Page 57 of Princes of Carnage

“Where are the other two?” I ask before he can say anything.

“Killian’s at Carnage headquarters, and Nico is upstairs,” he replies.

I nod and head to the fridge. At least there’s only one of them to deal with right now.

I can’t remember the last time I went shopping, but there should be some leftover pizza in here that’s still good. That’ll do for a quick dinner. It’s my usual, scrounging together a meal out of whatever is left from my last one—but when I open the fridge, I stop and stare.

Because it’s full. Like, actually full, and not just full of takeout boxes and Tupperware. There are even vegetables and fruits in the crisper drawers.

“What is this?” I ask, whipping my head around to stare at Atlas.

He just stares back, lifting one eyebrow. “It’s food.”

“Yeah, I know it’s food,” I retort. “How did it get here?”

Atlas makes a face at me, drumming his tattooed fingers on the table. The ink on the backs of his hands crawls all the way up his forearms, his tattoos shifting as the muscles move beneath his skin. “Well, you see, sometimes people go to this magical place called the grocery store. And they have almost any kind of food you can imagine there. If you give them money, they’ll even let you take some of it home so you can eat that instead of the week-old takeout it seems like you were living on.”

“Fuck you,” I snap, irritated. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t recognize food when you see it,” he continues as if I didn’t even say anything, “considering how fucking empty your fridge was. It’s fine if you want to live like that, but Nico, Killian, and I are used to having actual things to eat in our home.”

I roll my eyes, even more annoyed by his comments. “That takeout wasn’t a week old.”

“Whatever you say,” he fires back, dismissive. “It’s still back there if you want to try your luck with it.”

And he’s right. The foil-wrapped parcel of pizza is in the back of the fridge, behind a brand new carton of milk and a container of chicken.

At least he didn’t come in and start throwing my shit away.

“It never used to be this empty,” I shoot back. “But I’ve been a little busy since my dad died. I had shit to do, like running Enigma and trying to keep things from going to hell with him gone. I used to cook all the time for the two of us, but since he’s been gone…”

I trail off, not finishing that thought. It just… hasn’t felt worth it to go through all the fanfare and effort of cooking full meals since my dad died. It would just mean me eating alone in the living room and then having to clean up the mess in silence.

I used to have him here with me. He’d insist on doing the dishes if I cooked, and I’d sit on the counter while he did, the two of us talking about anything and everything together.

Thinking about it now makes my chest ache painfully, the knowledge that I’ll never have that again hitting me like an invisible fist.

Atlas is still watching me, and he cocks his head to one side, his amber-tinged gaze turning slightly less hostile. “You were close, weren’t you? You and your dad?”

I nod. “Yeah. We were.”

Those words don’t seem like enough to encompass all of it. To explain that he was all I had for so long. The gang was like family to us, people we could count on to be there when we needed them. But he and I? We were family.

“He raised me pretty much by himself,” I say. “I always knew he wanted me to take over Enigma someday when he was gone, but… I don’t think he expected it to happen so soon. I know I didn’t.”

My voice drops a little on the last words, and Atlas gives me a look I can’t quite interpret.

“You handled it well,” he admits, sounding almost grudging. “Better than anyone expected you to. Better than we hoped you would.”

I snort, because I know that’s true.

“Carnage wasn’t the only gang hoping we’d fall,” I tell him. Then I smirk as I add, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Despite the fact that I shouldn’t really give a shit what Atlas thinks of me, his reluctant respect means something to me. Not everyone could’ve kept things afloat the way I did, and even though I doubted myself plenty of times along the way, it’s nice to know that even my enemies were impressed by how I handled shit.

Turning away from Atlas, I grab some stuff out of the fridge to make dinner with. It’s been a long fucking time since I attempted to cook, so I opt for something simple like a quick pasta dish.

I can feel him studying me and I chop up some veggies and start a pot of water boiling on the stove.

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