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Sprawled on his desk, I kick my legs and watch his narrow eyes fly across the computer screen in front of him. His left hand darts over the keyboard while his right scribbles notes. It’s late.
Truth be told, I’m tired.
But of course it’s tiring to be the propelling agent behind dividing up a family as strong as Veleno.
Not many leaders would be able to handle this aftermath as calmly as Rowan is.
Rowan is…something else.
Something unique.
Something beautiful.
He killed Granger, and only Granger, less than an hour ago. He refused to let me tag along and see the torture session, but I was right there with him before he left to see the monster in his basement. I stood beside him as he talked with and divided up the other traitors.
Several, he put in direct police custody. The rest…he let go.
My papa and mama always told me that nothing comes before the family you choose. Sometimes, the families you’re born into aren’t the right ones. It’s a big reason so many people wind up stuck in worlds like ours. But, whatever leads you to it, when you’ve chosen a family? When you’ve committed yourself to a blood bond with a family that you’ve chosen, you don’t just walk away.
In this business, no one with a beating heart gets out.
Them’s the rules, and I don’t make ’em, but if I did, I think I’d make the teeniest tiniest amendment…
“You should have chopped off all their pinkies,” I say.
Rowan blinks, and his scribbling pauses. His heavy, dark gaze hits me, lingering. “What?”
I roll onto my back—and his papers—and stretch. “Becoming a made man isn’t something you undo. Choosing to join a mafia tangles your fate with the fate of the family. Fate shouldn’t be so easily severed. It should at least abide by red string rules.”
Glaring down at me, Rowan mutters, “Red string rules?”
“The red string of fate that ties two lovers together by their pinkies.” I show him my pinkie. “If anyone dares to break the heart of the family, they should pay with their lives—or their pinkies. Romantic, no?”
“Granger’s men are branded as Veleno’s. No other families will trust them. This is their chance to turn things around, live a different kind of life—or wind up with their leaders in prison for botching petty crimes. No one I let go has the guts to continue the things I’ve been working to shut down.”
It’s like he’s not hearing me. “Rowan.” I meet his eyes. “Your morals and mercy are very pretty, but you’re misunderstanding my goals. You could have had dozens of pinkies to put in a jar. Then you could have put that jar on display. Are you picturing it? The pinkie jar? Isn’t it the cutest decoration you can imagine?”
Rowan’s lips part. His mouth closes. Dropping his pen, he swipes a hand down his face. “You’re not supposed to talk like that while wearing a pink miniskirt.” His voice tightens, disturbed. “It’s…wrong. Somehow.”
It is very clear to me that Rowan has a thing for rules… Dragging one knee up, I let my pink miniskirt fall toward my hips. “That is such an odd way of asking me to strip, pet.”
Heat slashes across his pale skin. “Go home, princess.”
I grin. “Can’t.”
“Why not?”
Touching a nail to my lip, I say, “I require thanks for my service today in the form of a goodnight kiss.”
He stares, long and hard, then fixes his attention squarely on his computer. “My family is in disarray, and I’ll be up all night dealing with it. Gratitude is hardly the emotion that seems most forthcoming.”
“I broke a couple eggs for you by uncovering their blatant disobedience. Leave it to a man to be grumpy about a fresh omelet.” Sitting up, I toss my legs off the edge of the desk beside him. He glances at them before rolling his eyes back to his computer. I continue, “Are you saying you wish I hadn’t prompted this? You’d have preferred I let Granger and his lackeys hurt more people while I did nothing to stop it?”
“No.”
I cross my arms. “So? Where’s my thank you kiss?”
Rowan rises, planting a palm beside my thigh, and my heart leaps as he angles himself over me. His finger hooks beneath my chin, and for a moment, I think he’s actually going to appease my outlandish demand and kiss me. Instead, he asks, “Is there some logical reason behind your wishing I’d chopped off dozens of fingers tonight?”
