"Of course," she says, her voice too bright, too forced, but grateful for the excuse. "Would either of you like coffee? Something to eat?"
Artan doesn't respond. I can feel his silence like a weight.
"Just coffee," Erion says, and there's something in his tone I can't quite read.
I take control. Direct the conversation back where it needs to be, away from Lily and what this all means.
"You said you had something for me," I say, my voice level and businesslike. "Is it something that can wait? Or does it need my attention right now?"
Artan finally speaks, his voice careful and controlled in a way that tells me he's furious and trying to hide it. "I don't think it can wait long. The transportation and handling left some complications."
I finish my coffee, set the cup down with deliberate precision. "I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes."
23
ERION
These streets are mine.
Not in the way Luan inherited the Krasniqi territory, passed down through blood and legacy like some crown you're born wearing. I own them because I fought for them. Bled for them. Built something from nothing.
Back of the Yards. Industrial. Working-class. The kind of neighborhood where people mind their business because they've learned that survival means keeping your head down and your mouth shut. The buildings are low and spread out, brick facades darkened by decades of exhaust and weather, grime settling into every crevice until the original color is just a memory. Chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. Loading docks where trucks idle at dawn. The smell of meat processing plants mixing with diesel fuel and the sharp bite of cold air that never quite leaves, even in summer.
I know who belongs here and who doesn't. Know which cars should be parked where, which ones have been here long enough to fade into the landscape and which ones stick out like threats. Which faces fit the neighborhood's rhythm. Which movements signal danger before a hand reaches for a weapon.
This is control. Not chaos. Order built through violence, brick by brick, body by body, until violence becomes unnecessary because everyone knows the rules. Everyone understands what happens when you break them.
The alliance with the Krasniqis makes it worth it. Every fight that left me bleeding in alleys. Every body I had to step over. Every risk I took when the odds were stacked against me and survival felt like a coin toss. Together we're strong enough that the Irish won't test us again, won't push into territory they've been eyeing for years. Strong enough that other clans will think twice before challenging what we've built. Strong enough to create something that lasts beyond the next turf war, beyond the next power struggle.
Strong enough to matter.
There's only one thing that could fuck it all up.
Lily.
I'm not stupid. I know what happened last night between her and Luan. Saw it written all over her this morning when she walked into that kitchen. The way she moved, careful and deliberate, the flush that wouldn't quite fade from her cheeks,spreading down her neck every time someone looked at her too long.
She'd been fucked. Thoroughly. And she was still feeling it.
And Artan.Zot më ruaj.God save me. That man is wound so tight around her he's going to snap, and when he does it's going to be spectacular. I've known him for weeks now, worked beside him, watched him operate with the kind of cold efficiency that comes from years of practice. I've never seen him like this. Never seen him lose that iron control, never seen his mask slip the way it does when she's in the room. The way his eyes track her movements like she's the only thing that matters. The way his jaw tightens when she gets too close to someone else.
The way he looked ready to put his fist through a wall this morning when he realized what had happened between her and Luan.
I can still taste her. The dressing room at the boutique. Her skin under my mouth, soft and warm and responsive. The way she gasped when I bit down on that sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. The way she trembled when I pressed closer, when I let her feel exactly what she does to me. The way she looked at me afterward, pupils blown wide, lips parted, like she was trying to remember how to breathe.
I deserve a fucking medal for the restraint I've shown. For not going after her with everything I have, for not pressing every advantage until she breaks and admits she wants this. Wants me. Wants all of us in a way that should feel wrong but doesn't.
Because she does want it. Wants all three of us. I can see it in the way she looks at Luan, hunger mixing with something softer, something that looks dangerously close to care. The way she blushes when Artan says her name, when his voice drops into that protective register that makes her melt. The way her body responds to me before her mind catches up, the way she leans into my touch even when she's trying to pull away.
The way she blushes and stutters and tries to hide what's written all over her in letters big enough for anyone to read.
But that's a problem for later.
Right now I park in front of my butcher shop, the engine ticking as it cools. The sign above the door reads "Kodra Meats" in faded red letters, paint chipping at the edges. Behind me, Artan pulls up with Luan in the passenger seat, the sleek black car looking out of place on this street full of delivery trucks and rust-stained vehicles. The SUV with my guards stops behind them, three men I trust with my life because they've proven themselves a dozen times over.
We all get out. The cold hits immediately, sharp enough to sting. Luan is wearing sunglasses even though the morning is overcast, the sky the color of old concrete. But he moves differently than he did even days ago. More confident. Less hesitation.
His vision is coming back. Fast.
