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“Of celebrating annually here, together.”
She twisted, her eyes glowing.
“Is that a promise?” Her gaze shifted, her focus aimed at the empty room over my shoulder. “Not with Dom.”
I consider. “He enjoyed you. I think … he has someone else in mind for himself.”
“That seems fair.” Her hair flicks as she faces forward again. “I thought you promised I wouldn’t be standing after this.”
I bite back the same grin then that creeps over my face now: sinful, dark, and as fucking needy as her. “Then get on your knees, and show me how much you can still take.”
She shakes her head, and her dark gaze lances straight through me. “I won’t kneel for you, or for anyone until I want to.”
There’s my queen.
And then…
I smile darkly at the cousin I haven’t been listening to as I swallow back my pride, rubbing my fingers over the small of Willow’s back, not listening to a word my cousin says at my father’s funeral. Nodding in all the wrong places, I dismiss him halfway through his diatribe, gripping Willow’s hip.
“How long?” I murmur, my comment aimed at Dom where he stands statue-like to one side.
“Whenever you call it, sir,” he mutters, fixing the front of his pants.
So I’m not the only one who remembers.
“Have you heard from Thalia?” My house healer and rescued trafficked victim is the woman I know he holds a lone candle for. Last night, Willow offered a fun distraction for us both, though I can’t help the light barb.
Dom snarls softly, following the cousin and cupping the back of his neck with his hand.
“What is he doing?” Willow stares.
I wince. “Something unpleasant.”
Whatever Dom has on the man, his punishment may as well be written in triplicate for the pain he will endure in the next hour.
An hour I endure in as much pain as Willow shifts on her feet. “Rafe, I need to visit the bathroom.”
“Hold it,” I command in a harsh whisper.
“No, I really need to—” She grips my hand, digging her nails in to express her urgency.
“Then you will have to wait,” I say evenly, ignoring her plight as I gesture to an aunt I haven’t seen in at least a decade, a fake smile fixed on my face. I introduce my wife, letting her wilt a little under the aunt’s extreme glare, until I am tired of my own games.
A kerfuffle at the doorway drags my attention away from the torture I’m putting us both through.
“Rafe—” Willow starts, stepping forward.
I hold out a hand as Dom reappears, dragging the obsequious cousin looking much the worse for wear, his bow tie hanging askew. Blood trickles in a thin line from his temple.
“Wait,” I murmur, shooing the aunt away.
“I found your mole. The one on this side of the ocean at least. The other appears to be a little mouse infesting Connor’s house.” Dom throws the cousin at my feet, an open blade in his palm.
“Appreciate it.” I nod, unmoving, not admitting I hadn’t realized he was looking for deviants from the expected loyalty on my behalf this trip.
Get your head in the game, Gallo, or someone will lop it right off.
“He’s not for you.” To my surprise, he passes the blade to Willow. “He had a hand in supplying the device that destroyed the boutique you were in that day. Amongst other small things. If you would like.” He offers her the knife handle first, along with the man’s existence.
