I cross the floor in three strides. I don't punch him. I just grab his wrist, twisting it until I hear the sickening pop of a tendon, and then I shove him backward. He hits the floor hard, sprawling in front of the Senator’s table.
The room goes silent. I don't care.
I look down at him, my eyes cold, my heart a frantic, thudding weight in my chest.
"Kieran," I say, my voice a low, gravelly snarl.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Take him out. Don't kill him here. Save it for later."
Kieran drags Mark away by his collar; Mark’s pathetic protests are silenced by a heavy hand over his mouth.
I turn back to Atara.
She’s standing there, chest heaving, her chin tilted up, her jaw set. She looks like a woman who has just closed a book and is ready to start a new, much more interesting one. There isn't a tremor in her hands. There isn't a shadow of fear in her eyes.
She’s the most dangerous thing in this room.
I don't say anything. I don't ask if she’s okay. I don't check for bruises. I just cross the space between us, take her face in my hands, and kiss her.
It’s not a soft kiss. It’s not a negotiation. It’s an announcement. It’s slow, deliberate, and entirely unambiguous. I hold her head steady, my thumbs pressing against the line of her jaw, and I pour everything I have into the press of my mouth against hers. It’s a public statement, a claim that everyone in this room can see.
I pull back, my hand resting on the small of her back. She’s staring at me, her eyes wide, her lips swollen and damp. She doesn't pull away. She doesn't look down.
She leans into me.
I look up, scanning the room. The rival dons, the politicians, the soldiers—they’re all watching. They’ve seen it. They know who she is. They know who she belongs to.
Silas is going to see this. He’s going to know that I’ve stopped playing defense.
I look at Atara, and I see the fire in her eyes, the same fire I feel burning in my own blood.
"Good girl," I whisper.
She doesn't say a word. She just reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine.
Now, Silas.
Let’s see what you do next.
The ballroom settles back into a humming, nervous energy, the kind of quiet that follows a gunshot. People are looking away, pretending they weren't just watching a display of utter, ruthless ownership. They’re afraid. They’re smart enough to realize that I’ve just told them everything they need to know.
"You made a scene," Atara murmurs, her voice steady. She’s standing close to me, her body pressed against my side, her fingers still woven through mine.
"I made a statement," I correct.
"You’re going to be the talk of the table tonight," she says, a faint, sharp smile playing on her lips. "I hope you’re ready for the questions."
"I don't answer questions," I say. I keep my eyes on the room, scanning for the slightest tremor of a disruption. The trap is still in play. The perimeter is tight. "I provide answers."
She chuckles, a small, dark sound. "You’re an insufferable man, Lorcan O’Shea."
"And you’re a liability, Atara Ross." I tighten my grip on her hand, pulling her slightly closer, so her hip knocks against my leg. "But you’re a liability I seem to be unable to let go of."
She looks up at me, and for a second, the cold, sharp mask she wears drops. Her eyes are soft, filled with a look I haven't earned yet, but I can feel it pulling at me, drawing me in like a tide.
"Maybe I don't want you to," she whispers.
