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The movement is so sharp, so authoritative, that Inga freezes mid-step, her mouth parting in shock.

"No more lies, Inga," Iris says, her voice low, steady, and chillingly polite. "No more sleeping powder in my evening tea. No more reporting my movements to my husband behind my back. You raised me, and I love you, but if you keep another secret from me in this house, you’ll be on the first flight back to Edinburgh before sunset. Am I understood?"

Inga swallows hard, looking from Iris's scarred, defiant face to mine. I offer the housekeeper no sympathy; I keep my face carved from stone.

"Yes, Mrs. Messina," Inga whispers, bowing her head in genuine respect. "Forgive me, lass. It won't happen again."

"Prepare a warm bath in the master suite," Iris commands smoothly, already turning toward the living room. "With the eucalyptus salts."

"Right away, Donna," Inga murmurs, hurrying down the hallway.

I lean against the marble archway, crossing my arms over my chest, watching my wife take command of her household with the effortless grace of a born sovereign. The sight makes my cock harden with possessive pride.

The private elevator dings again.

Jamie O'Connor steps out, flanked by Enzo. Jamie has washed the worst of the monastery blood from his face, but his knuckles are bruised purple and his green eyes burn with cold adrenaline. He wears a clean black wool sweater, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He stops in the center of the foyer, looking at his sister.

"Iris," Jamie says, his voice thick with raw emotion.

Iris turns toward the sound, her posture softening for the first time since we left Queens. "Jamie."

He crosses the room in three strides, pulling her into a fierce, protective hug that lifts her heels off the floor. Iris buries her face into his sweater, her hands clutching his back.

"You did well, little sister," Jamie murmurs against her hair, his brogue heavy. "Danny would have been proud. The Scottish council had their teeth knocked down their throats tonight. Our boys have seized every safe house in Inverness and Edinburgh. The northern channel is ours."

He sets her down, then turns his gaze to me.

For ten seconds, the two of us stare each other down across the grand living room: the head of the Irish mob and the Don of the Sicilian mafia. Two men who have spilled rivers of blood to keep one woman alive.

Jamie pulls a heavy brass key ring and a leather-bound shipping ledger from his coat pocket, tossing them onto the marble coffee table between us.

"The Brooklyn warehouses," Jamie states, his voice flat, businesslike. "The armaments cache beneath the Navy Yard. Danny left it all to Iris in his will. By extension, that makes it Messina territory."

"I don't need your charity, O'Connor," I reply, stepping forward. "We take fifty percent of the gross import. The other fifty percent stays with your crew in Boston and Scotland. We work as partners, or we don't work at all."

Jamie's eyebrows rise in surprise. He looks at Iris, then back at me, a grudging smirk breaking across his bruised face.

"Partners," Jamie agrees, extending his right hand.

I take his hand in a hard, bone-crushing grip. "Questa nostra cosa."

"This thing of ours," Jamie echoes slowly, like he’s tasting the words but confidently.

My satellite phone buzzes against my hip. I pull it out, hitting the speaker button and setting it on the table.

"Speak," I order.

A low, feminine laugh fills the room, accompanied by the distinct clink of crystal glasses and the distant howl of a Moscow wind.

"Morning, Cuzo," Gemma purrs through the line. "Hope I'm not interrupting breakfast."

"How is our guest?" I ask, chuckling.

A heavy, guttural Russian groan rumbles over the speaker, followed by the sound of rustling sheets and a muffled curse in Russian.

"Victor is being very cooperative," Gemma says sweetly. "We signed the dock alliance ten minutes ago. His Bratva will handle Baltic distribution, and we retain exclusive rights to the Atlantic seaboard. He also agreed to pay a five-million-dollar reparations fee directly to Iris for the trouble his men caused in New York."