Page 94 of Fallen Rook

Me: What about a sultry rendition of Happy Birthday Mr. President?

Me: I can rock that crème sequin dress like nobody’s business.

Me: Hello? Anyone there?

Tomcat: Unfortunately.

Me: Did you smile today?

Tomcat: Not yet.

I send an attachment.

Tomcat: Cute. How old were you there?

Me: College. I went through a platinum hair phase. Really leaned into those Billy Idol cheekbones.

Tomcat: You must’ve been popular with the ladies.

Me: I had a steady girlfriend all through high school and college. It was easier, you know?

Tomcat: I know.

Tomcat: E?

Me: ?

Tomcat: I lied. I smiled today already. I just wanted you to send a picture.

Me: Really?

Tomcat: Really.

Me: Well, whaddaya know.

Me: Never trust a fucking fed.

The week was going so well, I allowed myself not to concentrate on Katya, the Bratva, and the fact that Luca was literally falling apart. He’d missed two important meetings and left a third one halfway through because of a text message.

Achilles and Tierney had postponed their honeymoon indefinitely, and Achilles had called for an urgent meeting without Luca to see how we could salvage the situation.

We met at Tiernan and Lila’s house in the ’burbs. Tierney opened the door, all swooshing red hair and a femme fatale smile. She wore ripped Chanel stockings and a little black dress that highlighted her runway model measurements.

“Enzo!” She threw herself at me in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in, like, weeks!”

“Oh, shush. You Instagram stalk me, like everyone else,” I murmured into her hair.

She laughed, pinching my side. “Would you follow me back already? I’m getting a complex.”

“No,” I drawled, squeezing her harder, knowing she’d resist. “My online persona refuses to acknowledge humanity. I’m just posting for the fans.”

“All right, that’s enough, Napoleone di Buonaparte. Remove your hands and megalomaniac presence from my wife before your next post is your obituary.” Achilles appeared at the doorway.

I stepped back. Tierney and I shared an exasperated eyeroll.

Before I was able to step into the house, Lila, my baby sister, flung herself at me. Lila was the exact opposite of Tierney. Whereas the red bombshell was all bite, spice, and dripping sex appeal, Lila was soft, sweet, no edges—with blond curls, pale blue eyes, a flowery pink dress, and one heck of a baby bump. Somehow, though, they got along like a house on fire. Those two were the real ride or die between the couples.

“Brother!” Lila signed in ASL. “I missed you so much. You don’t visit me as often anymore.”