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The new Triumvirate.
Today marks three years to the day that we forged our alliance. It’s been tougher than we expected to clean up the streets. Who would’ve thought a bunch of tough criminal soldiers would struggle to accept three powerful, accomplished women as their leaders? We had to pull out the brazen bull a few times, but they got the message.
The Triumvirate has had a feminist makeover, and they either get with the program or are boiled alive inside the belly of a bronze bull. Dealer’s choice.
We’ve kept some of the old traditions – Saturnalia and Lupercalia are too much fun, and we like to manage our own separate corners of the business. But we formed a new joint company that shares all profits equally, and we crafted a new list of rules. Number one on that list is doing away with the need for blood ties – you no longer have to be related to one of the families to gain power in our empire. We want to promote our best people based on what they achieve, not who their parents chose to fuck.
Don’t get me wrong – we’re still ruthless bitches. Just last week I had a soldier beheaded in the arena for double-crossing me. But we have our code and our honor, and the Triumvirate’s business has never been better.
I’d like to think Daddy would be proud.
We finish our drinks, go over a bit of business, and make some final arrangements for tonight’s party. We’re hosting a celebration at Colosseum – an anniversary party of sorts. Anyone who’s anyone in the crooked underbelly of Tartarus Oaks will be there. Noah’s gone all out with the entertainment – everyone’s favorite fighters will make an appearance, including the return of the Barbarian. I’ve heard he’s even flooding the arena with water to stage a pirate battle.
The Imperators leave, propping the door open so Queen Boudica can slink inside. She settles herself into my lap, purring like the buzzsaw Cali used to chop up the Monaco prince. I stroke my kitty’s back, my gaze turning to the French doors. Outside, Eli’s talking to a willowy dude with a long beard and leather sandals, who’s brought over two pythons he rescued from a roadside zoo.
I watch Eli’s face wrinkle in concentration. The Sherlock-Holmes Orgasm Face strikes again. He bends down to look in the cages, then pulls out his phone and flips through something. I’m about to call out to him when—
—two hands clamp over my eyes. “Guess who?” a deep voice rumbles against my ear.
“Gabe?” I whirl around. He plops down beside me and settles my foot in his lap, sliding off my shoe to massage my feet. “You should know better than to scare me like that. I was about to go for my knife.”
“Please. As if you can reach your knife in your current state.” Gabe smirks. I whack him with a cushion, but I’m too happy to punish him. He’s been doing a string of shows with Broken Muse on the West Coast for the last two months. I haven’t been able to get away from the empire to see him play. I’ve watched a few shows via live feed, but it’s not the same. I’ve missed him like hell, and now he’s here – my fallen angel came back to me.
Gabriel kisses me, and all the stars fall to earth. No matter how many years pass and how many times his sinful lips touch mine, I still can’t believe this beautiful man chose me.
I pull back for some air, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get home until tomorrow?”
“Our last show got canceled. The headlining band – this bloody excellent metal group from Europe called Blood Lust – had a personal emergency. I think they ran out of groupies willing to let them drink their blood.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I whack him again. “They’re not vampires.”
“Want a bet?” Gabriel lets go of my foot to tick off his fingers. “They’re as pale as death. I never see them outside of their bus during the day time. I also never see them eat. They only ever drink red wine. They don’t have reflections—”
“You’re making that up.”
“Maybe,” Gabe grins. “But they do have this strange, hypnotic power over the audience. When they play, they send everyone in the room into this wild frenzy. It’s delicious. Not even my rakishly good looks can compete with vampire magic.”
He tells me more about the tour as his skilled fingers work the knots out of my feet. I lay back in the plumped cushions and think about how lucky we are. I know it’s too much to believe I’ll be able to take things easy as the ruler of a criminal empire, but so far, everything is working out okay.
Tiberius went straight, if you can believe it. He and Ms. Drysdale moved to Scotland so Angel could attend a special school. They both teach at that school now and walk the stark, beautiful countryside on the weekends. Tiberius sends me selfies every now and then. I’ve never seen that monster look so happy.
Malloy Manor is ours, free and clear. After my soldier Selene at City Hall went through my DNA test and paperwork and determined I am indeed Howard Malloy’s daughter, his ill-gotten fortune was transferred to my coffers.
I gave all the money to Eli.
And Eli took that money and made something wonderful.
I offered to kill Walter Hart, but Eli didn’t want that. Instead, he made his dad Cali’s bitch – after all, bodies still need to be disposed of – and forced him to hand over the Everlasting Hart ranch. Eli transformed it from a dilapidated shithole into a first-class wildlife sanctuary. He now spends his days traveling up and down the country, buying mistreated animals from sideshows and private zoos and giving them a second chance at life. Some he’s able to rehabilitate and reintroduce to the wild, but those that can’t will live out their days in luxury at the ranch. The lion has a prairie to wander, the monkeys an enormous enclosure. Even Casper is there, delighting visitors with his antics.
Not even Malloy Manor has escaped Eli’s ambition. We renovated the wing of guest bedrooms into a luxurious cat palace. Now, women who are fleeing domestic violence and other bad situations in Emerald Beach can house their cats indefinitely while we help them get to safety, and we also take in strays and abandoned animals and try to find them loving new homes. Eli and Yara run this part of the business. Most of the time, I think Eli’s happier pretending that the other side – the drug shipments, the nefarious deals Noah and I make on the daily – doesn’t exist.
Not me, though. I don’t want to deny who I am. I may not be related by blood, but I am Julian August’s daughter. I have his ruthless streak, his eye for business, his love of possessing beautiful, ancient, rare things. And I have Noah at my side, my loyal soldier. My tribune. I don’t need Eli to be someone he’s not.
“Claws.” Eli taps on the window. “I need a hand with these cages.”
“Sorry. Cat gravity.” I point to the two cats asleep in my lap.
Eli pokes his head through the doorway. “And what about you, Gabe? Your arms look like they work perfectly fine.”
