We’re secure here. Her guards are at the door, as well as mine, and no one gets into the club without permission.
Maybe we’ll spend a few days here.
Maybe we’ll enjoy ourselves, have a little honeymoon. What better place to have a honeymoon than a kink club? I smirk to myself, unwrap her blanket, and lift her.
“I was thinking,” she says. “You know how sometimes thoughts come to you in the middle of the night when you’re turning them over?”
“I’ve heard that happens, but it’s not what happens to me when I dream. Yeah? What were you thinking?”
She swallows as I lower her into the water. “Ohgod, you have to make sure I don’t drown.”
I grumble under my breath. That’s not a laughing matter.
“Why would you drown?”
She opens one eye. “Because this is so relaxing, and I feel like I’m going to fall asleep.”
Fair.
“I was thinking about the word ‘tribute.’ That’s not something used here very often, is it? We don’t pay tribute. There was a tradition years ago where one family would pay tribute to the next with a bride, right? My dad told me about it.”
I nod. “Aye, my Uncle Cormac was the last one who fulfilled that tradition, but it was a one-time deal and not one we continued.”
“But it’s sort of anAmericanterm, isn’t it?Tribute.”
My eyes narrow. “Aye.”
She nods, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “Who do you know in America?”
“We have some friends in New York,” I say quietly. “They’re Russian Bratva, but American Russian Bratva. The Romanovs. Mikhail Romanov’s the head. Zoya’s related.”
She nods. “Yes. What about Boston?”
“Why do you ask about Boston?”
“Because there’s a long history of Boston Irish.”
“True. The Rossis. We know the Rossi family, but they’re Italian mafia.”
“Right. That was the man with blonde-gray hair who was there the day of the bombing, wasn’t it? His sister’s Marialena Rossi. She’s a friend of a friend of Bridget’s.”
I nod. “Aye.”
“Okay.” She submerges lower in the bath once again so the warm water laps up to her chin. “Oh, this feels good. Have you seen anyone from America recently?”
“Aye, lads who came by and tried to lie their way into The Craic.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Why would Americans even know this place existed?”
Erin’s piecing things together. I can see it in her eyes—the way they dart back and forth, calculating. She’s connecting dots I hadn’t even realized were there. The American terminology, the Boston connection, the timing of it all. Her mind works like a fucking machine, cataloging every detail, cross-referencing information I didn’t know she had stored away.
It’s brilliant, terrifying, and sexy as hell.
My phone dings with a text, and I immediately tap it, assuming it’s Declan.
It isn’t.
The terms and conditions have been laid out in our initial contract. As per our agreement, the tribute payments will now increase to every two weeks. Your next is due in six days
