She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself. "I want it to work."
"Good."
I finish buttoning my shirt and look at her sitting there, hair messed up, lips swollen, eyes bright with satisfaction and anticipation.
Adrian called her a jewel.
He has no idea what he gave away.
"Get some sleep," I tell her. "Tomorrow, you brief me on everything you know about the gallery security. Every detail. Every vulnerability."
"Tomorrow?"
"We're starting immediately." I head for the door. "Adrian has had long enough thinking he won. Time to remind him he didn't."
I leave before she can respond.
In my own room, I pour a whiskey and stand at the window.
I've just agreed to destabilize the alliance my family needs. To fuck with the man whose cooperation keeps Antonio's business running smoothly. To use my wife as an intelligence asset against her own brother.
It's reckless. Dangerous. Potentially catastrophic.
But the look on Adrian's face when he realizes his decorative little sister helped bring him down?
That'll be worth it.
I drain the whiskey and smile.
Let's see how this plays out.
And if I'm being honest—which I rarely am, even with myself—I'm curious to see what else Gemma Nero is capable of.
The jewel might have more facets than her brother knows.
CHAPTER 6
Gemma
I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the unfamiliar weight of another body in bed beside me.
Saint.
He's still here.
In weeks of marriage, he's never stayed when I woke up. He comes at eleven, fucks me, and leaves. Even when he decides to sleep next to me, he's gone by the time I'm awake. Every single time. Even last night, after we sealed our deal, I expected him to go wherever it is that he goes.
He didn't.
I turn my head carefully, not wanting to wake him yet. Just wanting to look.
He's on his back, one arm thrown over his head, sheet tangled around his waist. The morning light catches on the dark ink covering his chest and arms, intricate patterns I've never had the chance to study before. Geometric designs, religious imagery, things I don't recognize. Art on skin.
I want to trace every one with my tongue.
And scars. So many scars. A long one across his ribs. Smaller ones on his shoulder. A puckered circle on his bicep that looks like a bullet wound.
Evidence of violence and survival.
