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Mari cocked an eyebrow before setting her cards down and taking a long, languid sip of her drink. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in abstinence until marriage, O’Bannon.”
It was a well-placed taunt. Everyone knew Sean O’Bannon would fuck anything with two legs, just like we knew he’d never marry. He’d made it very clear when he’d thrown Aislynn’s mother away after she’d delivered his final child.
“I’m not, but this isn’t about me.”
Mari hummed, not bothering to pick her cards back up. “No, it’s about your grown daughter, who has a mind of her own.”
“It’s not right,” Sean insisted.
“Enough.” Her flippant wave of a hand pissed him off, but he held his anger for once, and the tension in the room broke. “It’s the twenty-first century. If they want to live together before the wedding so they can get to know each other, that’s all right by me. If they want to fuck every day, that’s okay too. Women are in control of their bodies and their lives now. Even mafia princesses can have sex without Daddy’s permission.”
Sean’s face darkened, but he kept his mouth shut while the dealer placed the turn down. Jack of hearts. One more to go.
The betting continued, with Kosas and Ajilon folding immediately before turning back to their hushed conversation. Haru and Mari entered their typical staring match until he finally folded as well.
“Of course it’s okay with you. She’s in your house,” Sean growled as he doubled down.
Mari called and picked up her glass for another sip. I didn’t even have to see her face to know she was smirking. “Something wrong with my house?”
“You mean besides all the men in it? No, not at all.”
Sean seemed to realize his mistake, and the whole of him turned red. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment, though. He knew he had to play the good boy and heel, but he didn’t want to. He also knew that he’d made a rookie mistake, and as he was one of the leaders with the longest tenure, it was fucking juvenile to watch.
“I meant no disrespect,” he said through gritted teeth. “I only meant that I would’ve liked to keep her home longer. To keep her safe.”
Because he had other plans for her. I didn’t know what they were, but I had no doubt they were something to give him a leg up over Mari, and I didn’t like it.
“You love her, I understand.” Mari tapped her fingers on the table, the soft thud, thud, thud echoing in the space like gunfire.
“She’s my daughter.” He said that like it was an answer, when it wasn’t. Not for Mari. Mari sat back in her chair as the final bets were placed, with Two-Bit folding rather than calling Sean’s bluff.
“Daughters in this life are fascinating, aren’t they? They can be your biggest asset or your biggest weakness, but most men aren’t big enough to figure it out until they’re gone. See, women have power and not just the kind we get from spreading our legs for men who have it. We have the ability to ensnare the hearts of those around us. To build or crush an army with a single blow. You think men are powerful because you held the cornerstone of our world for so long. You forget that to do it, you had to put us on our knees in the mud.”
We waited until, finally, the hand was played.
Queen of hearts.
Sean had three kings. It would’ve won on any other hand, but not this one.
Before she showed her cards, Mari paused. Another sip, another sigh of pleasure at the drink. “Women were playthings and broodmares. We weren’t powerhouses in our own rights. We were property. Chattel. You called us princess to make us lesser than your princes. Lesser than your kings. Men like you and my father forget that wars were waged for women before, and they will be again. After all, princesses are made to become queens.”
When she flipped her cards over, Sean realized what the rest of us had known for years.
There was a reason Mari had kept Seattle’s throne when everyone had bet against her. She was a force of nature, and Sean O’Bannon was nothing but an object she had no problem removing from her path.
Chapter Seven
Mari
Troy Kincaid’s apartment was exactly what one expected from a rich bachelor. Floor-to-ceiling windows, heavy metal furniture and polished cement floors. Then came the paintings. Splashes of color and portraits of long-forgotten women lined his walls. I had to hand it to him; the fakes were impeccable, but the whole place was a modern nightmare.
The man himself waited for us on his living room couch, sipping a cup of coffee like he hadn’t buzzed us into the building. Still, it was good to see a friendly face again.
“Mari Marcosa, I’m glad to see you in one piece.” He met me halfway, leaning down for a polite kiss to the cheek. I had to lean up on my toes, and the stretch felt nice even as it hurt. My ribs were wrapped, and I’d even donned a brace to stabilize them while I moved around the city. Doctor’s orders.
“Was that a concern?” I asked when he’d gotten his fill of me.
“With the rumors floating around that you were dead, I’ll admit I was worried.”
