Page 253 of The Devil's Thorn
“It’s not a bribe,” he said. “It’s security.”
“No,” I said. “It’s a bet.”
And he was going to lose it. But I didn’t say that part out loud.
He stood, slow and composed. Aoife rose with him, silent as ever, her gaze never once returning to mine.
“Nikolai will see you out,” I said without looking away.
Nikolai nodded once and disappeared behind them, the door closing with a soft click.
The silence left behind was louder than anything.
Yuri moved first. “Well,” he said, “I’ve seen worse brides.”
I exhaled slowly, my gaze still on the untouched contract. “She’s not the problem.”
“Her father is.”
“Her fatherwantsto be.”
Yuri crossed to the bar, grabbed the bottle again, and poured two fingers without asking. “Think he buys the act?”
“He buys what I let him,” I said.
The door opened again, and Nikolai stepped back in, expression neutral. “They’re gone.”
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
“Only that he’s patient.”
Yuri snorted. “Irish patience. That’s a new one.”
“It won’t last,” I said. “He wants something. And now he thinks I’ve got something to lose.”
Yuri looked at me. Serious now. “Do you?”
I didn’t answer. Not out loud. But I already knew.
I stood there for a long moment after Nikolai spoke, the contract still untouched on the table like it could stain my hands if I even looked at it too long. Not because it tempted me. Because itpresumed me.
Cormac thought a man like me could be swayed by soft smiles and old-world politics. Like offering me a woman was the same as offering me a deal.
He was wrong.
I wasn’t interested in alliances made of porcelain and ink. If I wanted to build a future, I wouldn’t do it through bloodlines I didn’t choose. And I sure as hell wouldn’t do it with a girl who couldn’t even meet my eyes.
I moved to the edge of the table, picked up the contract, and dropped it into the drawer beneath the map. Locked it. Let it sit there. Rotting.
“So,” Yuri said after a beat, leaning back against the bar. “You gonna tell me what the hell that was, or am I supposed to pretend we didn’t just entertain the Irish royal family in your basement?”
I didn’t look at him. Just reached for the scotch I hadn’t touched before and finally drank. The burn hit clean. Efficient.
“That was Cormac reminding me he still wants a seat at this table,” I said. “And me reminding him that the chair is already taken.”
“By her?”
I didn’t answer. But he didn’t need me to.
