Page 12 of The Boss
Leif met his brother’s eyes, saw his own reflection in two different mirrors—one fire, one ice. “She’s here. That’s all that matters. What I decide to do with her is not your concern.”
Magnus slammed a fist on the desk, the sound cracking through the office like a gunshot. “Everything you do is our concern! You drag us all into your wars. If she’s bait, we all choke on the hook.”
Alaric stepped closer, laying a steadying hand on Magnus’s arm, his voice honed to calm. “We’re warning you, not rebelling. If she destabilizes you, it destabilizes us. That’s the truth.”
Leif’s smile was thin, humorless. “Then consider yourselves warned in return. She stays. She’s already under my roof, under my rules. If that makes you nervous, remember this.Idon’t lose.”
Magnus leaned forward again, his temper never far from the surface. “Since the Dantes already know, we need to move a step ahead of them. The Dantes flaunt their Brands like banners. They’ll circle you like sharks now that you carry one, too.”
Leif despised the reminder. The Dantes didn’t share a single symbol. Each bore something unique, each a seal of legitimacy and strength, Titus with his dove, Zane with his wolf, and Cade with a raptor. For him to carry a mark at all, especially without Dante blood, meant endless questions, and opportunities for enemies to twist the story.
Alaric folded his arms, voice glacial. “Magnus is reckless in his phrasing, but he’s not wrong. The Dantes will interpret that Brand in a way that suits them. And if they claim it means you belong to their circle, the balance of power tilts. Perception can gut an empire faster than bullets.”
Leif downed the last of his bourbon and set the glass aside. “Let them speculate. What matters is what we do with it. The Dominion bends to us, not to whispers of Italian families or their winged, clawed, or feathered marks.”
Magnus’s laugh was sharp. “You speak like it doesn’t bother you, but your hand keeps clenching every time it burns. She’s not just a woman, Leif. She’s a crack in the armor, and everyone will see it.”
Alaric’s eyes flicked to his twin. “He won’t admit it, but he knows. The question is whether he plans to seal the crack—or wield it.”
The three men stood in a triangle of silence, the Dominion’s heartbeat thrumming through the floor beneath them. Outside, the city pulsed with its own rhythm, but inside that office the Severin brothers weighed blood, loyalty, and the danger of a woman whose presence could unmake or remake themall.
“Spare me the omens,” Leif said at last. “I asked you here to hear me, not to bless me.”
Magnus’s mouth twisted. “Then say it plain.”
“She’s staying,” Leif answered. “And until I say otherwise, we treat her as both asset and hazard.”
Alaric’s head tilted, that evaluating angle he’d perfected since they were boys. “Asset how?”
“She knows things,” Leif said. “And she knows which truths hurt. She hinted at the Trinity River—told me fire follows current. That wasn’t poetry. It was a lead. She gave it for a reason.”
Magnus barked a laugh. “So we sprint toward a breadcrumb a stranger dropped, because your hand burns when she breathes?”
Leif’s stare cut sideways. “We move because the breadcrumb sits on one of our supply arteries. If someone is pulling weight through our territory without our indulgence, Iwant the name. If she thinks I’ll hesitate because it came from her mouth, she misread me.”
Alaric nodded once, slow. “Then I’ll handle the Trinity River sweep. Quiet teams only. We take inventory before we take heads.”
“Use the east crews,” Leif said. “No one who’s had eyes on her.”
Magnus planted his knuckles on the desk and leaned in, the posture of a man who fought better close. “Fine. We watch the water. But that’s not the war I’m worried about. Since the Dantes already know, our focus must be on containing gossip inside the Dominion. Staff talks. The Dominion is a machine and machines leak.”
“We’ll weld the seams,” Alaric said. “HR will circulate a policy update—no visible tattoos, Brands, or personal insignia while on site. Frame it as corporate professionalism, not an order to hide what burns on your skin. That way it looks like policy, not panic.”
Magnus grunted. “Good. And what about her living one floor under your bed? You put a fuse next to the powder room, Leif.”
“She lives where I can see her,” Leif said. “If she runs, Iwant to feel the air move.”
“Or you want to hear her breathe,” Magnus shotback.
Leif didn’t rise to it. He rubbed his thumb across the Brand, felt the answering heat, and despised the honesty of his body. “Both can be true.”
Alaric’s gaze flicked to the glass, the Trinity River’s dark vein beyond it. “Asset and hazard, you said. If she’s the former, we mine her. If she’s the latter, we stage an exit that costs her.”
“Clarify ‘costs,’” Leif said.
“A choice that hurts either way,” Alaric replied. “Loyalty to us or loyalty to whatever name shadowed her—De Luca, Moretti, Romano, Vitale, De Angelis. We put both options on the table and make sure she understands there’s no third way.”
Magnus’s impatience sparked. “We could also put her on a plane to nowhere and be done.”
