Page 91 of Iron Crown

Queen Margot

Eoghan

She missed.

She held a single-action revolver in her hand. It was a pretty gun, to be sure, but it had a five-pound trigger pull on the first round. She worked so hard to let off the shot, she’d lifted the barrel, and her shot landed high, hitting the ceiling, and raining plaster over our heads.

Mrs. Green wouldn’t have missed such an easy shot.

The thought tickled me as my men moved forward, pulling the revolver from Cosima’s hand while the rest of my men spread along the walls. We had them surrounded.

Eugenio, Cosima, a woman who looked to be a nanny or housekeeper, and the child. Morelli’s child. Her defiant gray eyes looked at us as though we were scum beneath her little Mary Jane shoes.

I placed my gun in the holster, putting out my empty hands to the side as I shrugged. It was to show her that she was no longer a threat—she had no power here, and never would again.

“Cosima, Cosima, Cosima,” I cooed, unable to keep the small smile from touching my lips. “Put the gun down.”

As soon as she surrendered, my family would be back together. Peace would follow.

We’d beat our swords into ploughshares and, for once, Green Fields Enterprises would become a part of a grand, new world, above board, and in the fucking light.

The relief threatened to buckle me, and take me under.

But all of that hinged on this exact moment.

“You’re surrounded, and defeated, Cosa Du–”

“Don’t call me that, you Irish viper,” she said through clenched teeth. “I amCosimaDurante, and I will not kneel to a prick like you, Green.”

Oh, she was determined to be unpleasant, the gun pointed at my head, and she was aching for an excuse to fire.

“You shoot me, then my men will slaughter every single one of you.” I flicked my eyes to the desk where a woman curved herbody around a two-year-old girl. “Including the little one. Is that what you want?”

I did not know if she loved her daughter with the same passion as I loved my son. Not everyone did. I was sure of it. But surely, the girl who had been friends with my wife would not have such evil inside her soul that she would be careless about her own blood.

If she cared more for Giovanni Morelli’s child than I did, she would do everything she could to save her.

We inherited a curse. They may look different and speak a different language, but the curse was the same. We were made in the image of our parents, who would burn the world in exchange for power. I wanted to get out of the darkness, but Cosima was in too much pain, and too far in her temper to see that this would be good for her too.

“Giovanna,” I said, sweetly, looking at the two-year-old that was clinging to a woman I assumed was a nanny. “Aren’t you sweet?”

My heart cracked in my chest. She was the same age as Cillian. Theexactsame age.

I would not want this for him.

“Don’t look at her!” Cosima said, her hand trembling. “Don’t speak to her! Keep your eyes off of her, you son of a bitch!”

Forgive me for what I am about to do…

I felt all expression drain from my face—a feat I had not exercised since the days of sitting at my father’s dining table. Old habits die hard.

“I knew your father,” I said, as flatly as I could, even as Cosima’s glare threatened to burn me where I stood.

If looks could kill, I’d be as dead as Morelli.

“You bastard…” Cosima said quietly, her eyes wide, her skin growing pale as she realized where this was going.

But her stubbornness kept her from knowing the truth. It kept her from anticipating what would come next.

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