Chapter 5

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He thought she was fragile like a flower.

Rowan

One day. One single day. That's all it took to make me lose my mind.

Maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if only the meager few I keep on staff to handle the cooking and upkeep were around right now. But it's not just them. It's also Corbin and Aster, my consigliere and underboss respectively. The two of them are night and day. Corbin with his pale skin, sandy hair, and lean physique against Aster's dark hair, deeply tan skin, and bulking frame.

Despite their glaring differences in appearance, they're both sitting at my long black dining room table and chatting with Briar as though she didn't actively kidnap me last night. As though she's not currently only wearing my shirt.

It's a wonder how I managed to get some sleep yet wake up feeling twice as exhausted.

Taking a bite of my toast, I keep my gaze firmly on Aster, who appears to be staring directly at the edge of the tattooed petal peeking out from beneath Briar's collar. He's not noticed my glare. Not while he's so busy noticing her.

How can anyone raised in our environment be as unguarded as she is?

I'm a man, yet I've seen some of the guys in Veleno do things that make me nervous to be alone in a room with them. As though she's never witnessed an unkind thing in her life, she's having breakfast with three random men, who have current access to the kinds of drugs that would send her into next week, and she's entirely unconcerned.

I've been around gunfights that give me less anxiety.

Corbin, seated on my right, nudges my arm. "When you told me you made it back safe last night and I could call off the rescue team, I didn't think you meant you seduced your way out."

Aster spares me a glance, a languid smile pulling at the pale scar that cuts down his tan cheek, across his lips, and to his chin. He rolls a lump of scrambled egg over on his plate. "I wouldn't believe it if she weren't sitting across from me. How very out of character."

Without breaking eye contact, I stab a sausage patty, and Aster clears his throat, tugging on the collar of his dress shirt.

On my left, Briar muffles one of her infuriating giggles behind a mouthful of scrambled egg on toast.

In my head, I see her standing near me in the hall of her manor, eyes downcast, voice and smile muted.

Please, Rowan. I need to find my parents. Please. I can't do it alone.

The whiplash of her character is going to give me gray hair. I have no idea what to expect from her, who she really is, if she has any ulterior motives.

She's the personification of a hurricane.

But there's no peace to be had in the quiet eye of her storm.

Rather, the calm is foreboding at best.

"Oh, right." Corbin wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Before I forget, I updated your schedule for today. Lots of meetings. The usual." He pulls a folded page from his button-down shirt pocket and hands it to me.

Relieved to have access to something familiar amid the chaos Briar causes, I unfold the color-coded sheet and scan the blocks for today. Granger, my least favorite capo, is still pushing back on my decision to shut down trafficking throughout the family. Income is down overall, but of course it is. Nothing sells like people, not even murder.

Do I care?

Absolutely not.

Unlike my parents, I kind of want to sleep at night…preferably in my own bed, when it doesn't smell like lemon and vanilla.

A low whistle whispers behind me, and I tense before Briar locks her fingers against my shoulder and sets her chin atop them. "Pretty. Really putting the organization in organized crime, aren't you? Love the rainbow."

Not for the first time since the little mob boss entered my life, a thread of unsettle collects in my gut. I didn't hear her stand or see her move. I know I'm not that absorbed in my schedules. The idea that she can silently and effortlessly get behind my back whenever she wants makes my blood curdle.

Clamping my palm to her face, I shove her away. "This is confidential."

She appears by my other shoulder the moment I'm no longer touching her. Bubbling like a pack of Mentos in Diet Coke, she cocks an elbow atop my head. "That's a lot of meetings to handle petty squabbles. Aren't you a little overworked?"

I swat her off my head and mutter, "Veleno has just exchanged hands. This is a normal amount of transitional dissonance."

