I expected a big fight. I figured she’d resist as hard as she could but eventually break down. Instead, the second we were alone together, she crawled into my bed, curled into a ball, and went to sleep.
No convincing necessary.
It was strange, having her body beside mine in the darkness. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a woman in my bed for longer than an hour. Her breathing was the only sound I could hear even though the old house creaked around us like there were footsteps in the walls.
And now, in the morning, she’s still there, sprawled on her side and snoring lightly. Her bushy red hair’s a big mess and she’s got a puddle of drool rolling down her mouth.
But fuck, she looks beautiful.
I sit there and watch her for a while, drinking her in. It’s how vulnerable she is in sleep, how young she looks, how small. My baby’s growing in her, and I might’ve just gotten everyone I care about killed to have this girl in this bed right now.
And it was worth it.
Fuck, all the coming blood, it’ll all be worth it if I get to wake up to this snoring, undignified mess every single fucking day.
I dress and leave quietly. Maud is awake and cooking breakfast. I leave instructions with her to keep an eye on Lena and make sure she’s comfortable. “Most of all, don’t let her go anywhere. I’ll be back later.”
Maud salutes me with her spatula and forces a little scrambled eggs on a muffin into my hands. “You look tired. Eat something.”
Only my housekeeper gets to talk to me that way. Mostly because the mansion would be a wreck without her, and partially because she’s such a good damn cook.
Tigran’s already at the warehouse when I show up an hour later. The morning shipment’s getting unloaded on the docks and the place is crawling with people. Most of them nod, smile, and say good morning, and I’m polite as hell back to them. We all love to play pretend like this is a real business.
“I sent Mikah’s cousin Ricky over to Garen with the message.” Tigran takes a box cutter and wrenches it through some tape. The pallet cracks and opens up. “He should be there by now.”
“Garen’s not a stupid man. He knows what his pride is worth.”
“Better be fucking cheap because I don’t think you offered enough concessions.”
I snort at him and lean back against a metal shelving unit as he opens up the box. “I offered him half my fucking territory to run all by himself. The other bosses are going to be absolutely livid.”
“Maybe they’ll start another war.”
“None of them are smart enough.”
“I hope you’re right.” Tigran flicks the cutter closed. A big, simple blue-and-white logo’s splashed across smaller boxes inside: COMPUTER ENTERPRISES.
About as generic as it gets. Just the way I wanted.
Tigran lifts out what looks like a square computer graphics chip. There are cables, a little circuit board, even a plastic fan built onto the side. He carefully cracks open one end and tips the card onto its side.
Little baggies filled with white powder drop out into his waiting palm.
“Not bad,” he mutters and squints inside. “This one’s light.”
“We’ll check the others. If there’s a supply problem, I’ll deal with it.”
“Exactly what we need. A fucking overseas nightmare to handle in the middle of all this.”
Tigran calls over a couple of our trusted men and they begin removing the remaining bags of coke from the other fake graphics cards.
“My real concern is Aunt Sona.” We walk together through the maze of shelving units back toward our offices. “She hates this shit more than Garen does. He’s a pragmatist, but she holds grudges.”
“How much influence does she really have?”
“I think she’s running the whole show.”
Tigran snorts like he doesn’t believe me, but tilts his head to the side. “You might be right honestly. Garen’s a hard worker, but he’s not exactly clever. It wouldn’t shock me if someone else is the one calling the shots.”
“Aunt Sona might end up agreeing with you about all those concessions.”
“I hope the girl was worth it.” Tigran glances at me, and there’s a clever little smirk on his face. “How was your wedding night, speaking of which?”
“Uneventful. I showed her the house.”
“And she didn’t turn and run away?”
“Not yet.”
“The manor’s such a fucking wreck. I don’t know how you stand it.”
“We grew up there, remember?”
“No shit, that’s why I have my own place these days.”
“It’s the heart of the Brotherhood’s power. There are perks to being the patron, but that place isn’t one of them.”
“I can’t blame you for having a fucking safe house in the city. The manor always gives me the creeps.”
We reach the office and step inside. Tigran flops down on the couch and stretches with a sigh. The men will spend the morning unpacking, weighing, and cataloguing the shipment. Once they’re done, we’ll figure out what we have, where it has to go, and how much we’re going to profit on this particular import.
“I hope you’re at least enjoying the girl,” Tigran says, cracking his neck with a satisfied grunt. “Considering what we’re paying for your pleasure.”
“It isn’t like that. She’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant women can still fuck.”
I glare at him, my gaze level and hard. “I thought we talked about respecting my wife.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it. Didn’t know you were going to turn into such a tight-ass after one measly little wedding.”
I’m about to tell him off some more, but one of our men comes hurrying into the office without knocking. Normally, that would earn him at least a minor punishment, but the look on his face makes my short rebuke disappear.
“Patron, this just showed up. I think… I think Garen sent it.” He holds up a cardboard box. There are dark stains on the bottom.
I shoot Tigran a look and gesture for the guard to put the box down on the desk. More men come into the room as I slowly break the tape seal and open the flaps.
Inside is a face.
It takes a moment to recognize young Ricky. He’s twenty-two at most. His beard’s dark and smeared with thick, congealed blood. His mouth is twisted into a terrified scream. His eyes were stabbed through and are two mangled holes. I suspect that happened before he died.
A note’s pinned to his forehead with a nail.
It says one word.
WAR.
“I guess that’s Garen’s answer,” Tigran says quietly.
One of the guards rushes over to the trashcan and pukes his guts up.
I close the box lid. “Someone get rid of this,” I say, shoving it back to the guard that brought it in. “Spread the word. I need everyone ready for whatever Garen throws at us.”
“Yes, patron.”
“Make sure you get rid of that head respectfully. And make sure Ricky’s family is informed and taken care of.”
Half the guards leave, but another man comes rushing into the room. He’s Sevan, one of my direct cousins, and isn’t normally at the warehouse this early. Normally, he runs the string of clubs we own down closer to the harbor.
“Arsen,” he says, face in a panic. “I just got a call and came straight over.”
“What’s going on?”
“Club Renegade’s on fire. Apparently, Garen’s men stormed the fucking place and killed some of the staff. What the fuck is going on?”
I rip open my top drawer, grab my gun, and make sure it’s loaded. Sevan’s staring at me with big, shocked eyes as I shove it into my waistband.
“Gather your people. Let’s go handle our business.”
