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“Because you’re here, and because you need him. It doesn’t matter how mad he is. He’d never abandon you.”
I realize this isn’t the soldier I’m seeing. It’s the Bruin. It’s a King.
LB doesn’t just stand for Little Bird. They’re initials. Lavinia Bruin.
“And because I love you.”
Loving Nick Bruin should hurt a little bit.
There’s a saying: what you fear is what you create.
Yes. That’s mine.
She’s not a Duchess. She’s a goddamn Queen.
Lavinia loves me. Me.
If I don’t have the tightly constrained boundaries of the Royalty hemming me in, then what do I become? Maybe I’ll just be theirs. It’d be enough.
“I never wanted to be King, Sy. All I ever wanted was one worth following.”
Your father is a Bruin, just as much as mine is a Perilini. Family isn’t blood or the right series of letters, Sy. It has to be something a hell of a lot stronger than that.”
It has to be love. Unconditional. Unyielding. Unbreakable.
“I would have done it for you, Little Bird.”
Maybe I even would have been good at it eventually, but if you want the truth? I would have been fucking miserable.” Lavinia’s face falls, hands digging into her back pockets. “I’m sorry.” Nick gives my arm a slap, snorting. “Yeah, how dare you think so highly of me that you’d suggest I be ambitious.”
These tears are for the way this city makes me feel. Empty and hopeless. A couple of dead girls is just another day in Forsyth.
“My father, Ashby, Remy’s dad? They’re the jokes, Sy. You’re the real deal.” “But–” I press my finger to his mouth, attempting to look stern. “Don’t badmouth my boyfriend. He’s a King, you know? He’ll totally beat you up.”
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I’ve spent all day sore and nervous, pulling at my hair, gnawing at my fingernails, crying and grieving, and I haven’t felt beautiful for a single second of it. Not until right now.
“I was asleep, Lav. Walking around paralyzed and lost. Just getting from one day to the next. And then you showed up…”
“Say you’ll be my Queen.” I grip his hair, releasing the cry that’s been building in my chest. “Yes.” “Say it.” He punches in faster, the muscles in his neck going tight. “Say it, baby. Tell me.” Locking my ankles around him, I strain up to meet his lips. “I’ll be your Queen, Sy.”
“I can’t do this without you. I need you to be my Queen.” “There’s no need to ask me. Duchess, girlfriend, Queen… it’s all the same.” I press a kiss on his shoulder. “I’m yours, Simon Perilini. Any name, any time, any place.”
Special K: Ashby requested an audience. So did BK And the mayor Find a place that can fit this many egos
“Please tell me you’re not getting my vagina tattooed on your arm.” Sy scoffs. “Who am I, Nick?” “Oh no.” Groaning, I peek up at Nick’s face. “No, Nick. You’re not getting my vag tattooed on you.” He rolls his eyes, casually flipping the sheets down to expose my breasts. “You’re not the boss of me. Sy is.” Lazily, Sy commands, “You’re not getting our Queen’s pussy tattooed on you.”
If my first act as Queen is marking my King, then I’ll count myself lucky.
“You’ve adopted a real pair of brick walls here, Lavinia. I hope you’re a patient woman.” Shaking my head, I admit, “Not even a little. I usually resort to bribery or threats of violence.
I realize now the serenity isn’t a trick.
“I was wrong. You don’t have Daddy issues,” he says, sitting next to her. “You don’t want his approval. You don’t want any man’s approval—” “That’s for sure,” I blurt.
“Each one of us has hurt you, but you’re still here–not because we changed you. Because you changed us.”
“You’re a star, Vinny, just like the sun. You pulled us into your orbit.”
“And let’s make one thing perfectly fucking clear. No one gets to tell you if you're fit to be our Queen but me. And you’re it, baby.”
“And you’re not just mine, you're theirs, too. And that makes you...
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Remy might call it art. Sy might call it a fight. I call it perfection.
I want this moment–her Royal coronation–to last.
“I’m an artist,” I argue, “even when I’m making love.
But with Nicky and Sy, it’s different. We’re not just a star and a moon, we’re a whole goddamn constellation.
But that’s Lavinia Lucia, the bearer of surprises.
If we can do this, share this woman, this Queen, I truly believe we can do anything. Even change Forsyth for the better.
He loves her. Pretty Nick Bruin isn’t just obsessed. He’s not just coveting. He’s loving. It’s the same love that I feel in every pump of blood. Every time I see her. Feel her.
“You made us stronger, Lavinia. We just showed you how strong you already were.”
“So your sister is a bitch even in your dreams.” His hands settle on my hips, warm and steady. Fuck, it’s true. She’d probably be proud of it.
“Tisha,” he repeats, “where are you?” I’ve already reached the clock room by the time I answer, voice casual. “She’s in the ground–locked away in a box.”
“She didn’t use this phone because it would have killed me, too.”
My sister loved me. My mother loved me. The only Lucia who never did isn’t worth mourning. And I won’t.
I lean back against Sy, the man who made me a Queen, and feel it rushing through me like a breath of fresh air. In the distance, a box is burning, and all I feel is relief. The Lucia name won’t live on. But Perilini, Maddox, and Bruin will.
My Little Bird loves me.
Most of the time, I know just who I am and exactly what I want. Pops used to tell me I’m a manifester–
Sy’s eyebrows snap into a glare as he assesses himself. A hulk of a man, a skilled fighter, a killer, the reigning King of West End. And his fluffy white kitten.
The rings tattooed on each of our fingers aren’t legally binding in any way. But they’re still a promise.
One day, at 7:32, West End stopped breathing. For decades it’s been here, quiet and solemn and so fucking angry about it that we grew into a group of desperate fists. Today, we have a heartbeat again.
Little birds, striking vipers, and angry bears… These are all wild, resilient things. And a cage could never hold her heart.
