Page 17 of Dark Rivals

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even seem pleased by my answer, in fact, he seems the opposite. Pissed. Upset. I don’t know, because in a split second, it’s gone, replaced by a stone-cold mask.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then, without another word, he leaves the room. He just leaves, and I don’t know whether to scream and be pissy about it or rejoice that I get to pack up my bags and sleep in my own bed tonight with Prince by my side.

No matter how I wish I could feel though, as I toss my garments and toiletries back into my bag with a mind swimming in confusion.

* * *

When I get home, my mother is waiting for me. Either she was informed of my early arrival or she vowed not to sleep until I came back, but she waits for me, looking immaculate and rested as ever, despite the fact that it’s nearly two in the morning.

“What?” I deadpan, shocked by my own annoyance. I’m never rude to my mother.

Prince comes running down the hallway, his little toenails tapping cheerily on the marble and completely out of place in the tense moment. Delilah just stares at me.

My mother’s lips are drawn into a tight line at her mouth, and it’s a few seconds before she speaks. “What the fuck do you think you were doing with that Calvos boy, Arden?”

It’s not a question. My mind flashes with images of him inside of me, pressing me to the bathroom door, but I somehow manage to keep my cool. “I told you on the phone, I was meeting with him for a couple days,” I say.

“Without telling me?” She’s on me in an instant. “Leaving like that in the middle of the night, like you’d been kidnapped? Do you realize how close I am to starting war with their syndicate, regardless of the fact we had nothing to do with that bastard’s assassination?” she screams, shaking with rage. “Do you realize how scared I was? After losing Lawson, then—”

She stops. My heart pounds in my throat.

Is Lawson gone? Is she not telling me something?

I shake my head, forcing myself to talk to her about it tomorrow. Instead, I say, “The meeting was last minute, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You and I both know it would be foolish to make war at a time as fragile as this—”

“I don’t believe your bullshit, Arden, we’ve never been on good terms with the Calvos people,” she says haughty.

“And why shouldn’t we be?” I find myself saying, growing defensive of a specific Calvos person.“Why shouldn’t we be interested in another syndicate’s business, especially if someone could be possibly targeting syndicate leaders?” I raise a brow, and watch irritation flicker over her face, knowing I’ve made a good point. “I was meeting with Grey about it, that’s all. I was going to stay with him for the sake of convenience, but we decided it would be better this way.”

The half-lies roll off my tongue easily, and even though my mother is still less than pleased, she doesn’t question my story. She doesn’t question why formal meetings went well past the middle of the night, despite the fact that the mafia doesn’t hold any hours.

When she doesn’t say anything, I turn around to leave her to brood in her own silence, when my phone goes off. A few seconds later, my mother’s phone repeats the signal, and I glance down at the text that’s been blasted to the four syndicates in Chicago, the only alliance that goes between us.

Hit has been sent out.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at my mother. Then another text sends.

All leaders. Meet now. Imperative.

It’s from Grey, and we both know what it means. A hit has been put out on one of us, and regardless of feuds, this is something that now concerns all of the leaders of our four syndicates.

And it can’t wait.

A flutter of nerves goes through my stomach, something I’m not used to. At the same moment, one of my mother’s captains shows up, holding out his phone.

“Did you guys see this?” she says, looking between us.

I nod. “Tell Flynn to pull the car around. We’re leaving now.”

“No.” My mother’s lips make a single, defiant line.

But the captain’s already left the room, so I’m the one who turns around and says, “No?” I stare at my mother. “What do you think this is, Mom? Child’s play?”

She flinches at my use of mom, and doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way her ass is planted into that chair, she’s not moving an inch. I feel coldness spread through my chest, so intense it almost feels like a hot rush of anger. Or maybe not anger, but disbelief. Shock.

Fine.

I don’t argue with her. She can sit here and pretend like nothing is going on.

I, for one, care about our syndicate.

And I maybe, just maybe…

I care about the man who is calling us together.

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