Page 21 of Autumn Ritual

“But what if she gets sick again?” he countered. “What if she has to go through that hellish treatment again? Hmm?”

She’d been well for years, but the label of teenage illness still remained. The bastard. How could he be so fucking blind?

I met his gaze with a fierce glare of my own. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to stop. Right the fuck now.”

“You need to listen to me!”

My hand ripped from my jeans. Swiping a copper skillet from the drying rack, I hurled it at his thick head.

Lucian ducked, barreled across the space, and gave me a hard shove. “She’s not a good match for you!”

“That’s not your call,” I seethed, but took a step backward.

Better to have space between us.

“Calm down, stronzo!” he barked. “It’s for your own damn good.”

“I fail to see your concern,” I sneered.

Lucian raked a hand through his hair, messing the longer strands on top. “I can’t have you consumed with her treatments. I need you, cugino. Here.”

“I respect that,” I gritted out. “But if Sara ever honors me by choosing to be with me, I’ll put her first, in sickness and in health.”

When….

When she honored me.

With that declaration, I turned sharply and left through the back door. There was a fucking piece of Russian meat out in my workroom, and I was going to unleash every drop of fury my darling cousin deserved on that poor sonofabitch.

***

Our Russian guest did not have a pleasant night during his stay in the Slaughter House. I made damn sure of that. But by the time the door to my office cracked open, my blood had cooled enough that I didn’t have to fight the urge to rip Lucian’s head off. The urge was still there, but it wasn’t surging through me with the same vicious intensity.

“Stronzo,” I muttered, adjusting my tie in the mirror.

Lucian stepped beside me, pulled out his stupid little comb, and brushed it through the gelled strands on top of his head. “Hi to you too, fuck face.”

I grunted.

“Look, about last night,” Lucian began.

I rounded on him and held up a finger. “Watch yourself.”

The don rolled his eyes. “I can see that you already care about the girl. And she’s a sweetheart—”

I bristled.

“—but I just don’t want you doing anything rash. Think this through. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’ve had years to think about it.” The time for thinking was over. “Sara is mine.”

Lucian must have sensed it was a losing cause. His lips thinned, but he mercifully kept them closed.

A groan floated through the crack in the door.

“Our guest is awake,” I drawled.

“Keeping him on ice?”