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My father flinches at the first explosion. He doesn’t like things that are loud or unexpected. Which is why I get on his nerves sometimes—I can be both of those things, even when I’m trying
“How come we weren’t invited?” Nero says sarcastically. We weren’t invited because we fucking hate the Griffins, and vice versa.
He’s living in a whole other reality than the rest of us. Trying to be a good boy, a law-abiding citizen.
I broke up with Oliver Castle three months ago, but he isn’t taking the hint. He might need to take a mallet to the head instead if he doesn’t stop annoying me.
I do see Nessa Griffin, surrounded by people congratulating her on the monumental achievement of staying alive for nineteen years.
Oh look, they’ve even got a signed copy of Dubliners. I don’t care what anybody says, no one understands that fucking book. The Irish are all in on it, pretending it’s a masterwork of literature when I’m pretty sure it’s pure gibberish.
“Make sure you talk to Cardenas,” my father is saying. “He controls the firefighters’ union. To get his support, we’ll basically need to bribe him. Be subtle about it, though, he likes to pretend he’s above that sort of thing.
She thinks it’s beneath us to use sex appeal as a lever. But she’s wrong. Nothing is beneath us if it works.
They’re still living in a time when you solve disputes by cutting off a man’s hands and throwing him into the river. I mean, I’ll do that if I have to, but I at least try to come to an agreement before it reaches that point.
“I was on the main level,” Nero says calmly. “With Nora Albright. Her father owns the Fairmont in Millennium Park. He called me a greasy little criminal once. So I fucked his daughter in the Griffins’ formal dining room. Sort of killed two birds with one stone, in terms of revenge.”
‘Calm water doesn’t need more water—you need wind to move your sail.’ I probably need to find a little maniac like you.”
My throat tightens. I don’t feel afraid very often. I’m scared now. Despite what I said, I don’t think Callum is weak.
I hope Callum drowned. ‘Cause if he didn’t, I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing him again very soon.
I respect my father. He may look like a professor, but he’s killed men with his bare hands. I’ve seen him do it. But he’s not the only one in the room who can break bones. I’m not the obedient son I once was. We’re eye to eye these days.
“You are my eldest child and my only son, Callum,” he says. “But I promise you, if you disobey me, I will cut you out, root and branch. I have no use for you if you can’t be trusted. I will strike you down like Icarus if your ambition outstrips your orders. Do you understand?”
“What is it?” I say. “What did you decide?” “You’re going to marry Callum Griffin in two weeks,” Papa says.
You’ll marry Callum Griffin. You’ll bear the children that will be the next generation of our mutual lineage. That is the agreement. And you will uphold it.”
Honestly, Armageddon would be a welcome respite from what’s actually about to happen.
“They’re the ones that should be worried. Callum, especially. I’m gonna strangle him in his sleep the first chance I get.”
“No can do. We can’t make anything with strawberries.” “Did your truck get hijacked on the way up from Mexico?” “Nah,” he fills a shaker with ice and starts making a martini for somebody else while I scan down the drink menu. “It’s just for this party—I guess the dude is allergic?” “What dude?” “The one gettin’ married.”
Oh no
“He is?”
She knows
It’s funny. I could give two shits if Christina Cuntley-Hart wants to flirt with Callum. They might have fucked last week, for all I know. But I find it pretty fucking disrespectful that she’s doing it right in front of my face.
“Oh my god,” Callum says, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn . . .”
I content myself with smiling up at him and saying, “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
“Let me tell you something, though. When she says those vows to me, she becomes my wife. She’ll belong to me. And what happens to her isn’t your concern anymore. She answers to me. What goes on between us is my business, not yours.”
He thinks Aida has some vulnerable side? I doubt it. She’s an animal, just like her brothers. Which means she needs to be broken.
The great Callum Griffin. He’s their JFK, and I’m supposed to be their Jackie Kennedy. I’d rather be Lee Harvey Oswald.
I can’t fucking believe his nerve, booking a bikini wax along with everything else. He thinks he owns my pussy already? He thinks he gets to decide how it looks?
I should wait until he’s sleeping, then slap hot wax on his balls. Give him a taste of his own medicine.
I’m already planning all the ways I’m going to make Callum’s life a living hell.
“Yes, it certainly was bare—”
Omg
Aida tilts her lips up for a chaste kiss. To show her who’s boss, I seize her by the shoulders and kiss her roughly, forcing my tongue into her mouth. Her lips and tongue taste sweet. Tart and fresh. Like something I haven’t tasted in a very long time . . . Strawberries.
Yeah she did it!
The pious nonsense was the cherry on the bullshit sundae.
The more she rebels, the more I want to control her. I want to bend her to my will. I want to make her do whatever I say, for my pleasure . . .
She’s incredibly soft. I don’t know how someone with the personality of a cactus can have the softest lips, shoulders, and breasts that I’ve ever touched. I want to run my hands over every inch of her.
That’s what you always find in the end—no matter how pure people pretend to be, when the screw gets tight, there’s always some place they crack.
Then I see somebody who definitely wasn’t invited: Tymon Zajac, better known as the Butcher. Head of the Polish mafia, and a major fucking pain in my ass.
I’ve made more than one person in this city disappear forever. But I do it quietly and only when necessary.
I don’t want him here as an enemy or a friend.
The Butcher took his brother’s place as the head of the Chicago Braterstwo. And since then, not a month has gone by without his chipping away at the edges of my empire. He’s old school. He’s hungry. And I know he’s here for a reason tonight.
“Be careful how you speak to my wife,”
“This tux will be soaked in your blood after I cut your fucking tongue out of your mouth, old man,”
“The young make threats. The old make promises,”
I’m looking at her with actual respect. She sees it and rolls her eyes at me, annoyed rather than gratified.
If you give me another chance, I’ll prove what you mean to me. I’ll put a ring on your finger and show you off to the world.”
“That greasy fuck put his hands on you,” Callum says. There’s an edge to his voice. I’ve heard him angry before. But not on this level.
I hate Callum the most when he’s cold, stiff, robotic. When he walks past me in the hallway like I’m not even there. When he sleeps next to me in bed without holding me, without even touching me.
I put my lips up against his ear and I whisper, “Do you want me, Cal?” “I don’t want you,” he moans, his voice husky and raw. “I need you.”
I couldn’t let myself crave this man because it was pointless. I thought I had no power over him. But now I realize that he needs this as badly as I do.
