Page 8 of Vicious Vines

"Marriage. And there are others. Others who won't take no for an answer."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

Finn signs and runs a hand through his short copper hair. "I wish I was."

"And let me guess, Cara Mulligan is the little bird?" Finn and Cara had been lovers for years and because Finn wasn't supposed to be a virginal mafia princess, it was allowed.

"Look," Finn said, holding up his hands again, "I know the situation is shitty. I know it's not fair. But change doesn't happen overnight. You have to go slowly."

"So I have to get married?" I demand.

"Liam is the best choice. You know him, you know he'll do as you ask. He won't try to control you. You'll be partners."

"And what of the O'Neils? Liam controls the Calders now that Kieran is gone. Am I supposed to just become a Calder now?"

"I doubt it. You'd have to ask Liam, but he's probably fine with you not changing your name. You could probably get him to agree to a partnership in name only if you wanted."

"You think he'd really go for that?"

Finn tilted his head at me, seemingly puzzled. "I think he'd do anything you asked him to."

I huffed. This is not at all how I thought this conversation was going to go.

"Not everything can be solved with violence, Sloane," Finn says as he gestures for another beer.

I don't know what to say to that, but I do know I'm determined to prove him wrong. I'll do this on my own, without the shield that Liam Calder can provide.

Chapter 5

The cool kiss of the blade against my skin is almost soothing, a stark contrast to the inferno raging within my chest. I sit alone in the dimly lit sanctuary of my office, the silence oppressive, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. My fingers toy with my pearl-handled knife, spinning it in my hands as I think through the current dilemma.

I've always been adept at making hard choices, decisions soaked in shades of gray rather than stark black or white. But tonight, the weight of my actions anchors me to this leather chair, each life I've taken a ghostly chain wrapped tight around my conscience. They were traitors, yes, but once they were family, too. Could there have been another way? A path that didn't lead to bloodshed? The questions gnaw at my insides, a relentless vermin feasting on doubt. Doubt that has festered ever since my meeting with Finn.

Is my brother right? Am I causing terror in our ranks, just like our father? Would marrying Liam put a stop to these power grabs from the sharks circling the waters?

As I wrestle with my inner demons, a vibration shatters the stillness, clawing its way through the fabric of my solitude. Another message. I know who it's from before I even glance at the screen; Victor "The Viper" Vasquez never tires of his little games. His words slither across the illuminated display, venomous and vile, promising pain and retribution. He smells blood in the water, senses the precarious balance of power left in the wake of my purging fire.

"Queen Sloane, the throne wobbles beneath you. We're coming to claim what's rightfully ours," the text taunts, a digital viper striking from the shadows.

My grip on the knife tightens, knuckles whitening as the reality of the situation claws its way into focus. Victor is poised to strike, his gang of serpents ready to exploit any perceived weakness. They think the O'Neil family is vulnerable, but they underestimate the lengths to which I'll go to protect what is mine.

Victor may see a power vacuum, but I am the eye of the storm, calm and deadly. My rule is drenched in blood and betrayal, and I will not let anyone unseat me so easily. Vasquez is new to this game, a self made man that took his daddy's trust fund money and bought all the gadgets and friends he could, calling himself a leader. But he lacks experience and street smarts, relying on technology to scare and slither.

"Let them come," I whisper to myself as I rise from my throne of leather and steel, the decision made. In the mirror across the room, I catch a glimpse of the queen I've become—eyes hardened by resolve, ruby red lips set in a line of grim determination.

I send out a few messages from my phone as I leave the room, and in minutes, the meeting room is full of low chatter, full of a motley crew bound not by blood but by an unyielding allegiance to the O'Neil name.

"Victor's making moves," I say, voice low and steady as I unfurl the map of Kingsdale across the table. "He thinks he can squeeze into our territory while we're licking our wounds. He's wrong."

My fingers dance over the districts, each one a heartbeat in the body of the city we've bled to protect. Eyes flicker up to meet mine, hard as the steel we hide beneath our clothes.

"Information is power," I continue, the words a mantra in our world of shadows and deceit. "We need eyes and ears everywhere. We need to know Victor's next move before he makes it."

I catch the nod of Ethan, my second. Next to him, Elise—a slip of a girl with a mind sharper than any blade—her eyes are alight with a cold fire. She's always thrived in the art of deception.

"Elise, you'll lead the infiltration. No one knows these streets like you do."

"Understood, Sloane." Her voice is a whisper of silk against steel. "I have contacts who can get us closer to Victor's inner circle."

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