Page 284 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Fuck you.”

He blocked my next punch, his grin spreading wider. “This is the same thing you were doing before you handled Sir Cock Head. Hesitating. Once again, you’re being too fucking soft. You let her walk out of that bathroom with your cum still drying on her tits, and you didn’t chain her to the nearest bed. Rookie fucking mistake.”

I swung harder, landing a clean shot to his side that made him hiss through his teeth. “Says the guy who thinks relationships are poison and the only commitment worth making is to a bottle of bourbon.”

He dodged my follow-up with a fluid twist. “That’s irrelevant. You should listen to my advice. You’re letting her breathe too much. That’s why she’s pulling away. Women like Eden? They need to feel owned. Not courted like some fairy-tale princess.”

“How would you know what she’s like?” I growled.

He ignored me and tried to break my nose instead. “You put the hole in her life. So stop pretending you’re not the one who gets to fill it.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” I told him, feeling every syllable he’d just said twist in my ribs.

“You know I’m so fucking right, though,” he said with a wink. “Now stop whining and listen to me. What you need is forced proximity, Thatcher. That’s how you break her walls. Get her kicked out of her apartment. Call in a favor—have one of our guys ‘discover’ a leak, black mold, structural bullshit, whatever gets the landlord to slap an eviction notice on her door by morning. She’ll have nowhere to go. Then you show up, her psychopath in shining armor, and you offer her a place to stay.

“Your place, obviously, just in case you didn’t understand that,” he drawled, shooting me a look like I was stupid.

I punched him in the side, and he groaned and rubbed his ribs.

“Continue,” I told him magnanimously.

He sighed and started circling me again. “Tell her it’s temporary and that you’re going to help her find something new. But we both know temporary becomes permanent when she’s sleeping in your bed and waking up to your mouth between her thighs every morning. We both know your bed is much better than where the two of you have been sleeping.”

I snarled and shoved him back. “You’ve been tracking me again.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Obviously.”

“You’re a stalker.”

He tilted his head. “Please. I’m quality control.”

“If you hacked her cameras,” I said quietly, stepping in close enough that he could feel it in his throat, “I will actually kill you.”

That wiped the smirk down a notch.

“Relax,” he said, his hands lifting slightly. “I’m not suicidal. Of course I’m not going to watch her. I track you,” he continued. “You’re the liability. You’re the one circling her building like a lovesick gargoyle.”

“A gargoyle?” I asked. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

He waved me away. “Seriously, Jags. She’s not ignoring you because she doesn’t want you. She’s ignoring you because she’s terrified of how much she does. So stop playing nice and go fucking take what’s already yours.”

Cruz wasn’t done. He suddenly lunged forward, catching me off guard with a takedown that drove his shoulder into my midsection. We hit the canvas hard, the impact jarring my spine.

We grappled, rolling for dominance. His arm snaked around my neck in a loose choke, his muscles straining as he tried to lock it in. Sweat made everything slick, our bodies sliding against each other in the scramble. I bridged my hips and flipped us, pinning him beneath me with my forearm braced across his chest as my knee dug into his side.

“I wrote you a poem to give to her since you suck at romance,” he grunted as he bucked hard to throw me off. “‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I killed your ex, now I’m obsessed with you.’ She’s going to love it.”

I laughed breathlessly, tightening my hold on his arm until his muscles trembled. “Fuck off,” I said, gritting my teeth as he reversed the position with a twist, flipping me onto my back again.

“Kiss him already!” Maddox called from nearby. I hadn’t even seen him come in. Cruz paused just long enough to wink at me, and I slammed my elbow into his throat just in case he got any ideas.

Cruz didn’t let up, mounting me with his knee on my chest and his forearm pressing down like he was trying to crush the air out of me. “Do it, Jagger. Use the guilt she’s carrying. Twist it. Make her see that dead guy was nothing compared to what you can give her. Own her grief. Own her body. Own every fucking thought until she’s addicted.”

I bucked, throwing him off balance, and we rolled again—sweat-slick skin sliding, breaths coming in harsh pants as we wrestled for the upper hand.

We ended up side by side on the canvas, both of us laughing through the exhaustion, our chests heaving as the adrenaline crashed. The fight was done—not because one of us tapped, but because that’s how they usually ended. Push each other to the edge, then pull back. The circle of trust . . . unbreakable, even when we were trying to break each other.

I sat up, peeling off my wraps, the gym spinning a little from the rush. “You’re a man among men, Cruzy.”