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I wasn’t surprised he’d heard Cash’s toxic little whispers. For as much money as he had, Troy was a gossip hound. It was half the reason I kept him happy. I also wondered if I needed to use him more, sometimes he heard more than I did. Probably, but I didn’t trust him enough for that.
“You should know better than to bet against me. Anyone who opens their mouth before they see my body on a slab in the morgue is an idiot.”
Kincaid shocked me by grabbing my shoulder. Grey and I both tensed, but it wasn’t an attack. It was…comforting? What the fuck is that about? “I’ve heard there’s been trouble for you lately. Is there anything that I need to worry about?”
Wait. Was Kincaid worried about me? Despite being friendly for most of my adult life, Kincaid and I weren’t what I considered friends. Maybe it was some unexpected loyalty to my father that had him caring for me. Still, I wasn’t sure how to react. Patting his hand, I slipped out of his hold. “You have nothing to worry about. Even if there were problems, they wouldn’t affect you.”
Kincaid followed my lead, brushing off the concern with ease. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I expect nothing less from the Marcosa queen.”
There was an awkward pause, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. Troy had managed to throw me off almost immediately, and I didn’t like it.
“This isn’t your usual type of painting.” Grey stepped forward, bringing Troy’s attention to the wooden crate behind him, and I was grateful. I needed a moment to get my head on straight again.
Troy smiled, all teeth and deadly intellect, as he motioned for his men to open the crate. “It isn’t, but I’ve been looking for the right forgery for years. Every time I’ve found them, the artist gets picked up or killed. It’s exhausting. This time, I put a guard around them the moment I saw their work. This isn’t the first collaboration, and it won’t be the last. Especially with how much it’s going to fetch at auction.”
He pulled out the painting, and while I was underwhelmed, I couldn’t help but be proud that we’ve managed not only to get it back but to get it back in one piece. He had no idea the danger his precious painting had been in, yet there it was, standing against his wall like it was always meant to be there.
Another job well done for the Marcosa empire.
Troy unboxed it, checked over every single inch of it, making sure there was no damage. Once it was cleared, he nodded to one of his goons in the corner, who handed Moore a small briefcase. We weren’t fools; we didn’t do cash. Well, not all cash. The rest of our fee would be split between the Marcosa coffers and my own offshore account. Grey called it my rainy-day fund, in case we ever had to leave in a hurry. It was standard operating practice for anyone in the underworld to bank in a handful of other countries. The last thing we needed was the Feds freezing our accounts if they ever investigated.
With work done, Troy settled on the couch, and Grey and I moved toward the door.
“Sit with me.”
Well, fuck. One of the worst parts about running a city was the fucking politics. If we walked out now, it would put our working relationship at risk, and Troy could use that against us. Since we were fighting to hold the city, we needed all the allies we could get. Which meant I had to indulge whatever softheartedness had crawled up Troy’s ass.
Grey and I sat on the couch opposite Troy. He didn’t bother offering us refreshments, knowing we wouldn’t take them. It was another of my father’s rules. Poison was too easy to slip into someone’s beverage.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” When I stared at him blankly, Troy grinned. “Young Cameron finally found himself a bride.”
Once again, I wondered if I’d been underutilizing Kincaid. His gossip network had to be massive if he knew about the engagement before we’d officially announced it. “How is it that you always seem to know what’s going on in the city before everyone else?”
Troy smiled. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Grey’s voice was markedly less friendly when he responded. “Best make sure those ears stay out of our business.”
Troy heard the warning, though he didn’t comment. “When’s the wedding? It seems like this city could use a little bit of a pick-me-up.”
I heard so much in the undercurrent of his words. People are talking. The rumors are gaining traction. You’re losing ground.
I couldn’t ignore our reality. Power came from perception, and if I wanted to regain what little bit Cash’s rumors had stolen, I needed to reinvigorate the Marcosa image. We needed to celebrate our success, our prosperity. What better way to do that than with a wedding?
Especially when the last one we’d attempted was my brother’s, and he didn’t make it to the altar.
“Funny you should mention it. They’ve decided to move the date up.”
It was a testament to our trust that Greyson didn’t flinch with the lie.
Kincaid’s face changed, and I saw a hint of approval. “Is that so? How exciting. Any particular reason they may be rushing for the rings?”
Grey stiffened beside me, and I realized Kincaid was asking about heirs.
The reminder sank in my stomach, and I had to swallow down bile. I knew Grey and I needed to talk about kids, but with things still up in the air with Nate and Dominic—not to mention Cash—it wasn’t the right time. I wasn’t sure if it ever would be.
Waving off Kincaid’s attempt to gather intel, I smiled like we were in on some big secret. “Not that I know of. Aislynn is enamored with him and asked me to move the date up. Considering Cameron feels the same, I saw no reason to delay.”
“Have they set a date yet?” Kincaid, like all the key players in the city, would expect an invite. To not allow them to come was an insult, one we couldn’t afford.
