We were never close, not like sisters should be. She was the wanted child, the one who completed Ivette and my father's perfect family. I was the black stain that ruined it.
"Roxy, Dad told me to call and remind you about the family dinner in two weeks. Zion's family will be there, too, so we can finalize the wedding details."
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten.Of courseDad couldn't be bothered to call me himself. The words are on the tip of my tongue—to tell Aria I’m too busy planning my own wedding to attend—but I haven't seen them in a year. And no matter how toxic they are, you don't just sever a blood tie.
Even though Aria refused to believe me when I told her that her fiancé was human garbage, she used to be sweet to me when we were little, before Ivette poisoned her mind. She would always save me two bites of her dessert, leaving them on my windowsill where her mother wouldn't find them.
"Sure, Aria," I say. She tells me the exact date and time and then hangs up.
No "How are you?" No "I miss you." Not even a "Can't wait to see you." To her, I'm just an obligation. Nothing more.
"Someone threw up in the bathroom," my assistant’s voice says from behind me.
"I’m on it," I reply. At least this job never gives me a quiet moment to wallow in self-pity.
Chapter 21
Damien
I'm at Red Poppy going over the final paperwork for a gun shipment that arrived this morning when one of the soldiers I left with Roxanne contacts me.
"If she has so much as a single hair out of place, you'll find your neck twisted at an unnatural angle tonight, Stefan," I say without hesitation.
"No, boss. Just wanted to inform you she spoke with some guy, and it didn't look friendly. I’ve sent you a photo. Name's Stiles Campbell."
"Got it."
I check the photo, and my body locks up when I see my wife's face.Future wife, the demon inside me whispers, but even he knows it's just a formality at this point.
If memory serves, Stiles is Roxanne's ex. The ex who fucked a blonde in Roxanne’s bed. How dare he breathe the same air as her?
"We have a problem at one of the poker tables," Vasili says, walking into the office right then.
I make a mental note to pay the idiot who bothered Roxanne a visit and turn to look at my right hand.
"A cop. He's high and won't accept that he lost all his money," he tells me.
"Hmm. Remind me to raise the club entry fee. I'm tired of all these morons who can afford to be here."
I push out of my desk chair and follow Vasili out into the main lounge.
When I set the club entrance fee at two hundred thousand dollars, I thought I'd weed out all the idiots who think they're kings of the universe just because they've seen a bag of money.
It's still early, so the club is mostly empty, except for a judge staring, fascinated, at Everette dancing on the pole and a poker table where my problem sits.
"Gentlemen, what's the issue?" My tone makes it clear there better not be any issue here.
"THE HOUSE ROBBED ME!" shouts the man who won't have vocal cords after I rip them out and peel them like tangerines.
"Nobody shouts at me in my own club, and nobody accuses me of theft. We clear?"
Two other men at the table hear me and immediately drop their cards and leave.
The dealer shows me the footage of the game. When I told the Council I wanted cameras above every table, many associates said I was crazy, but I wanted proof that if they lose money, it's because they suck at this game, not because I'm stealing from them. I have other methods of stealing, I don't need to do it at a poker table.
I check every second, and as expected, the man played a shit hand and consequently lost eighty thousand dollars.
"Since it's obvious your entire brain is coated in cocaine, I'll let you leave here in one piece," I tell him and turn to go when the idiot decides he doesn't need those vocal cords after all.
