car.
Silas thinks the war is over. He thinks he won the peace.
But I just started a new war.
And this time, I’m the general.
We ride in silence to the Penthouse.
The new apartment is a masterpiece of modern gothic design. Black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the park, dark velvet furniture. It is the cage I designed.
Silas dismisses the staff.
We are alone.
He walks to the bar and pours a drink. He looks agitated. The interaction at the gallery bothered him more than he let on.
"You’re tense," I say, walking up behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back.
"I don't like men looking at you," he admits. "I don't like sharing the air with them."
