Page 45 of The Boss
Her phone buzzed against her thigh. She didn’t look. She kept the knife where it was, let it bite through his slacks just enough that he knew. He breathed out, shallow. Leif heard it. Rocco hatedthat.
“You think I came alone?” Rocco asked, eyes cutting to the front window and back. “You think your little men in their pretty coats can keep a city out?”
“No,” Leif said. “I think you don’t understand what happens when I decide a man won’t walk out of a room.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “You know what happens then?”
Rocco’s tongue touched his teeth. “He dies.”
“He learns,” Leif said. “Then he dies.”
Rocco laughed. It sounded thin this time. “You can’t touch me here.”
“Mariah,” Leif said softly.
“Yes.” She didn’t take her gaze off Rocco.
“Count,” Leif said. “How many men outside on his payroll?”
She didn’t have to rise, didn’t have to turn. She watched reflection. The bar mirror. The gloss of a bottle. The din-from-the-street that wasn’t quite the right shape for traffic. “Four in a line along the curb, two posts at the alley, one in the sedan across the street on a phone he hasn’t looked up from since he got here.” She breathed. “Two more inside.”
Rocco flinched. He couldn’t help it. “How—”
“She’s good at seeing,” Leif said. “It’s why you wanted her. It’s why you lost.”
Rocco’s throat moved. “Does she see the bomb?” he asked, all pleasant again.
Mariah didn’t blink. “If you brought a bomb, you’re the sort of man who—”
The back door slammed from the kitchen.
A server came out white-faced and shaking, hands high, ablade pressed to her ribs. The man behind her wore a black jacket that didn’t belong to the restaurant. His eyes were flat. His other hand held a pistol against her spine, covered by his coat. The room exhaled all atonce.
Rocco smiled and sank deeper into his chair like a king lounging. “That would be one of mine,” he said lightly. “A very steady hand.” He tipped his head toward Leif. “Tell him to stand down.”
The knife in Mariah’s hand went cold. She kept it at Rocco’s thigh. “I just counted two inside,” she said to Leif, reminding him of what she’dseen.
“There are,” Leif said. He didn’t turn his head. “Magnus,” he said, louder. “Left.”
A shadow unfolded from behind the bar. The bartender the room thought it knew set a towel down, and only then did the truth register—it was Magnus, acting as the bartender. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t do anything stupid like point a gun. That would spook the crowd. Instead he emerged calmly, hands empty, acontrolled reveal that told Rocco’s men Leif already had command of the room. Every step was methodical, aquiet escalation that made clear competence itself was the threat.
Rocco’s man pressed the blade harder into the server’s ribs. She whimpered. “Move and she dies,” he said, voice high, untrained.
“She dies if you breathe wrong anyway,” Magnus said pleasantly. “Might as well test your luck on me, big guy.”
“Magnus,” Leif said. Mild, warning.
Magnus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He stopped where Leif’s voice told him to, hands still in view. “We good?”
“We will be,” Leif said. He looked back at Rocco. “You came into my room with a knife to an innocent. Brave.”
“Smart,” Rocco corrected. “I know what matters to you. Your new toy likes to play savior. Don’t you, Mariah?”
She wanted to put the knife in his leg. She wanted to hear him scream. She wanted to hear Leif say yes to everything inside her that pulsed hard and dangerous when he was near. She didn’t move the blade. “You don’t get to say my name.”
Rocco leaned forward, voice dropping to a purr like old velvet. “I’ve said your name in my sleep for a year.” His eyes slid to her mouth. “Open it. Say mine.”
Heat shot through her so fast she hated it. Leif must’ve sensed the flood. His fingers flexed on her shoulder, then smoothed, staking claim, reminding her of what she’d chosen. Of who had chosen her back. The mark in her palm throbbed, hard enough to make her breath catch. Rocco saw the hitch. His smile widened like acut.
“Say my name,” he whispered. “One last time.”
