Page 364 of Don’t Say Mafia

The knife flipped once more before he caught it by the handle, and Declan chuckled softly. “I knew it right then,” he said. “Knew the second Jagger Thatcher looked at you that he was about to ruin your life.”

He leaned closer, the tip of the knife lifting until it hovered just beneath my chin. “And the funniest part?”

His eyes gleamed.

“All of this happened . . .”

He gestured around the room, at the men watching, at the camera recording every second.

“And you didn’t even know.”

The knife traced lightly along the edge of my jaw.

“You had absolutely no idea,” he said softly, “that you were climbing into bed with the Las Vegas mafia.”

He straightened again, flipping the knife back into the air.

If he was going for shock, though . . . it didn’t work. At this point, after being dragged out of Jagger’s penthouse and tied to a chair while men circled me like this, it would have been stranger if it wasn’t something like that.

Still, a small part of me thought about the version of myself who had been sitting on that couch only a few hours earlier, half watching television while waiting for my shift to start. That girl might have been stunned to hear someone say it out loud.

But even then . . . maybe not.

Because when I really thought about it, I’d always known there was something more to Jagger.

I hadn’t known exactly what. I just knew there was . . . more.

He had driven a knife straight through a poker table the first night I met him just because someone touched me. Men twice his size watched him with the wary attention people gave someone dangerous. Conversations changed when he entered a room. People stepped out of his way without even realizing they were doing it.

And I had seen the way his eyes went cold sometimes when he was upset with someone.

A part of me had always understood that loving Jagger Thatcher meant stepping into a different kind of darkness than the one I’d grown up in. I had simply chosen not to look too closely.

Because I loved him. Because being with him felt bigger and brighter and more alive than anything I’d ever known.

People liked to talk about cautionary tales when it came to love—stories about the girl who ignored the warning signs, who followed the wrong man too far, who paid the price for it in the end.

Maybe that was me.

Maybe someday someone would point to a story like mine and say This is why you don’t fall for men like him.

But even tied to a chair in a roomful of his enemies, staring down the man who wanted to destroy him . . .

I still didn’t regret loving Jagger.

Even if I died today, it would still be better than the years I spent slowly dying beside Ryan.

“Don’t worry, Eden,” Declan said soothingly as if he was comforting a frightened child. “Jagger’s watching all of this from where we have him.” The blade spun once more before he caught it with a snap of his fingers. “And he’s going to die knowing exactly what I’m about to do to you.”

My stomach lurched, but I held steady. I wouldn’t let him see me break. Not yet. Not ever, if I could help it. Breath in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Why hadn’t those motherfucking counselors given me something better to try?

Declan stepped closer, and then he reached out and hooked the tip of the blade under the collar of my blouse. The fabric was a smooth polyester blend, the standard issue they used for casino uniforms, stretchy and lightweight. Under the knife, it suddenly felt paper-thin.

He didn’t rush. He dragged the knife down slowly, starting at the top button and slicing through each one in turn. The threads popped softly, one after another. The blouse split straight down the front, the collar and buttons parting to reveal the simple white bra underneath. The air hit my skin in a sudden rush, raising goose bumps across my chest and stomach. The ruined shirt hung open like a broken wing, framing the black skirt that still clung to my hips.

The men reacted instantly.