Page 69 of King of War

Her eyes tell me she’s still not entirely happy, but she nods. “Fine. I’ll stay here with Luca. But don’t be surprised if we get bored of being sat out and go stage a coup of our own, okay?”

I kiss her forehead, feeling my lips curving in a smile. So fucking feisty, and I love it. “You’re not being sat out. You’re my trump card, baby.”

She reacts exactly as I knew she would, with amusement and a little indignation. “Trump card?”

I silence her with a kiss, and she melts into it, her hands fisting in my hair. And now I’m hard, and she’s almost definitely wet, and I wish there were time to fuck her before our guests arrive. I can barely keep my fucking hands off her. It’s like we’re teenagers who’ve just discovered sex for the first time. Or maybe we’re making up for the six years we wasted. We’re currently existing in this strange kind of limbo where we’re not together but we’ve stopped pretending to hate each other, so there’s absolutely no reason to keep our hands to ourselves anymore. It’s fun. But not enough.

We’re interrupted by a knock on the door to the den. Rafael and Luca, who don’t wait to be invited in, only knocking to let us know they were coming.

“They’re here,” Rafael says while Luca strolls inside and takes a seat on the sofa.

I untangle myself from her. “Stay here until one of us comes to get you, Rayne.”

She peers over my shoulder at Luca. “Did you draw the short straw having to babysit me?”

“No. I hate Gian Caruso. Can’t bear being in the same room as him longer than necessary.”

I cup her chin. “And it’s not babysitting. He’s here to protect you. I’m about to tell the heads of four families that the don is a scheming deceitful bastard and we’re going to overthrow him. I have no idea how this is going to go down.”

Her face is a mask of concern now. “Be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course, baby.” I’m not a man who’s been careful, certainly in recent years. Most people would have said I had a death wish, and that’s why I’m so dangerous. But now…now I have everything to lose, and she’s right here in my arms. So, yeah, I’ll be careful. And with her by my side again? Well, I’m even more dangerous.

Micah has turned my dining room into a makeshift boardroom, and now I’m sitting at the head of it, telling four of the city’s oldest families that the don is a lying snake who should have retired years ago.

Gian Caruso and Ilario Viscusi brought bodyguards. Smart, considering they’ve never stepped foot in my house before. Rocky Benedetti and Tomasso Russo came alone. Friends, who’ve been here plenty of times before. Gian’s guard reached inside his jacket when he entered. Not for a gun. For his phone. He tapped the screen once before tucking it away.

Micah watched from the corner and gave me a single nod.

He caught it too.

Gian stands at the opposite end of the table, having refused to take a seat, knuckles pressed flat against the solid wood. “Say it again,” he said, eyes not leaving mine. “Because I want to make sure I heard you correctly when you called Don Falcone a snake in his own city.”

“Did I stutter, Gian? You heard me correctly. Carmine has been keeping us all down for years. Playing everyone off against the other.” I keep my voice calm and controlled. This isn’t the situation for aggression or emotion. Despite the way I respond around Rayne—all instinct and emotion—in business I learned the art of keeping a cool head a long time ago. “He had the Bertellis taken out because Oscar and Joseph knew something he doesn’t want made public.”

Ilario shifts in his chair. “I heard a rumor that you were the one who took out the Bertellis, Enzo.”

“And let me guess where you heard that. The don himself, right?”

Ilario doesn’t answer.

“And it’s no rumor.” They all stare at me now, and I’m taking a risk admitting that aloud, but if this is going to work then we all need to know what we’re dealing with. “I did take out the Bertellis.”

Gian slams his fist onto the table and curses me in his mother tongue before taking a seat.

Rocky, always a cooler head, leans forward in his chair. “Why?”

“Because the don ordered me to. He told me Oscar had been a thorn in his side for too long, taking liberties running his mouth, and he had finally had enough. He asked me to make it look like the Russians were responsible. But in fact, he’d already made a deal with the pakhan, giving up part of our territory in exchange for a partnership.”

“A partnership with the fucking Russians,” Gian spits out. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

Silence settles over the table like a held breath.

“You have proof of this.” Tomasso Russo speaks now for the first time. Not a question but a demand.

“Actually, I do. I have a recording of the don himself.” I take out my cell phone and place it on the table. I make a habit of recording all of my conversations with the don lately. It’s why I recognized what Gian’s bodyguard was doing when he first walked in here.