Page 27 of Knuckles & Knives
I thought I could control this. That I could have fire without getting burned. But Dom doesn’t play at half-measures. And neither do I.
I slide down the wall to sit on the floor, my legs too shaky to support me. Three days ago, I kissed Kieran and felt like I wasfalling. Tonight, Dom kissed me and I felt like I was burning alive.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a traitorous voice whispers that maybe I don’t want to choose. Maybe I want to see how far I can push before something gives.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends anticipation singing through my veins.
My phone buzzes with a text from Marcus.We need to talk. Tomorrow. There are things about your father you need to know.
I stare at the message until the words blur, my father’s ghost hovering at the edges of every decision I make. Dom said he knew more than I think about Vincent Blackwood. Marcus has been watching me for years, even the ones when I went into hiding. Kieran claims his family had nothing to do with my father’s death.
Everyone has pieces of a puzzle I’m not even sure I understand, and I’m caught in the middle, being pulled in four different directions by four dangerous men who each think they know what’s best for me.
The smart thing would be to step back, to choose safety over the intoxicating pull of desire and danger.
But I’ve never been particularly smart when it comes to the things I want.
And what I want, I’m beginning to realize, is all of them.
The thought should scare me more than it does.
CHAPTER 10
Marcus’s office sits on the top floor of a glass tower that gleams like a beacon in the downtown district. From the outside, Quintana Financial Consulting looks like any other legitimate business, which, I suppose, is exactly the point. The elevator ride to the thirty-second floor gives me too much time to think about Dom and the taste of his kiss and the promise in his eyes.
The receptionist, a polished blonde who probably costs more than most people’s cars, directs me to Marcus’s private office with the kind of smile that never quite reaches the eyes. I wonder if she knows what her boss really does for a living or if she’s just another layer in the elaborate fiction he’s constructed.
He’s a former intelligence operative who handles the financial and technological side of the fight club. He launders money through a network of legitimate businesses, but this one is the only business to share his name.
Marcus’s door is solid mahogany, expensive and imposing. I knock twice before he bids me enter.
The office is exactly what I expected—understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city,while abstract art adorns the walls in carefully calculated positions. Marcus sits behind a massive desk that probably costs more than most people make in a year, his attention focused on multiple monitors displaying scrolling numbers and complex financial data.
He looks up when I enter, and I’m struck again by how different he is from Dom’s raw intensity or Kieran’s sharp elegance. Marcus is control personified, every detail of his appearance carefully curated from his perfectly styled hair to his custom-tailored suit. Even his tie is knotted with mathematical precision.
“Raven.” He gestures to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
His smile is slight, almost imperceptible. “There’s always a choice. The question is whether you’re willing to live with the consequences of making it.”
I settle into the chair, hyperaware of the way his dark eyes track my movements. There’s something predatory about Marcus’s attention, but it’s different from the others. Where Dom watches me like he’s protecting me and Kieran studies me like I’m a puzzle to solve, Marcus observes me like I’m a complex equation he’s still working to understand.
“You said there were things about my father I need to know.”
“There are. Have you reviewed the footage I gave you?”
My mouth turns dry as I nod. Marcus has reason to make the claims he did.
He turns one of his monitors toward me, the screen filling with financial records and transaction histories. “Your father’s empire was larger than you realized, Raven. Much larger.”
The numbers on the screen are staggering—accounts in offshore banks, shell companies, and investments spanning multiple continents. My father’s criminal organization wasn’tjust a local operation. It was an international network with tentacles reaching into legitimate businesses, government contracts, and financial institutions.
“This is impossible,” I breathe, leaning forward to get a better look. “The Sterling Syndicate couldn’t have just absorbed all of this when they killed him. I know they split some with the Kowalskis, but…”
“The Sterling Syndicate didn’t.” Marcus’s fingers dance across his keyboard, bringing up another screen. “Seventy percent of your father’s assets were transferred to secure accounts in the weeks before his death. Someone knew what was coming and moved to protect the empire’s financial foundation.”
“Someone?”
