"You're proud of me."
It's not a question. She can see it in my eyes, and I'm not going to deny it.
"Yes."
"That's fucked up."
"Probably." I smile. "But I've never claimed to be normal." I reach out and cup her cheek. The feeling of her skin against mine reminds me of how much I've missed her.
"I'm not normal anymore either," she whispers, leaning into my touch. Her eyes close slightly, and I know she has missed me as much as I've missed her.
"No." I pull her closer. "You're dangerous. And alive. And mine."
"Am I?" She looks up at me. "Am I still yours? After everything?"
"You've always been mine. Even when I was too stupid to see it. Even when I betrayed you." I stop. "Yes. You're mine."
She leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder.
A small laugh escapes her.
"We're so fucked up."
"Extremely." I kiss the top of her head. "But we're fucked up together."
Marcello arrives an hour later.
He takes one look at Gemma, clean, wearing my clothes, sitting on the bed, and then at me.
"Are you two out of your fucking minds?"
"Good to see you too."
"Don't." He points at me. His face is red, and I feel a flash of satisfaction. Marcello, who pretends to be in control, clearly isn't ready for this kind of bullshit. The reality of being in charge means you've got to pivot, even when bullshit is delivered at your door. "Don't give me that casual bullshit. Do you have any idea what kind of mess she created?"
"We handled it?—"
"You didn't handle shit. I handled it. And I had to pull a bunch of strings." He's pacing now, and I raise a brow as I watch him. "Do you know how hard it is to make it look like the Pakhan died in a fire? We had to move the body, stage it in the warehouse, make the stab wounds look like—" He stops. Shakes his head. "You don't want to know."
"You pulled it off though." I keep my voice calm. "That's why I made you my second. You've got a good brain, though the dramatics aren't necessary."
I've done similar things for Antonio. That's what it means to be second. You clean up all the messes.
"Barely. BARELY." He runs a hand through his hair. "The body had multiple stab wounds, Saint. She went crazy on his neck. We had to stage the entire scene, get stories straight, pay off half the precinct to keep them away from the real crime scene."
"I'll cover the costs?—"
"It's not about the fucking money!" He's in my face now. "It's about the fact that your wife—" He looks at Gemma. "No offense."
"None taken," she says quietly. She has been sitting there the whole time letting Marcello rail at her. I don't like it, but he needs to get it out, so we can get down to business.
"—walked into Russian territory, killed their Pakhan, and could potentially start a war."
"He was touching me," Gemma says. Her voice is flat. "He said I needed a master. That I'd be his good girl."
Marcello goes very still.
"What?"
