Page 77 of Forbidden Romeo

I offer her a reassuring smile. “Kate has been looking after them, but I know it’s not really her thing.”

We both slip into the car, which purrs to life at my command.

“Shouldn’t you take them on?” Aimee says curiously.

I look over my shoulder to reverse out of the garage. “Hmm?”

“Your brother’s fight clubs,” she clarifies, her distaste evident in her tone.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a bit busy,” I say a little defensively. “And they aren’t ‘fight clubs.’”

Aimee throws up her arms in surrender. “I’m just saying if half the properties are making youthismuch money… Why not break away from the Duffys altogether and start your own legitimate business?”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

Aimee deflates. “It’s not a legitimate business, is it?”

“Underground fighting isn’t strictly illegal,” I say, turning out of the garage and onto the familiar road back to the mansion. “But Bare Knuckle is… frowned upon by most authorities.”

“Okay, now it really sounds like ‘Fight Club’.”

I gasp as if insulted. “Of course not. We actually make money.”

“How?”

“Bookies.”

“Naturally,” she replies, sarcastically.

I bite my cheek to suppress a smile. “You don’t approve?”

“Of gambling? No,” she says with distaste. “It’s a miracle you make any money at all.”

“I may have said this before, but I am actually good at what I do,” I reply cheekily, which earns me a push on my shoulder.

It feels nice to be like this with her, to joke around and be a normal couple before everything hits the fan. It makes me think about what it might be like… if circumstances were different… to have an ex-mobster as smart as Aimee by my side.

“How would you do it,chroí?” I say suddenly, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Do what?”

I gesture outside the car. “Expand my ‘fight club’ empire?”

She thinks about this for a moment. “Probably by not calling it a fight club.”

“You started it,” I reply with a laugh.

“You must be quite impressionable, then, for it to have caught on so quickly.”

“That’s because you’re a bad influence.”

“Probably more trouble than I’m worth,” she jibes back, only to go immediately quiet.

I don’t push her, focusing on the road ahead. We’re almost halfway there now, and sooner or later, this little bubble we’ve created for ourselves is going to burst.

“It’s going to be okay… isn’t it?” Aimee says quietly after a few minutes of stewing in her own thoughts.

Despite my own apprehensions, my gut instinct is to comfort her. To reassure her. But I don’t want to lie to her either.

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