Page 113 of House Rules
And if that’s true, we’re not waiting for him to come for her.
We’re already at war.
35
Phoenix
I’ve beenawake since Atticus walked into the room, but I keep my eyes closed. Not because I’m still half-asleep, but because I’m not ready to face the world. The feeling of Con’s skin against mine, the solid wall of his chest at my back—it’s too good. Too rare. His arm is heavy over my waist, not possessive exactly, butclaimingin a way that makes my body want to melt into the mattress.
His breathing is steady. His heartbeat is slower than mine, deliberate, like even his pulse refuses to be rushed. I focus on that rhythm, letting it ground me in this narrow slice of peace. I know it won’t last.
The faint scrape of a chair leg across the floor snaps the thread between sleep and waking. Voices follow—low, masculine, carrying the weight of decisions that could end in blood.
I stay still. Listening.
Atticus is laying out a theory, his words clipped but confident. He’s always sure he’s the smartest man in the room. Maybe most of the time he is.
Parts of what he’s saying make sense. But it feels like a chess game played on the wrong board. Too complicated. Too self-referential. If the mafia is behind the disappearances, why would they send me here on a “wild goose chase”?
They wouldn’t need me to frame the Titans. If they wanted dirt, they’d plant it themselves. And there’s nothing I could hand over that they couldn’t fabricate better.
And yet—if it’s all bullshit—why does the staff think the Titans are involved? Rumors don’t grow in barren soil. Somebody planted that seed, watered it.
Now, I know they aren’t behind the vanishings. I’ve been close enough to see how they bleed when they’re cut. They’re not lying to me—they’re lying to themselves.
The Titans are brilliant, ruthless, powerful—but those strengths are also blinders. I don’t think this is about them, not really. But they’re incapable of imagining a world that isn’t shaped around their influence. When the world has always revolved around you, you assume every orbit is yours.
Something’s happening at the casino. I can feel it. The air hums wrong. Too many people are gone. Not just the beautiful girls who caught a Titan’s attention. Others. Staff who wouldn’t be missed by the gossip mill.
“Look, why don’t we just go find them?” Storm’s voice is sharp enough to cut. “I’ll kill them all, and then we’ll take them out on the yacht and chum the water. Make an evening of it—a little bloodshed, a little deep-sea fishing. Win-win.”
It’s the Storm the world sees. Dangerous. Careless. But beneath the brittle humor, I hear something else. The tension in his delivery is off.
It’s not the man who sat in the tub with me, shoulders shaking, water cooling around us while I held him through a fear he couldn’t voice. That man was real. This one—this is armor.
And it hits me—maybe that crack in his mask was something he’s never let them see. Maybe I’m the only one who has.
“You know, sounds like a good idea to me,” Maverick says, voice lazy but sharp around the edges. “Normally I’m not into the whole murder thing, but if it keeps Phoenix safe and stops people pointing fingers at us, I’m in.”
“This is not something we can come back from,” Con says, his chest tightening against my back as he speaks. The vibration hums through me, steady but laced with hesitation.
His arm flexes around my waist—subtle, but I feel the shift. It’s the touch of a man doing the math.
“I’m not saying it’s not an option,” Atticus adds. “I’m saying it’s not my first choice. I’d like to explore other possibilities before we resort to murder.”
“If you have another suggestion that keeps Phoenix safe, I’d love to hear it,” Storm says, the sarcasm dry enough to burn.
Silence. The kind that presses into your skin,prickles the back of your neck. They’re all waiting for someone to speak. No one does.
It hurts, knowing they’re weighing the cost and not finding a better solution.
I know the Titans do illegal, shady shit. But I’ll be damned if they gobadbecause of me. Drugs, alcohol, hookers—those aren’t the same as trafficking. And the women here, myself included—we could leave. I could use my safe word and walk away. There’s never been a moment where I wasn’t free to choose.
That’s not the kind of men my father borrowed from.
Being dangerous isn’t the same as running a criminal empire. Icannot—will not—be the reason they cross that line.
The mafia boss’s number is in a file hidden in my room. Maybe tonight, when they’re asleep, I’ll call him myself. Mafia men are businessmen. He’ll want to deal. He’ll understand I’m an asset—one worth keeping alive. If I ruin that value—scar my face, take a fall from the balcony—I become a poor investment.
