Page 48 of Tide of Treason
“To what extent?”
“Well, I, uh—”
“Get me the specs.”
He’d gone pale then. Hadn’t expected the scrutiny, I guess. Most men in my tax bracket would’ve signed blindly on aesthetics alone, but I’d learned young that walls could either save your life or trap you inside to watch you burn, and I wasn’t about to spend seven figures on a death trap.
I’d dissected the blueprints myself, paid a guy I trusted to double-check insulation and structural integrity, made surethere were no blind spots or weak points. Wrote up a list of renovations, handed a contract to a crew whose work I knew would hold up under fire, and tossed Marisol the keys.
“Lucius,” she said slowly. “I don’t need charity.”
“It’s not charity.”
“Then what is it?”
“I take care of what’s mine.”
“We’re not yours, Lucius.”
They were. Not in a way anyone else would understand, but in the ways that mattered. I owed Abel my life, and since I couldn’t give him that, I’d give him the next best thing—
I’d make sure his widow and child never had to worry about a single fuckingthing.
13 | Lucius
23 years old
Present day
I leaned againstthe kitchen counter, watching a mover struggle with a crate labeled PERSONAL in black marker. Odds were good it was full of enough ammunition to make the NYPD think twice about knocking on my door. I took another drag from my cigarette, exhaled, and glanced at my watch.
Marisol and Lieve were already settled in across the hall. Took them exactly ten minutes to make it look lived in. I’d stopped by last night—saw the messy stack of books on the coffee table, the half-finished juice box on the counter, the tiny sneakers abandoned by the door. Real life. Their life. One that had nothing to do with me, except for the fact that I’d made it possible.
“Boss.”
I didn’t turn. “What.”
“You want me to handle the furniture?”
“No, Vargas, I want you to leave the boxes in the middle of the fucking room so I can trip over them at two in the morning.”
He chuckled. “Got it.”
I finally looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “Where’s Dom?”
He scratched his jaw. “Said something about picking up a girl. Told me to tell you not to wait up.”
Figures.
Dominguez had two settings: chaos and pussy. Sometimes both. Kid couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or his gun out of arm’s reach. I respected that in a man—commitment to duality. But right now, I didn’t give a fuck where he was as long as he wasn’t dragging a federal wire in behind him.
I rolled my neck and let out a long breath, scanning the half-furnished chaos. Someone had been here before me, made sure it was cleaned, prepped, staged. Maybe one of Enzo’s people. Maybe the realtor, trying to justify the ridiculous commission she pocketed off this deal. Either way, I hadn’t asked for it, and I didn’t like people in my space before I’d even dropped my coat.
Technically speaking, it wasn’t all mine. That was the part that sat in my stomach like a slow-burning ulcer. Legal documents meant this property I’d picked for my convenience belonged to Viviana too. Didn’t mean she’d ever stay here,though. Which suited me just fine.
Vargas came back with an update on the movers, but I barely heard him, because right then, the door opened and in breezed Kayla without an invitation, a Bloomingdale’s bag swinging from her wrist, heels tapping a staccato on my floors. I took one last drag from my cigarette, exhaled slow, and counted to five before speaking.
“Let me guess. You lost a bet, and now I have to deal with your presence?”
