I lift the flyer.
“He’s at this event tomorrow night. So-called charity gala for battered women.” Dom huffs, bitter amusement curling his lip. “Call it poetic justice.”
My gut twists. The so-called charity is a front forlaundering blood money and trafficking vulnerable women. Too many have disappeared under his name.
“This is personal.” My voice drops low and lethal. “I want to send a message. The Contis need to know we don’t outsource our kills. I want to look him in the eyes before I put a bullet between them. I want him to know it’s us—me—who’s been picking off his men one by one. I’m not taking him out from a distance at some glitzy event. He deserves to feel it.”
Dom studies me, head tilted. “So, where does that leave the girl?”
“Nobody touches the girl.”
Dom’s all too knowing grin spreads across his face. “So you do like her.”
“Drop it,” I bite out.
He leans in, prodding the bruise just to watch me flinch. “What’s the problem, huh? You scared she’s gonna look at you like you’re the villain you are when she finds out you killed her dear old daddy? Is that what you’re worried about?”
“She hates her father. That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is it?” He raises a brow, goading. “You want more time to get into her knickers? Break her virgin pussy in, nice and slow?”
The table flips before I register my fury, his glass toppling as I grab his shirt in my fists and shove him back into the chair. The flyer flutters to the floor between us like a white flag—but I’m not in the mood to back down. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that.”
Dom raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still tugging at his lips. “Easy, brother. Easy.” His gaze flicks to my grip on his shirt, then back to my eyes. “So you do like her, then?”
I glare at him, my jaw tight as I loosen my fists and let him go. He knows. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing,and he’s enjoying every second. “Just give me one more week,” I grind out. “We’ve got time before we’re back on tour.”
Dom pushes out of the chair, standing tall until we’re nose to nose. “Fine,” he concedes, though his grin says he’s not done enjoying this. “One more week.” He slaps my shoulder as he passes. “You’d better make your move, brother. Before your sweet little Conti flower gets plucked by someone else.”
Dom’s words echo in my head even now, chasing me like ghosts I can’t outrun.
Back at Rose’s home, I pull the car into the driveway, my jaw tight, my thoughts still tangled in the past.
The kid’s not said a word on the drive home, just sat there with his headphones on and a scowl carved into his face like it’s permanent.
Rose unclips her seatbelt, her hand brushing over my biceps in silent apology. She offers me a tight, worried smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I follow them inside, tossing the car keys onto the console table with a clatter.
Angelos kicks off his shoes, hard, like they’ve personally offended him, and mutters under his breath, “Why is he staying here again?”
“Angelos, that’s enough,” Rose says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her sharp with him.
His eyes narrow, his lips pressed to a thin, hard line. “You’re cheating on Dad.”
The word Dad hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I freeze in the kitchen doorway at the mention of Magnus.
Rose drops her purse on the counter, her expression tight. “Me and your… me and Magnus aren’t together.”
“Yeah, because of him.” Angelos flashes me a lethal glance, his entire attitude a complete contrast to the kid I saw on his birthday. What the hell happened? Is this what turning thirteen does to them?
My jaw ticks, back teeth grinding, but I force myself to let Rose handle it. She’s more than capable.
“It’s nothing to do with Dan.” Rose rubs at her temple, her shoulders slumping as if defeated by the weight of it all. Torn between me and her son.
“If Dad were here, you wouldn’t be sleeping around.”
“Watch your tone, mate.”
