Chapter 7

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The world is still beautiful.

Rowan

Briar Rosanera will be the end of me. I spend the entire drive gripping the wheel like a lifeline, listening to her directions, and cursing my weakness. She's right. About everything. I'm afraid I'll turn out just like my parents. I'm afraid I'll become the kind of man my father was, the kind of man who uses shows of strength—like breaking glasses and having people by the throat—to inspire respect. If I ever needed proof that I have his blood in my veins, it came earlier—with Briar's pulse against my palm.

I barely know what happened.

Something inside me just snapped.

The second Briar showed up in my meeting room wearing whatever it is she's wearing, dread overwhelmed me. Before she appeared, the meeting was going piss poorly. Granger was being his usual irritation. Many of my other captains were agreeing with his points. And then she walked in, and lit up, and kissed my cheek in front of everyone, as though I had accepted her insane proposition that we pretend to be romantically affiliated last night.

All I did last night was give up on trying to get her to go away because I was too tired to deal with it.

If Granger decides to use this idea that I care about anyone enough to be involved with them against me…

If he goes after Briar because of me…

A hard swallow sticks in my esophagus as I force myself to take a tight breath.

The last thing I need right now is for the fraying edges of my family to have more ammunition. The last thing I need right now is a distraction in a fluttery blue dress.

I shouldn't be humoring any of this—I don't have the time; obviously I don't have the patience—but one thing isn't letting my brain leave Briar Rosanera alone.

The way her family treats her.

How does a frivolous woman like her garner care, respect, and obedience from her subordinates while existing as carefree as she comes off? She's inane.

Lethal.

Unafraid.

Confident.

She's so unconcerned that any harm might come to her she's slipped out of her shoes, propped her feet on my dash, and let her dress bunch down at her thighs in a puddle of lace.

Long, toned legs on full display.

She's a hazard to safe driving.

"Turn right," she says, curling a lock of dark hair around her finger and crossing her ankles.

Cursing myself for staring, I obey and turn onto a bustling city street. Unlit neon signs, bars, convenience stores, and second-hand boutiques fill my vision. Inexplicably, a stretch of garden scattered with benches rests in the center of the worn building fa?ades.

Kicking her legs off the dash and pulling her sneakers back on, she says, "Park anywhere," then she stretches back between our seats to reach her picnic basket.

My eye catches on a parking spot a moment after I rip my attention off the curve of her back. Muttering swears, I slide into the available space near the center garden strip, kill the engine, and glare as she settles back into her seat with her basket on her lap.

A feline glint overwhelms her ice blue eyes after a couple moments. "You're welcome to admire me."

My eyes narrow.

"I mean it. I don't mind."

"I do."

She lifts her delicate fingers to her lips. "Oh, pet, it's too soon for that phrase. I haven't even picked out my wedding dress yet. It's so cute that you're already practicing, though."

When she opens her door, I debate driving off and leaving her here.

Alone.

With that know-it-all attitude of hers.

And a dozen strangers who could hurt her.

Jaw locked, I snatch my keys and step out. Stretching, I fill my lungs with late afternoon summer air. It's warm. A bit damp with the promise of rain I can't remember the last time I did anything this benign. Or this…sunlit.

Cold hits the back of my arm, and I jerk, finding Briar holding a bottle of spray-on sunscreen.

"What do you think yo—"

"Albinos have more color in their skin, Rowan. Come on. You'll be burnt in two minutes." Cocking a hip against the basket resting on her arm, she grasps my hand and…mothers me. The process of coating the bare skin beneath my t-shirt sleeves in spray can't take longer than thirty seconds, but the sensation leaves me shocked speechless and regretting having insisted on changing out of my meeting clothes before we left. Smiling so sweetly, she says, "Close your eyes, baby. Let me get your face."

I rock my jaw, but do as I'm told, holding my breath and—

The sound of the bottle sprays, but only her cold hands meet my cheeks.

Eyes flying open, I jolt back.

She smirks. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

She shows me the label. "Don't spray on face. It's like you've never interacted with sunscreen before. Which means you don't bathe in the stuff. Which must mean this is your first time ever seeing the sun." Popping the bottle back in her basket, she twists on her heel and spreads her arms wide at the sky. "Isn't it spectacular?"