Briar cuts a look toward Corbin, who runs his fingers through his cropped, sandy blond hair and focuses back on his food. She hums. "Your own consigliere doesn't believe that." Her slender finger taps my schedule. "You should have half this many meetings, more initiations, and thrice the amount of free time to work on tasks that expand your power. Haven't you heard of the eighty-twenty rule? How have you not worked yourself six feet under already?"

The paper crinkles when I clench my fist, but Briar doesn't so much as flinch.

She murmurs, "No wonder you've not caught the people behind the Maxim Project. With a family name that can get you anywhere, you've been too busy cooped up in an office playing CEO for a bunch of volatile children. Make some examples of people, regain fear of disobedience, then attain trust when your orders result in progress."

My patience cracks, and I stand, scraping the legs of my chair against the pristine white marble floor. Towering over Briar does nothing to pluck the eerie serenity from her expression. It's too late for her to find me threatening. She already knows I'm too tired for her nonsense and very minimal coaxing sends me to sleep on the couch in my own bedroom. I despise conflict. I would rather go to excessive lengths overworking myself in order to maintain an illusion of peace than risk dangerous ripples. And she knows that. Intimately. Somehow.

It's unsettling and infuriating.

Pocketing my schedule, I sneer, "Put some clothes on."

The corner of her mouth quirks upward. "No."

"Yes," I growl.

Her arms fold.

My patience shatters. Grabbing her wrist, I plow past Aster and Corbin, toward the dining room exit, wholly ignoring Corbin's whistle and Aster's smirk. Despite the fact they are the only two people left in Veleno that I can trust, I'm seriously reconsidering their positions.

The second my bedroom door shuts, Briar says, "You know I'm right."

"I don't need you to tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Because that's what Corbin's for? He's a sweetheart, but we both know your janky leadership isn't built on any manner of experience right now. Both Aster and Corbin are your second and third because you know they're not going to put a bullet in you. That's it. Their only credential. It makes for a terribly short resume."

"Yet a invaluable skill set." Releasing her, I point firmly at the bathroom, where she left her clothing last night. The painted-on outfit might not be much better than my t-shirt, but it does at least have a higher neckline and something reminiscent of pants.

A swear hisses into my head.

She needs to locate real clothes—for the sake of my sanity.

Prissily, Briar lifts her chin and trots into the bathroom, leaving the door open as she gets her outfit off the rack.

She does not close the door when the hem of my shirt rises up her thighs.

I curse and turn my back on her. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?" The innocence in her tone wouldn't fool anyone. Not while she's probably naked behind me.

Lifting a hand to my eyes, I scrub it to my mouth, count down from ten, listen to Bugsy chirping his happy birdsong in the corner. Everything is fine. At least she's not trying to kill me like other mafia leaders might.

Right. This emotional abuse is preferred. Emotional abuse is something I've taught myself to deal with.

"You're too uptight," she calls.

"I am not currently accepting reviews or complaints. The Veleno Family sincerely apologizes for the inconvenience. HR will be in touch as soon as anyone cares about your opinion."

Her laughter washes over me, and I fight back the chill it causes as I fold my arms. She says, "You have to know the way things are right now isn't sustainable, pet. If your subordinates aren't listening, make them."

"Real wise words coming from a fairy-tale princess."

Fingers trace across my back before I even hear her approach. Out of reflex, I face her, grip her hand, and feel her fragile bones grind.

She wets her lips, something feral in the action. "Come now, pet. That's no way to hold a lover's hand."

"Not your pet, princess. You're only here because I pity you."

"Oh, I know."

"Don't think you can get away with whatever you want."

She hums, still smiling.

"I mean it."

"I know." Lifting her free hand, she grazes my cheek. "Broken, broken boys turn into broken, broken men. Remember yesterday? When I said we could do this the easy way or the hard way?"

My brow furrows.

Her smile stretches, pricking all my nerves. "Do you know which option you chose?"

My grip falters, and she slips from my grasp. Combing her fingers through her hair, she heads to Bugsy's cage, and starts calling him Oreo.