Page 24 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

"Just tracing a location using a message IP." She simplified it.

A little frown burrowed between his brows as he ate. "That doesn't take you so long."

She chuckled, amazed that he caught that. "No, it doesn't. But this is a little tricky."

He nodded as if he understood. "Don't worry. You got this."

Morana was touched by his implacable faith in her abilities. "Thanks, little man."

"I'll be taller than you in a few years," he pointed out the obvious. He was already tall-ish for his age group, or at least what they estimated his age group was.

"You'll always belittle manto me," she stated. "No matter how tall you get."

He shook his head three times, like she was ridiculous, but she knew he liked it. He liked that she was ridiculous and affectionate with him. They both finished their sandwiches in silence, and then Morana took the plates and picked them up in her right hand, walking around the counter. She went to the sink to rinse them, forgetting that her left arm was numb, and halted,taking a deep breath in as the realization that she couldn't do something basic as rinsing the plates dawned upon her.

"I got it." Xander butted her away with his hips, his height letting him stand at the sink and wash the plates before popping them in the dishwasher. Morana stood frozen to the side, not knowing what to do, watching the younger boy take over, his observations having made him realize that she couldn't do it.

"Thanks," she uttered quietly, leaning against the counter, grappling with the new reality. Was this how she was going to live now? One-handed? Not able to do the most basic tasks for more than a few minutes?

She felt a little hand slip into her left, and looked down at Xander, giving her hand a squeeze. "Don't worry," he told her for the second time in as many minutes. "You got this."

Morana felt her lips tremble and she pulled him into a hug. He let her, standing there patting her back in threes, counting in his head while she held him. He had become so precious to her, she didn't know how her life would be like without him anymore if they couldn't adopt him. She didn't even want to imagine it.

The sound of the private elevator opening had them pulling away and turning to face the doors.

Andhewalked out. Once her enemy, now her lover.

Tristan.

And fuck if her heart didn't pound the way it had back when she'd hated him.

It all had the same effect—the closely cut hair was a little longer than the first time she'd seen him at the Maroni party but still short enough to look sharp, the thick neck with that delicious vein she had licked more times than she could count, the muscular body hidden behind a white shirt and dark pants.

And those eyes. Those magnificent, electric blue eyes that still zapped her the moment they landed on her.

He did a full-body perusal of her like he always did, checking to see if anything had changed in his absence, before doing the same with the boy next to her. And then he walked toward them, and her heart thumped in her ribs like it was the first time, like he was going to press her into the counter and whisper murder across her skin, like they were locked in a bubble with the world pounding on the door outside.

Her ovaries began singing opera every time he was in the vicinity.

"Why did you not eat the whole day?" were the first words out of his mouth, in that whiskey and sin voice, effectively bursting her bubble of orgasms through eye contact.

She turned to Xander, her mouth pursing. "Traitor. You didn't have to snitch to him."

The boy just shrugged and high-fived Tristan before throwing a 'good night' at them both and walking to his room.

A hand settled on her neck, bringing her face back to him, blue eyes looking deep into hers. "Why didn't you eat?"

It wouldn't have been a big deal, but since the shooting, everything she didn't do to take care of herself was a big deal. The fact that he'd asked her twice meant he was concerned and that he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't have concerned him without reason.

Fuck.

She had to tell him.

She bit her lower lip, swallowing, turning her eyes down to his collar, where his tie hung.

He had never worn a proper tie before because he had never known how to make a knot. It was something she had learned when they got together. Growing up in the Maroni compound, people had thought that it had just been his way of rebelling, of not abiding by how Lorenzo had wanted the people dressed. He had leaned into the narrative because it had hidden avulnerability—he was never taught how to knot a simple tie, and he never trusted anyone enough to ask. Though he did begin to trust Dante later, it was too late by then, and he didn't know how to be emotionally vulnerable and open himself up to anything. Even Morana had had to force him, bit by bit, to allow himself to be with her.

So, when she'd found a pair of pre-knotted ties with hooks in his closet, she had asked him about it. He still didn't admit anything, but the next morning, she had gone shopping for gorgeous silk ties in different shades of blue that matched the shades in his eyes. The morning after, after he had dressed up for the day, she'd shown him the new collection in his closet and asked him to select one for the day. He'd stood there, taking it all in, and pressed her against the closet wall for a brutal kiss that still made her toes curl just thinking about it.

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