He runs a hand through his hair, mumbles a fuck under his breath, and storms away.
I don’t understand this conundrum of a man. One second he’s cold, the next he makes a sexual remark that is extremely unprofessional, yet it doesn’t bother me as it should.
Done mingling and needing a moment to gather myself, I take the elevator to the rooftop, the night sky the only witness to my disarrayed thoughts.
New York lights up beneath me. This city gives you a terrible God complex. That explains Tristan’s ego.
Vian’s words keep playing in my head, and a heat wave rolls over me. I haven’t had such a physical response to a man since my memory loss.
Maybe he feels it too and realizes it would be a catastrophic idea to seek this strange attraction. We can’t even have a normal conversation.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my brain to expunge him, but I fail, my mind like a broken compass, directing me to him.
Spinning my ring, I whisper the words engraved on the inside,My heart is in the palm of your hand––my life, my entire world.
A few tears slide down my cheeks, and I let them fall, wishing to be reunited with him. Longing has infected every molecule of my body, but he’s not coming back. It’s time to let go, but allowing someone in terrifies me even more than clinging to my pain.
My heart belongs to a dead man, yet I can’t ignore the future.
Though I ceased living years ago, life keeps going, not caring about my preferences.
I return to my suite and lock myself in, seeking privacy while thoughts of Vian inundate my peace.
I should stay away from him, but I wonder if I can—torn between a cruel past and an unwritten future, my fate, seemingly out of my control, leaves me bereft.
2
ZARA
Tristan gathers us in the hotel’s conference room. On one side stand the four men leading the Syndicate. On the opposite side are the two leaders of BRACON and Calla Ferrara, head of the Council.
They engage in a glaring contest, the space between them dripping with tension; it’s suffocating.
In front of the window, Rafe, Vian, and I form a wall to preserve the fragile peace. He’s so stiff beside me that I think if I touched him, he’d break apart. Strange. Why he reacts this way to me is an ongoing mystery.
Focusing on the scene in front of me, I feel the air thicken with restrained fury. A former ally, Enzo became the Syndicate’s enemy when he married the woman responsible for shooting Cato and taking back power over the Council.
Personally, maintaining balance is vital. They’re already too powerful, but if the Syndicate kept control over the Council, every deal would end in their favor, and I am a proponent of leveling the playing field.
They stare each other down while Tristan threatens them to behave, or none of them will leave his city alive. Nothing like awedding in the underworld when one wrong look could end in bloodshed.
I steal a glance at Vian, but he notices. He clenches his jaw hard enough to pop a muscle, looking ahead. I really don’t understand this man.
Once everyone deposits their guns in Ziploc bags, we walk out, one after the other.
I move to the dining room, where Calla and Dahlia sit at a table in easy conversation. Remembering when I went to Reno and she was Enzo’s bodyguard puts a smile on my face. I knew something was going on between them.
Calla waves me over, and I walk over to them.
She pats the seat next to her. “Nice to see you.”
Both of us lead busy lives, so our conversations mostly happen on the phone.
I offer her a genuine smile. “Likewise.”
“So, what’s the deal with you and Vian?” Calla asks, popping an olive into her mouth.
This woman has no filter, always saying whatever goes through her head.
