I wake to Cassian's phone vibrating against the nightstand, harsh and insistent. He's wrapped around me from behind, our bodies still tangled from a night of making up for lost time, and when the phone keeps buzzing, he groans against my neck.
"Ignore it," he mutters, lips finding that spot below my ear that makes me melt.
But the buzzing doesn't stop. With a string of Italian curses that sound like violence, he reaches over me, still buried deep, making me gasp.
"What?" His voice is pure murder.
Rafael's voice carries through the speaker. "The Gonzalez deal. They're backing out. Say you've gone soft since the wedding."
The change is instant. Cassian goes from lazy satisfaction to lethal focus, pulling out of me so fast I whimper at the loss. He's already on his feet, magnificent in his naked fury.
"Those Mexican fucks think I'm weak?" His laugh is dark. "Set the meeting. Their restaurant, noon."
"It's a trap," Rafael warns. "Neutral ground, their territory—"
"Let them try." He ends the call, already heading for the shower. "Get dressed. Something elegant but functional."
I sit up, sheet pooling around my waist. "Where are we going?"
He pauses at the bathroom door, and his eyes track over my body—his marks visible on my throat, my breasts, my thighs. For a moment his expression softens.
"I'm going to handle business. You're staying here where it's safe."
Like hell I am.
"I'm coming."
"No." The word is flat, final. "The Gonzalez family doesn't play games. They'll use you against me."
I stand, not bothering with the sheet, and watch his eyes darken as he takes in all of me. "That's exactly why I need to come. They think I'm your weakness. Let me prove otherwise."
"Esther—"
"You trained me for this." I cross to him, press my naked body against his. "You taught me to think like you, to see threats. Now let me use it."
His hands come up to my waist automatically, and I feel him hardening against my stomach. "This isn't training. These men would rape you just to make a point."
"Then it's a good thing I have you to protect me." I rise on my toes, bite his bottom lip. "And myself to protect us both."
He searches my face for a long moment, then crashes his mouth to mine in a kiss that's all possession and promise.
"Black dress," he says against my lips. "The one with the high neckline. Covers my marks but shows your shape. And wear the diamonds I gave you—reminds them you're mine."
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom transformed. The black Givenchy dress is perfect—elegant but with steel underneath. My mother's sapphire ring on my right hand, his wedding ring on my left.
I look soft until you see my eyes. Those have changed—harder now, calculating. The eyes of a woman who's been properly fucked and is ready to fuck someone else up.
"Jesus," Cassian breathes when he sees me. He's in all black too—suit that costs more than cars, no tie, top button undone. We look like what we are: a matched set of beautiful violence.
In the car, he runs through the players while his hand rests possessively on my thigh.
"Miguel Gonzalez, the father. Old school, respects tradition but getting desperate as his empire shrinks. Three sons—Diego, the eldest, thinks with his dick. Carlos, middle son, has a cocaine problem and a temper. Eduardo, youngest, smart but nervous."
"Weaknesses?"
"Diego can't resist a beautiful woman. Carlos gets sloppy when insulted. Eduardo..." he pauses. "Eduardo's the dangerous one. Watches everything, processes fast."
"Like me."
His hand tightens on my thigh. "Like you."
"Rules?"
"Don't speak unless directly addressed. Watch everything—hands, eyes, exits. If shooting starts, get under the table." He turns to look at me fully. "And if I tell you to run, you fucking run. Understood?"
I nod, but I'm already making my own plans.
The restaurant is too quiet for noon—cleared except for the Gonzalez table. They've arranged it deliberately: Miguel at the head, sons flanking him, two chairs for us that would put Cassian's back to the door. Power play number one.
Cassian doesn't even pause. He takes the head position opposite Miguel, pulling me to his right side instead of the left they'd indicated. The disrespect is subtle but clear—he's not playing by their rules.
"Cassian Greyhaven," Miguel says in accented English. "And the beautiful new bride. We were starting to think you'd gone soft, hiding in your honeymoon suite."
Diego's eyes crawl over me like oil. "Can't blame him. With a woman like that, I'd never leave the bedroom either."
Cassian's jaw ticks but he doesn't react. Can't react—that's what they want. Confirmation that I'm a pressure point.
"Gentlemen," Cassian says smoothly. "Let's discuss territory before the food arrives. I'd hate for business to ruin the appetite."
The negotiation begins, but I'm watching Eduardo. He keeps checking his phone, thumb swiping in a pattern. Not scrolling—entering numbers. His leg bounces under the table. Nervous or anticipation?
I stand slowly, every eye tracking me. "Would anyone like wine? I'd hate to be a poor hostess."
"Women don't pour in business meetings," Carlos sneers.
"Good thing this isn't just business then." I smile sweetly. "It's a funeral if my husband doesn't get his territories."
The threat lands perfectly—feminine voice, pleasant smile, promise of violence. I move around the table pouring wine, and when I reach Eduardo, I see his screen. Definitely a timer. Seventeen minutes and counting.
Bomb or backup. Either way, timed for our exit.
I "stumble," hand flying out to catch myself, knocking the phone and wine directly onto Eduardo's lap. The phone cracks against the floor, screen going black, wine soaking his crotch.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I'm all feminine distress, dabbing at him with napkins while grinding my heel into the phone for good measure. "These shoes, I'm still getting used to—"
"Stupid bitch!" Eduardo shoves me back, but I've already accomplished my goal.
I return to my seat, and as I pass Cassian, I whisper in Italian: "Ambush. Twenty minutes. South exit."
He doesn't react visibly, but under the table I see him text rapidly. Rafael getting the warning.
Carlos makes another snide comment about Cassian's "domestication," how marriage has made him weak, letting his woman interrupt business.
I've had enough.
"Taming implies I was wild to begin with," I say, voice cutting through their laughter. "I prefer to think of it as evolution. From his wife to his partner." I pause, sip my wine.
"Ask your mother how that works—oh wait, she's been dead for ten years. Shot by your mistress, wasn't she, Miguel? The one you kept in the apartment your wife bought?"
The room goes arctic. Miguel's face purples. "How dare you—"
"I dare because I know everything." I lean forward. "Every weakness, every secret, every body you've buried. Did you really think Ivy Roseheart was converting me against my husband? She's been spilling your secrets over prosecco for weeks, thinking she's so clever."
Cassian's hand finds mine under the table, squeezes once. Pride and possession in that touch.
"The deal stands as offered," he says quietly. "Unless you'd like everyone to know about Carlos's debts to the Russians. Or Diego's issue with that senator's daughter."
Check and mate. The Gonzalez family capitulates completely.
Walking out, Cassian's grip on my hand is almost painful. In the car, Rafael reports six gunmen at the south exit, exactly where I'd predicted.
Cassian turns to me with something like awe. "You saved us."
"We saved us." I lean into him. "That's how this works now."
He's silent for a long moment, studying me like he's seeing me for the first time. "You knew about the ambush. You could have just warned me quietly. Instead, you destroyed their plan and humiliated them publicly."
"They needed to know I'm not your weakness." My voice hardens. "That anyone who comes for you comes for me too."
"My father would have hated you," he says suddenly. "A woman with her own mind, her own teeth. He'd have tried to break you."
"And I'd have killed him for it."
The confession hangs between us, raw and honest. I just admitted I'd murder for him, and we both know I mean it.