My patience fractures. “You agreed to the alliance,” I remind them. “Yourfatheragreed to this. We’re here today to outline the plan, not cast stones.”
Patrick raises a brow. “Funny. It seems like you’ve outlined what you want. But we aren’t agreeing to anything until we hear terms that don’t sound like we’re handing you a kingdom on a silver platter.”
I bite back a laugh. “Let me explain this slowly so you understand. We’re not asking you to help us rebuild—even if it isourterritory that was taken in the first place, largely with your help. We’re asking you to help us destroy the people whose greedy eyes were too big for their stomachs.”
Cillian leans back on his heels. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re very good at that part.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” I drag a crate out with my boot, flip a map across it, and anchor it with my hands. “The Yakuza still control most of our docks, half the nightclubs, the casinos, the import channels. We take them block by block, business by business. We choke supply, cut communication, drain their revenue, slowly and quietly.”
Patrick scoffs. “Sounds boring. I thought we were in for a fight.”
“It’s smart,” I say. “If they think they’re losing territory to random violence, they’ll respond with violence. But if they think they’re losing business to market shifts, they’ll try to negotiate. Which buys us time and spares lives.”
Ryan eyes me carefully. “And then what?”
“Then,” I say, leaning in, “we corner them until they have no resources, no allies, and no place to run. And when they can’t afford to breathe…” I snap my fingers. “We crush what’s left.”
Cillian exhales, seeming mildly impressed, despite himself.
Patrick doesn’t look convinced. “And what do we get,” he asks, “besides blood on our hands and someone we hate coming to our Sunday dinners?”
Ah. There it is.The undertone has been building since they walked in, but now it sharpens into something vocal, pointed, unavoidable.
Aisling’s brothers don’t like me, and I get the distinct feeling it’s because I’m now her husband.
“You got something to say to me?” I demand.
Ryan crosses his arms. “Our father may want peace, but we don’t see why our sister had to marry a prick like you to make that happen.”
Sandro stiffens. Miko’s gaze flicks between the Murrays, alert.
I stay still. “Considering it’s your family who’s proven untrustworthy, I hardly think it’s your place to question the need for collateral to support our alliance. After all, you’re not only the ones who attacked my family unwarranted. You’ve now proven just how fickle your loyalty is as you stab your former Yakuza allies in the back.”
“You know why,” Patrick snarls, his lip curling. “You want to question our loyalty, but you know damn well that our actions were justified on both accounts.”
Before I can question what my family has ever done to deserve the Murrays’ wrath, Cillian chimes in, voice deceptively casual. “Honestly, I don’t know how the old man stomached agreeing to give our sister toyou, of all people.”
A laugh bursts from me—low, dark, involuntary. “You have a problem with me specifically, or are you just allergic to diplomacy?”
The brothers exchange a look, knowing, mocking, and the fine hairs at the nape of my neck start to rise.
Then Ryan turns a cold gaze on me. “You know what you did, Rafael Chiaroscuro. And just because our goals currently align doesn’t mean we’re going to forget it.”
My blood freezes.
My heart.
My breath.
Do they know I slept with their sister?
Do they know that I took her virginity before I knew she was one—or even who she was?
I don’t confess.
I don’t ask.
I don’t even blink.