My mouth opens. I close it. Gather my thoughts.

Grunting, I rub the remnants on my face in until the chill has abated.

Smiling, her eyes roll. "So articulate." Her hand—still slick with sunscreen—takes mine hostage, using it as an anchor to drag me across the street to a bench beside a sidewalk that cuts through the swathe of garden before us. A couple children with chalk play hopscotch past a handful of flowerbeds. A few women I can only assume are their mothers chat amiably on another bench.

Beyond this splash of bright foliage, it's all chipped paint and faded bricked. Cracks run through the sidewalks. Dandelions pop up from the fractures to bob in the warm breeze.

The mundane peace saturating everything I can see pricks at my nerves.

It is far too unfamiliar for comfort.

"Sit down," Briar says.

I fix my gaze on her as she plants herself on the bench, opens the basket, and offers me a sub sandwich.

There's a smiley face drawn on the paper wrapper, right next to the tape holding the bundle closed.

I drag my attention back to her eyes.

Her head tilts. "I'll take the first bite if you think it's poisoned; however, there are far more enjoyable ways to kill you. And I've had plenty of opportunities."

Sitting, I take the sandwich, stretch my legs, and battle the unease gnawing away at my gut.

Briar retrieves another sandwich from the basket and rips open the tape beside her own smiley face—a winking one. Grabbing a crinkle-cut pickle that fell out of the overstuffed bread, she pops it in her mouth.

Despite the surrounding bustle, the crunch of her bite is distinct.

I point at the smiley face in my lap. "Why?"

"Chip's a sweetheart." She peers into the basket and pulls out a napkin covered in neat penmanship. "He likes doing this sort of thing."

I look at the pristine scrawl.

Have a lovely first date, Bossette. Break his fingers if he touches you inappropriately. xoxo

My eye twitches. "And Chip is…" I vaguely remembering her calling someone by that name yesterday. The moment's blurry with residue drugs, and both the people I recall didn't stick around for very long.

"Chip is my underboss's husband. She trained him well."

I see. The Rosanera family is matriarchal, with a fully women-dominated leadership. It's not the traditional way to run a mafia, but perhaps the attitude of pledging to a female head is part of the reason behind why her family members treat her the way they do.

Sexism runs rampant in the environment I've grown up in.

The cheap pride that comes from believing men are better than women defines a lot about a character.

If that pride is absent in the members that join her family, her ranks must be comprised of a higher caliber of person. And, unfortunately, replicating it would mean dismantling my current numbers then beating some sense into the rest.

My parents rarely opted to initiate men with morals.

They cared far more about undying obedience.

So, I'm left with a group of men whose honor ends at loyalty. Which means I'm stuck playing roulette on whether my men are clinging to their loyalty for my parents or their loyalty to Veleno. It's split. And a split foundation isn't a very strong one.

Unwrapping my sandwich, I survey the contents, find them tolerable, and take a bite.

"First things first, I think you should get rid of Granger."

I choke on an olive.

Briar pops another stray pickle in her mouth. "He doesn't respect you. His vision doesn't align with yours. He called me mean words."

"It would tear Veleno apart if I remove him without reason."

Composed eyes pin me, blatantly untroubled. "So?"

"Do you have any idea how many lives would get stuck in the resulting anarchy?"

She sighs. "Right now, that man is chipping away at your family, gathering support to his side with a pretense of more money and power. It's only a matter of time before he usurps you. He's only taking so long because, inevitably, some people with consciences prefer your methods." Lifting her hand, she uses her thumb to rub a spot on my cheek. "Loyalty and trust are big in our world. There are consequences if he acts too soon. More than that, he's a businessman who knows how fragile human life is. He doesn't want to get caught in his own crossfire. You're both hesitating to do what needs to be done for your own reasons, but every second you wait is one where he gains another one of your subordinates."

Gently, I push her hand away. "This is neither the time nor the place to talk about this. I don't trust you. Why would I listen to your suggestions?"

"You have to break a few eggs if you want to make an omelet. Your parents knew that. No doubt that's why you're stuck walking on the shells now."

