“Didn’t think Alex Romero could pull any woman. Seems I’m wrong?” Lucien mutters.
I don’t answer because I’m too busy watching Anthony’s face as recognition flickers there — sharp, unmistakable — followed by something else entirely.
Regret.
Shit.
Alex’s voice carries easily over the many people occupying the bar. “Gentlemen. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Of course you did, you lying fuck. He steps nearer, as if we want to have a conversation with him. We don’t.
“This is my sister,” he adds smoothly. “Isabella.” He pauses. “Thought you’d be out with Miss Byrne this evening, Stephen. You should keep an eye on that one. She’s special.”
Special?
The word lands wrong. Too rehearsed. Too convenient. “Your sister,” I say, returning fire, letting the dick know such information is also useful.” Not that I knew the goon has a sister, Matteo certainly never showcased the female cousin. Not once. Not in years of underworld dealings, surveillance, whispers. In our types of families, you don’t just forget to mention a sibling or cousin unless you’ve kept them hidden for a reason.
That she’s being showcased is…odd.
Anthony pushes back from the table so abruptly that his chair flips onto the floor. “I need air,” he mutters, already turning away.
I watch him go, unease crawling up my spine. That reaction isn’t just surprise, that’s history.
Lucien leans in. “You clock that?”
“Yes,” I say quietly. “And I don’t like it.” Not one fucking bit. Is there a history here between Anthony and this Isabella we aren’t aware of? We may not know now, but we damn well will soon enough.
Alex catches my eye and smiles wider, like he knows he’s just thrown two grenades into the middle of our table. He knows exactly what he’s done, and my ire doubles. I’m going to enjoy making the motherfucker into pulp.
“He’s taunting me,” I murmur. “Letting me know they’re watching, aware of our movements and Dallen’s. I don’t like it.”
Lucien nods slowly. “They’re certainly sending a message.”
My grip tightens around my glass. “They know Dallen matters to me.” And that’s a problem. I’ve spent my entire adult life making sure no one can ever use something I love against me. Properties can burn. Deals can collapse. Even family understands the cost of the life we were born into.
But Dallen?
She didn’t choose this. She didn’t grow up learning how to read danger in a man’s eyes or measure exits the second she walks into a room. She trusts contracts. Rules. Systems. The law, first and foremost. And those things don’t mean a damn thing to men like the Romeros.
To men like me…
“He thinks she makes me vulnerable,” I say. And perhaps in a small way, she does. To care for someone means to be exposed, something I’ve never allowed myself before. But maybe it’s more than that—more than I even want to admit myself.
Lucien studies me. “Does she?”
I don’t answer right away, because the profound truth scares the hell out of me. Yes, she does. She makes me hesitate. Makes me think before acting. Makes me imagine consequences beyond survival, dominance, and winning. She makes me want something clean in a world that’s never been clean.
She makes me want to be a better man. The type of man I’ve been fighting to become ever since our father died.
“She makes me careful,” I say finally, not wanting to admit to everything coiling about me inside.
Lucien exhales. “Then she’s in danger.”
I fist my hands, fighting not to remove that danger, the one in front of me now, no matter who was around. “I know…”
Anthony returns, face tight, eyes darker than before. “Another round, boys,” he says flatly. We look at him, and he knows we want to ask about this Isabella he’s reacted so badly to, but now isn’t the time.
“Sure, sounds good,” I agree.
My mind races, connections forming whether I want them to or not. The Romeros are hiring Dallen. Alex is being bold with her at the gala. Showing up here with a sister no one knew existed.
