There's a pause, like he's tasting the absurdity of the plan himself.
"Footage of the 'boating accident,'" he says, almost reciting it like a script. "Write-ups in the local Bangkok papers about the degenerate American crime lord's son. Drugs, sex traffickin', reckless behavior—whole nine yards. Death certificate. Neat little bow tied around the whole mess."
"OK. Let's say I agree to this. Thank you, first of all. But none of that matters."
"What do ya mean?" Lorcan asks.
"I don't give a fuck about the damn LaRiccia Crime Family or what they might, or might not think I'm doing. You have my fucking woman, Lorcan." I'm growling now. I don't like it. It's cliche, and trite, and predictable.
But I can't stop it.
"She needsto come home.'
"Sure," Lorcan says. "If ya wanna get her killed."
"Why would she be in danger? They don't even know she exists."
"As of right now, no. They don't. But it's gonna take a week. I just told ya. And in that week, we need things to go smooth. To go to plan. What wedon'tneed is Giovanni Bavga going nuclear over a fuckin' woman. That's just not normal, my friend. If you over react and make her the reason? Or if you bring her home and they see her? Giovanni, they're gonna do a little check on her. I don't know what they'll find, she's told me nothin' about herself. But if there's anythin' to find, theywillfind it. If they connect her to you, they'll use her to make a point. They don'teven need to suspect she saw anything, or was the cause of anything. All they need to know is that youcare."
He's not wrong. I look at Jino. "What do you think?"
He's pissed. "She could stay at my place."
I consider this. Lorcan doesn't object, either. Which leads me to believe he's OK with it.
But if Lorcan is right—and obviously, he is. Then Jino's place isn't any safer than mine. "They'll know by now," I tell Jino, "that we've been spending a lot of time together. If they see you with Emmaleen?" I shake my head. "It won't work. She stays with Lorcan."
Lorcan lets out a rough exhale. "She's a mess. A complete fuckin' mess, Giovanni. I don't know if I can…" He trails off, and when his voice comes back, it's softer, more ragged around the edges. "I don't live the lifestyle anymore, brother. Ireallydon't. Haven't in a couple of years. I've weaned myself off it, I swear I have. But it took me along damn timeto get here, to claw my way out of that headspace. I don't think I'm the man for this, ya know? I'm not him anymore. I can't help her navigate through that kind of wreckage. Not like that. Not the way she'd need."
"Then who the hell else is there?" I ask, because I don't doubt a single word coming out of his mouth. If Lorcan Ó Fearghail says he's standing on the edge of something dangerous, I believe him without question. That's precisely why I have my fucking cousin camping out in my guest room, babysitting me and the woman I've turned into my personal sex slave.
"There's no one else," Jino says flatly. "Unless I pack up and move to Boston myself. Set up camp there until it's over."
"Ah, right," Lorcan says, his Irish accent thickening with sarcasm. "That's brill. Mafia in Boston. Just what we need when we're all tryna lay low and keep our heads down."
"Then it's you," Jino spits back at him. "So get a hold of yourself, Lorcan. For fuck's sake, this woman needs actual helpand all you're thinking about is your own… whatever the hell this is. Your precious peace of mind?" He turns and walks towards the door. "I'll be outside. I need some fuckin' air before I say something I'll regret."
I say absolutely nothing as Jino stalks toward the door. Just waiting. Counting down in my head to the predictable door slam that's coming.
Three, two, one?—
The door crashes shut hard enough to rattle the frame.
Immediately after the sound fades, Lorcan's voice cuts through the silence. "Does he know?"
"What the hell do you think?" I counter. "Of course he doesn't know. I take the blood oath seriously, Lorcan. Deadly serious. It's the only reason—theonlyreason—you're still breathing right now and not buried somewhere in those same woods."
His relief is immediate. A long breath. As if I would tell Jino about what we did as teenagers.
Fuck that.
"Well, I'm serious about her condition," Lorcan says. "Jino's right about her state of mind. She's… stuck, ya know? Really stuck. Doin' positions like she's still under your eye. Arse in the air, forehead to the floor, and beggin' me—beggin'me, Giovanni—to take her back to her master. Her King. To you." He pauses, and I can practically hear him dragging a hand through his hair. "I get it. It's a real thing. Power-exchange withdrawal or whatever the hell ya wanna call it. I'm watchin' it happen in real time. But…" Another pause, longer this time. "I've already caught myself fantasizing about her, Giovanni. The urges are there, ya know? They're loud."
I do know.
I know exactly what he means. But I also know he's all we've got right now. Jino can't go. I can't go. It has to be Lorcan.
"Listen, Lorcan," I say, keeping my voice level, reasonable. "It's not that hard. Really. It's a very predictable schedule. You train her in the morning—positions, drills, whatever keeps her brain occupied. Feed her by hand at mealtimes. Bathe her by hand afterward. Let her sit under the table while you eat your own meal. All the usual stuff. The structure she's used to."