My eye twitches.

She doesn't falter for even a second. "I'm not fragile. I'm not oblivious. I'm an irritation because I want to be, not because I can't help it." Finally releasing my gaze, she bites into her sandwich, licks a droplet of sauce off her lips. "If you agree to collaborate on my terms, I'll handle everything—the problems in your family, the Maxim Project, your crippling loneliness. You just need to let me."

"Crippling loneliness," I echo, unamused.

She smiles.

I drag my attention off her. "I'm not interested in using you like that. If we proceed under your nonsensical terms of falsifying romantic involvement, there will be no emotional or physical exchange."

"It sucks to be all alone in the world," Briar murmurs, bright eyes darkening. Her soft voice cracks. "It sucks." Her lungs fill. "I like you, Rowan. Do you really think I'd have performed an elaborate heist to kidnap you if I didn't believe something great could come of it? I didn't want to arrange a formal meeting with your administration on the chance they were corrupt. I'm not here on accident. I'm not making nonsensical demands. We're not just playing the Maxim Project. Your entire family needs to come undone if it's going to survive. I know we could be something great. Beyond how the front of a relationship can work in our favor, I want you."

My heart thumps against my ribs.

"We're alike. You've also seen the darkest parts of this world. You've worked for them. You've let your own blood and sweat stick in the moth-eaten shadows. But you've never let yourself see beyond that. Let me show you the light."

It sounds so…pleasant. So unlike anything my parents ever taught me. In my world, there has never been a possibility to let myself see the light. In my world, darkness reigns.

My parents trained me to be something less than human. My father scoured my flesh in an effort to remove my soul. To him, I was his heir and protege. Never his son.

The promise of some balm for the emptiness inside feels too much like Briar has peeled me apart, seen the brokenness, and located the best way to manipulate me.

And I'm all too familiar with manipulation.

I wouldn't give refusing her schemes a second thought if it weren't for the silent tear tracing down her cheek. It hits her sandwich before she turns to dab a napkin without writing on it at the corners of her eyes.

Cursing, I rip a large bite out of my sandwich. "Is a fake relationship really necessary?"

"Why?" She sniffles, composing herself. "It's an excellent front to mask our true motivations. Are you scared of commitment or something?"

"Commitment is the only thing people like us know."

"A real match made in heaven, isn't it?"

"Either heaven or—"

She tuts. "Your worldview is terrible."

I mutter, "What do you expect? You just said I've shed blood in the darkest parts of the world."

Her smile wholly disarms me. It's…gentle. Lit by sun. Warm. "True, but you're also eating an amazing sandwich surrounded by flowers on a beautiful afternoon." Lifting her chin, she directs my attention toward the playing children. "Corruption is in everything, and sometimes you can't fight it on the ‘right' side because the good and proper system is overrun with selfishness. This messed up world needs people like us, people willing to break the bad eggs, so we can protect the innocents." When one of the children notices her, she waves, and the little girl grins back. "We can't fix everything, Rowan, but we can make things better for the ones within reach. Likewise…for the ones within reach who don't deserve better…we can make things so much worse."

"You're disturbing, princess."

"One of us has to be, pet."

I mumble around another bite, "If I choose to put any faith in you, what's the next step?"

"Well, well, well, look who's suddenly open to discussing sensitive plans in public."

"Given your apparent control issues, I'm just following your lead."

She frowns at me. "My penchant for control is not an issue; it's a preference."

A humorless laugh exits my nose. "Is that what helps you sleep at night?"

She beams; it is blinding. "Yep! Makes me happy to see all my little ducks in a row while my enemies' waddles flounder about in absolute disarray."

Before taking my next bite, I pause. "Waddles?"

"One of the many collective nouns for a group of ducks. My favorite one." She packs up the other half of her sandwich and stands. "Honestly, isn't the world just beautiful sometimes?"

Sunlight halos her form, raining around her dark hair, highlighting her white skin. A breeze teases the skirt of her dress, making it caress her thighs.

I don't know about the world as a whole.

But this picture isn't half bad.

So, shrugging, I stuff the last of my sandwich in my mouth and mutter, "Sure."