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“So, there were corpses in the meeting room with you while the discussions were ongoing?”
When you put it like that, I guessed it was a little creepy.
My lips twisted. “You’re a child of the Bratva, Camille. I don’t think now is the time to get squeamish.”
My future bride gulped. “I suppose not.”
“This is why you won’t be hearing about business. This isn’t something women need to hear.”
“No,” she confirmed, her head tilting down so that fucking hair of hers drifted around her ears.
I wanted to shove that golden curtain aside and plunder her throat, bite it and mark it.
Fuck.
What was wrong with me?
The sound of horns shattered my concentration, but I saw we could go, so I moved into ‘Drive’ and set off once more. A soft moan escaped her, one that had me shooting her a glance.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, making her hair whip from side to side, before she whispered, “Never mind. What did Father do?”
“He was belligerent and, to be frank, showed a distinct lack of understanding of how our streets are working at the moment.”
Camille swallowed. “Maxim told me—” She broke off. Hesitated.
I didn’t push her.
I hadn’t expected any information from her, but I wasn’t about to shove it aside. We needed all the intel we could get on our allies and enemies alike.
A shaky breath rushed from her lips, but I got the feeling my silence encouraged rather than discouraged her to speak up.
I’d have to work on her self-esteem.
This hesitation shit was going to drive me crazy.
“H-He told me that Father had cysts on his brain that were affecting his judgment. His vision too.”
I hummed under my breath at what would have been very useful to know if she hadn’t just killed him...
I didn’t say that though, just murmured, “I think that fits with what went down.”
The dumb fuck had insisted that his coke supply made him a king in the city, when everyone knew heroin was the gold dust of choice right now.
Thank you, Big Pharma.
You had to love when the legit corporations were the ones who brought a nation to its knees.
Ah, the American dream...
Then there was his refusal to believe in the very real Sparrows.
His level of asshole wasn’t going to be missed.
As I rolled down the quieter streets of Carnegie Hill, finally back in my neighborhood, where the streets hummed with life thanks to expensive restaurants, where the brownstones didn’t even have goddamn bars on the windows because it wasthatsafe, and where I’d seen men wander down the sidewalks manicuring little flower arrangements on the roadside, a sense of warmth filled me.
My life was changing.
I didn’t know if it was for the better, but I had a woman now. My safe neighborhood was going to shelter her, and our future kids.
With that in mind, I thought it best to ease her worries. “Liabilities don’t live long in this world, Camille.”
“No,” she whispered, “I guess not.”
The dark in the cabin encompassed us for a second as I drove down the tunnel into my parking garage, where only a few sidelights illuminated the way, and I murmured once more, “Cunts need to die. You don’t have to tell me jack. But from this night on, remember what you are, and don’t forget it, Camille. Tonight, you’re a Vasov. Tomorrow, you’re an O’Donnelly, and that makes you un-fucking-touchable.”
