Page 129 of Mob Princess

I hear his hesitation. “You’ve been calling your place home. I guess I got used to it.”

“Our place is home. Yes. We can go there, cailín.”

“I’ll be back soon, nounours.”

I pull out the burner I didn’t use to call Justin or Colton and punch in Sean’s number. He answers as he taps the window. I lock the screen and put it in my pants pocket. My bodyguard walks me over to where Justin waits.

He pulls open his suit coat and turns. No guns holstered under his arms or at his lower back. He pulls up his pant legs. No guns there either. I pull my pant legs tight and open my purse. I pull out the knife just enough for him to see the handle. He does the same for the two in his pants’ pockets.

We both open a door and go into the restaurant next to each other. We’re shown to a table that allows us both to have our backs to walls while still seeing the door and windows.

“Justin, please don’t do this. Even if you got me away from Sean, you know I’d never forgive you. You know your life would be forfeit to the O’Rourkes or me.”

“But he wouldn’t be with you.”

“Neither would you. I’d leave you, and you’d never find me. Do this, and I’ll send you a picture a week of me fucking someone who isn’t you. Someone I pick. Someone I want.”

“Nikki, don’t.”

“You know I would. I won’t be your Stockholm Syndrome submissive.”

“I’m not going to kidnap you.”

“But you want to take me away from where I want to be and the people I want to be with.”

“To protect you. So, you don’t love me. I can accept that. I’ve already had to. But I don’t have to accept you being with someone who’s likely to get you killed.”

“It’s not your decision to make. Just like you didn’t get to decide whether your mom stayed or left.”

I’m picking at a twenty-year-old scab.

“Don’t do that, Nik. That’s not fair.”

“But it’s the same. You didn’t get to decide whether your dad stayed or left Stuart to take care of you while he fucked half the women in the Caribbean.”

“Nikki.” His voice is getting testier.

“Justin, these aren’t your decisions. But you have to live with the outcome. I know that means you’re alone, but Ewan and Colt are there.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Justin, follow through with this, and you’ll do more than sign your death warrant. The O’Rourkes won’t let this go as some loner who acted without his boss’s permission. You go after one, you go after them all. One Bostonian goes after them, they’ll blame all Bostonians. You will start a war. Ewan won’t support you. If you made it out of New York, he’d turn you over the moment you arrived in Boston.”

“Ewan won’t come near me while you’re with me.”

“Justin, you know I won’t go willingly. If an O’Rourke doesn’t stop you, I’ll do it myself. Unless you have someone to help you, you’re a failure before it starts. Who’s going to side with you, knowing they’ll be losers?”

His hands are in fists, and his knuckles are white. I have to ease off. I’ve scrubbed off the scabs, and his festering wounds of abandonment are fresh all over again.

“The O’Rourkes aren’t shit in this city anymore. That’s why you’re more likely to wind up arrested or dead than have some Disney happily ever after. No one respects them. They’re shit under every other syndicates’ shoes.”

“I don’t know about that. They look like they’re doing just fine.”

“Really? Then how’d I get a bratva guy to work for me so easily? He wouldn’t have gone near Sean if he didn’t think he could report back to Maks with a win.”

“But he didn’t report back with a win. He’s dead. Sean killed him. That looks like an O’Rourke win to me, and a bratva big fat fail. Do you really think Maks is going to work with you again if you already failed once?”

“Maks didn’t work with me. I told you Mikhail worked for me. Me.”

---