Page 72 of A Vicious Love

The men understood. Comfort was dangerous in my rooms.

Reeves nodded once. “I’ll have names.”

“Good.”

My phone buzzed again.

Marcel.

Car in thirty. Wear a tux. Try not to arrive covered in blood.

I looked down at my hand.

Blood. From whatever idiot I had dealt with.

I stood there for another moment, breathing through the kind of rage that had nowhere elegant to go.

Then I walked out of the operations room.

My men parted around me.

Upstairs, the casino gleamed.

The private floors were already alive with evening money. Men laughing too loudly because they thought expensive sins made them powerful.

The Crow crest burned in gold above the entry to the west lounge, reflected in polished marble underfoot.

People saw me and moved.

Good.

I moved through my own empire with blood on my hand. That was the difference between being a dynasty heir and being a syndicate king.

Heirs were placed. Kings took the room and made everyone grateful to survive being in it.

I showered in the private suite upstairs. Blood ran pink over black tile. The tux was waiting when I came out.

Black.

Of course.

I got dressed. Black jacket. Black trousers. Black shirt. No tie. Cufflinks with the Crow crest. Watch. Rings. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw exactly what Harlan wanted to see.

Monster.

Fine.

Let them have him.

The car ride to the benefit took eighteen minutes.

I spent all eighteen on the phone.

“Freeze the account.”

A pause.

“I didn’t ask if the judge likes it. I asked if the judge has a daughter at St. Mercy with unpaid stimulant charges.”