Page 175 of Marrying the Savage

“Board?”

“His board. His city. His rules. Men who work directly under him, men who oppose him, men who owe him, men he intends to kill. He likes clear categories.”

“That sounds accurate.”

“I refuse categories.”

“Very brave.”

“Very profitable.”

“Until he kills you.”

Arman smiles, but there’s less humor in it now. “He has had chances.”

That surprises me. “And he didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I remain useful.”

“To him?”

“To the city. Sometimes even Damir understands that breaking a tool creates more work than using it.”

“That is a grim way to describe your life.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

We stand there for a moment, looking over the club. A woman in a gold dress laughs near the bar. A man leans too close to her, and one of Arman’s security men steps forward just enough that the man immediately leans back. Efficient. Quiet. No drama unless needed.

Damir would approve.

God, why am I thinking that?

I push away from the railing. “Can I look around?”

Arman studies me. “You are not a prisoner here.”

“Everyone keeps saying versions of that while standing near exits.”

“You may look around the club. Stay on the main floor or the balcony. Don’t go into private rooms. Don’t leave through any door without telling me.”

“That sounds like prison rules with music.”

“It sounds like I’m trying not to get murdered by your husband.”

I can’t really argue with that.

He gestures toward the stairs. “Rafi will stay near you.”

“The one I kicked?”

“Yes.”

“Is he still offended?”