He stops mid-sentence, shoulders rising in a casual shrug. Like he hasn't actually thought this particular scenario through to its logical conclusion. Like the grand strategy just… ends there, suspended in possibility.
But I have.
"And what?" I ask, my voice dropping into something darker, colder—the tone I use when I'm already three moves ahead and don't like where the board's leading. "What happens then, Jino? She comes home?" I let out a short, bitter laugh—more exhale than sound. "She's not coming back. Shelikeshim."
"So?" he says, shrugging one shoulder. "She likes us too. We all deliver different things, Giovanni. And she's already made it clear that she loves you. You're the one she wants. I'm the foundation. I'm just someone the two of you need to make it work—the infrastructure that keeps the whole system running."
He pauses, his ice-blue eyes shifting slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable breaking through the usual clinical detachment. "And to be honest, I was kinda worried about that at first. One day—maybe six months from now, maybe a year—she'll be the perfect submissive. You'll have total control of yourself, of her. Complete synchronization. And then what? What happens to me when the training's done? When there's nothing left to correct, nothing left to drill, nothing left to supervise?"
So… he has thought about this. More than I realized.
"I'll be out. And I've gotta be honest here, G. I like her. I think you know I like her. She's fun, she tries hard, and I want to be useful to her. I think I am, but I can do better. This?" He points to the screens, his tattooed hand sweeping across the monitors displaying Lorcan's chapel setup. "That shit Lorcan's doin'? Like I said, it's gonna take months to master this simple ritual. Even if he doesn't have more positions, we can make more. We can expand the liturgy, add new elements, new layers. This fucking setup is evergreen. It's got built-in longevity. I'm telling you, it's gonna keep us together for a long time."
His voice carries a note of almost academic enthusiasm, like he's pitching a research project he genuinely believes in.
"Us?" I repeat, my tone flat.
Jino blows out a breath, his shoulders dropping slightly as if he's about to say something he knows I won't want to hear.
"Well," he starts, his voice slower now, more careful. "You're already sharing her with me, right? I mean, that's what we're doing here. You and me, we've got our lanes. I handle the drills, the discipline, the structure—all that foundational shit that keeps her grounded. You handle the punishment. So Lorcan's kinda perfect for this setup. He's got... I don't know, man. He's romantic. Poetic. All that sappy Irish bullshit with the candlelight, and the prayers, and thea stórnonsense."
He waves a hand dismissively, but there's no real malice in it—just a kind of resigned acknowledgment.
"You and me?" Jino continues, his tone sharpening just a fraction. "We don't have that kind of fuckin' game. That's not what we bring to the table. I'm the guy who makes her kneel and hold a goddamn feather without flinching. You're the guy who cancels demerits with crops, feeds her dinner like a pet, and puts her to bed like she's lucky to be here."
He meets my eyes, his expression unreadable. But it's clear, he's proud of himself. He's all in.
I can barely contain my anger now. "Do you even hear yourself?"
Jino blinks. "What?"
"I'm the guy who cancels demerits with crops, feeds her dinner like a pet, and puts her to bed like she's lucky to be here?"
"What? That's what youdo."
"That's whathedoes too, Jino. You fucking idiot! We're the same! We both give her thesame fucking thing."
"No," Jino laughs. "No, G, ya don't. You're…" He exhales. "How do I put this?"
"The monster?" I say, like it's fucking obvious. "And he's the fucking saint! Hello? Reality to Jino's slow brain! Did you even see them last night? The way she giggled when he talked aboutDeclan Cross books? Declan Cross? Who the fuck reads trash like conspiracy theory fiction? For fuck's sake." Now it's my turn to run my fingers through my hair. "They were having post-coital book club, Jino!"
He stares at me for a moment, then he laughs. "You're jealous."
"I'm not fucking jealous. I'm… practical. It's just…"
"How do you compete with him?"
There's really no point in denying this. Itisthe problem running laps in my brain right now. "I'm not discounting what you're saying here, Jino. It's… maybe, not a bad idea. Lorcan and I have shared women in the past, It's... doable that part. Maybe even… ideal,ifwe could get the dynamic back. But again, she's not coming back here. Even if Lorcan can pull off killing deepfake Rico, and even if Luca LaRiccia buys it, he's never gonna let this go. It's all very suspicious, not to mention convenient. He's never gonna stop seeing me as the man who probably killed his son. Emmaleen's not safe here. Don't you get it? She's not coming back."
"So she stays with Lorcan? I mean, I was kinda thinking it would play out that way since he's the one with the chapel."
My head is about to explode. He's so fucking dumb. "It's a nine-hour drive, Jino. Maybe two by plane. What am I supposed to do? Procure a private jet every time I want to punish my own woman?"
Finally—fucking finally—Jino understands my pessimism. "It's… logistics, G."
"It's not," I insist. "It's a long-distance relationship, Jino. Andeveryoneknows how those turn out."
He opens his mouth to protest—probably to suggest we secure a property closer to Boston, something I've already war-gamed in my head a dozen times while lying awake at four in the morning.
