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“And we still have Bruno and Scipione to handle,” Killian interjects.

“I know,” she says, pinching her brow. “This is why they’re here, in the open. We’re handling the hits first. The more eyes that see Briar, the more it’ll stir up. It’s a two-fold plan. You’ll need to contact someone in your world,” she directs, looking at me. “Someone whom you can trust to spread the word.”

I already know it’ll be Gabe. I’ll owe him, but he’ll love it.

“What do I tell him?”

She licks her bottom lip, eyes darkening. It’s the same thing that would happen when our father was angry. His anger was a sudden force, spelling danger for anyone around. Maeve’s rage is a demon who will take her and her enemies into Hell.

I’d rather have her on my side than anyone else’s.

“He’s going to expose you,” she replies calmly. My heart leaps into my throat. “You’re going to be bait, kid.”

I scoot into the booth, the red vinyl sticking to my jeans. Soft, old rock plays over worn speakers, fizzling out at the end.

Gabe’s hunkered over his glass, dark hair glinting under the green-shaded lamp. A glass of amber sits before him, condensation pooling onto the wooden table. Leaning back, I rest my head and close my eyes.

Seems silly, but Gabe won’t talk until he’s ready. I’ve learned to wait.

Close to twenty minutes pass before he grunts and reclines. His glass clinks, ice moving, as he brings it to his lips.

“You’re married.”

Opening my eyes, I hold up my wedding band. It’s my new favorite piece of jewelry.

“Astute of you, Gabe,” I quip.

“When?”

“Few nights ago.”

He smirks, clicking his tongue. “So, I was right. The Italian mafia princess caught your attention. Did you read the rules of her contract?”

“Purity,” I reply, growling. “Arbitrary, but seems to be the case with you Italians.”

He snorts. “Not all of us. Some of us like a girl who knows what she wants.” Running his tongue over his teeth, he jerks his head. “Scipione know?”

I shake my head, twirling the ring on my hand. “Not yet.”

He will, though. And when that happens, we have to be prepared.

“You know marriage won’t stop him,” he explains, voice rough. “He’s been planning on Valentina joining the family since she was two.”

I scoff. “Kind of weird for the father-in-law to be so adamant.”

Gabe swallows, looking away. “Because Scipione has a tradition.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I rap my knuckles on the tabletop. “Out with it, Gabe. What’s the tradition?”

“Women come into the family pure,” he begins, shifting. He’s visibly uncomfortable. “But the leader of the family gets first rights.” His ice-blue eyes hold my gaze, steady and unbreakable. “Marco planned on taking her innocence before giving her to Freddie.”

Two things happen at once. Bile rises hard and fast up my throat, and a red haze fills my gaze.

I imagine my hands around Marco’s neck until his eyes burst, and I see the blood on my hands from where I cut out Freddie’s heart. I can taste it—their fear, their life slipping away. It almost calms the nausea in my gut—almost.

“That’s fucking sick,” I growl, grabbing his drink. I take a swig, hoping it’ll burn the disgust out of me. “And the family is okay with that?”

“Old traditions,” he explains. “No one likes to mess with tradition.”