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“Oh, fuck.” Hayes sits back. “You’re part of the family?”

“You’re selling out your own blood?” Killian raises a brow.

Gabe locks eyes with me. “They haven’t been my family for decades. Now, the information on there is the paper trail between Roman Bruno Senior, then Junior, and Marco. I even threw in the marriage contract.”

“How’d you get it?” I smirk. “Still got inside ties?” I could exploit those.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “That I burned when I got this dirt.” He levels a finger at my face. “We’re even now.”

Holding up my hands, I say, “I can’t be sure this is enough⁠—”

Killian slaps the back of my head. “Ow! The fuck, Reaper?”

Gabe smirks, the bastard.

“Fine. We’re even.”

Before he leaves, Gabe picks up the tumbler of tequila. He slings it back, places the glass upside down, and taps the bar top.

“Word of advice. Look at the agreements. There’s something in the exchange that might be interesting if you’re looking to break them up.”

Hayes shares a look with Killian, who throws a few bills at the noisy bartender. They stand, still in their heavy jackets during the peak of summer heat. Not inconspicuous at all.

I go to follow, but Gabe throws a hand to my chest, giving us some distance.

“Review the marriage contract.”

I hold up the drive, tucking it into my fist.

“So it’s true.” A knot lodges in my throat. “Valentina is betrothed to Freddie Scipione?”

My contact shrugs. “She is. But there are strict guidelines for the marriage to happen. Both heads have to give their blessings before it can happen. And Val is under strict parameters to be suitable for marriage.”

Suitable? The ridiculousness that she might not be suitable for that fucking dickwad is laughable. Valentina is a literal goddess, made of sunshine and stardust, walking this world. We’re peasants compared to her. He’d be so lucky to have Valentina, mucked up with dirt and dipped in shit.

“Fuck that douche,” I growl, shoving my hands into my jeans. “Valentina can do so much better than him.”

“Such hostility,” he drawls, giving me a coy look. “Letting our emotions get the better of us, Briar?”

“Piss off, Gabe.”

“I’m only saying,” he says quietly, “you should take a hard look at those parameters she has to follow. You might see something in there that will let you claim your Juliet.”

Flipping him off, I shove my shoulder into his. “Safe trip back to the bayou.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you a seat at the Shack.”

The sun blinds me as I exit the bar. My shoulders hunch as Gabe exits in the opposite direction. Prick. I didn’t say shit about knowing Valentina, or about wanting to know what her rules for the marriage contract were. Dickish to assume otherwise.

Did I make a few comments while we were messaging online? Perhaps. Did they swerve into the lane of “I may kill him if he pokes her in the forehead again?” Possibly. But he read into the situation. I don’t want to know how to break her marriage. I’m only curious how it will give me Roman’s head on a platter.

Fuck, this girl has me all kinds of desperate. One moment, she was the sister of my enemy; the next, I’m ready to rip a man apart and chain her to my soul. Damn the rules, the consequences—I only want her.

Shielding my eyes, I round the corner to Maeve’s G-Class SUV that Killian… borrowed. He blows out a puff of smoke, squinting against the daylight. My laptop is up and running next on the hood of the car. They can’t access it, but the message is clear. Time to get to work.

“What did he say?”

“Gabe? Nothing.” I roll my shoulders, putting the drive into the side. With my fingerprint and code, the screen flashes and begins downloading the files.