Page 91 of A Vicious Love

My eyes sharpened on him. “What?”

He closed the door behind him. Marcel looked between us, and for the first time, his patience looked genuinely dead.

“I have had enough,” he said.

That shut Harrison up.

A real fucking miracle.

“The merger is over,” Marcel walked to the bar, poured himself a drink.

“What?” Harrison’s face lost all humor.

Marcel looked at me, not him. “Damius completed the formal review this afternoon. The Bellemere line has been notified that the original pairing is no longer guaranteed. Sienna is no longer exclusively attached to you.”

I laughed. It did not sound like me.

“Good.”

“Jesus.” Harrison muttered.

“Good,” I repeated. “Great. Saves everyone time.”

Marcel’s eyes hardened. “Stop.”

“No. Isn’t that what everyone wanted? Damius wanted movement. The Bellemeres wanted leverage. Sienna wanted distance. Fine. Done. Let the gods throw a party.”

“For once, the gods are on Sienna’s side.” Marcel set his drink down with a sharp click. “I want to get back to business. Actual business. Not watching you spiral over the girl you spent three years making afraid of your shadow.”

The room felt suddenly too hot.

I looked from Marcel to Harrison and back again.

“You both done?”

“No,” Marcel said. “But I’m finished for tonight.”

He turned toward the door. Harrison stood, slower this time. No baiting. They both left, the door closing after them.

The merger was over.

Sienna Bellemere was no longer exclusively attached to me.

That meant families could approach.

I walked to the bar and poured another whiskey because my body demanded something to do that was not crossing the city, finding Damius, and asking which part of him he needed least.

I took one drink.

Then another.

None of it changed the fact that Sienna was no longer tied to me.

I told myself that was good.

The old debt could be handled elsewhere. The Bellemeres could parade Celeste around until Damius chose a new victim.

Sienna could get whatever polite, useless man everyone seemed to think she deserved. Someone who listened to ballet stories and didn’t have blood under his nails before breakfast.