"Alessandro—"
"Stop, Rocco." I stand up. My legs feel steady. Why do they feel steady? They should be shaking. "If this is the cost of survival, then the cost is paid."
My father nods. A single, sharp motion. "Good. You will meet him on neutral ground. Thursday. To sign the civil papers before the ceremony."
"Where?"
"The old slaughterhouse district. Warehouse 4. Neutral territory."
"Fine."
I turn to leave. I need to leave. I need to be in a room where the air isn't thick with the smell of betrayal masked as duty.
"Alessandro," my father says.
I pause.
"You are the best strategist I have," he says softly. "This is just another board. Just another game. Manage him."
"He isn't a game piece, Father,” I say, not turning around. "He’s a bomb."
"Then defuse him."
I walk out.
Rocco follows me into the hall. He grabs my arm, his grip bruising.
"What the hell was that?" he hisses. "You just agreed to marry the guy who put three of our men in the ICU last year. You agreed to let him into your house. Into your bed."
I look down at his hand on my sleeve. "Let go, Rocco."
"No. Fight this. Tell Pop no. I’ll do it. I’ll fight him. I’ll?—"
"You can't do it," I say. I pull my arm free. "You’re the enforcer. You’re the weapon. A weapon can't marry a weapon; they just destroy each other. I am the diplomat. I am the one who handles the variables."
"He’s going to hurt you."
"He’s going to try," I correct.
I walk to the front door. The rain is coming down harder now, a deluge against the glass. I can feel the cold radiating from the panes.
Killian Kavanagh.
I close my eyes for a second, summoning his image from the dossiers. The scarred knuckles. The green eyes that look like broken glass. The rage that seems to vibrate off him in waves.
I have spent my life sterilizing my world. I have removed the dirt, the noise, the chaos. I have built a life of white marble and silence.
And now, I am going to let the chaos in.
I open the door and step out into the rain. It soaks my suit instantly, ruining the silk, ruining the perfect crease of my trousers. I don't care.
I will dissect him. I will find the fault lines in his anger, the weak points in his violence. I will take the Reaper apart, piece by bloody piece, until I understand how he works.
And then, I will own him.
Chapter Three
KILLIAN
