Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“What the hell?” Saylor whispers as I guide her into the seat.
Leroy makes muffled sounds of outrage behind his gag. I wave dismissively.
“Please, no need to thank me for the invitation. It’s my absolute pleasure.”
Hans stands at attention near the sideboard, looking like a bouncer at the world’s most exclusive restaurant. His black suit is immaculate, his posture perfect, and he’s eyeing our guests as if he’s calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to snap their necks if things go sideways.
“Wren has prepared something special tonight,” I continue, settling into my chair. “Braised short ribs with seasonal vegetables. I do hope you’re hungry.”
I catch Saylor’s eye and nod almost imperceptibly toward the large carving knife positioned next to her place setting. It’s a beautiful piece—German steel with an ebony handle, sharp enough to split hairs. Or fingers. Or whatever else might need splitting.
The way her gaze flicks between the knife and Leroy tells me she understands exactly what I’m offering her.
Wren appears with the first course, serving soup with the same unflappable grace she’d use for a state dinner. She doesn’t bat an eye at our bound guests, though she does pause to straighten Leroy’s napkin with motherly care.
“Butternut squash bisque,” she announces. “With brown butter and sage.”
“Smells divine,” I say, lifting my spoon. “Doesn’t it smell divine, gentlemen?”
Jack glares at me over his gag. Victor tries to lean forward aggressively but only manages to make his chair groan under the strain.
“Oh, right,” I say, as if just remembering. “You can’t exactly participate in dinner conversation at the moment. Hans, would you mind helping our guests with their dietary restrictions?”
Hans approaches Leroy first, removing his gag with the careful attention of someone defusing a bomb. The moment his mouth is free, Leroy starts talking.
“You’re fucking insane if you think—”
“Language,” I interrupt mildly. “We’re at dinner. There are standards.”
Leroy’s aristocratic features contort with rage. “You can’t just kidnap us and play house. The Crow know where we are. They’ll come looking.”
“I’m counting on it.” I take a delicate spoonful of soup. “More guests for future dinner parties.”
Hans moves to Jack next, peeling away the tape with surprising gentleness. Jack immediately spits a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush.
“Hans,” I sigh. “Perhaps you could help our guests remember their manners?”
Without hesitation, Hans picks up Leroy’s soup spoon and shoves a generous portion of bisque into his mouth. Leroy sputters and chokes, but Hans holds his jaw firmly until he swallows.
“Jesus,” Leroy gasps once he can breathe again. “That’s actually fucking delicious.”
“Wren will be so pleased you approve,” I say warmly. “She takes great pride in her cooking.”
Hans moves on to Jack, who tries to turn his head away but gets a spoonful of soup anyway. His eyes widen with surprise before he can stop himself.
“Damn,” Jack mutters. “What’s in this?”
Hans removes Victor’s gag last, and the old gangster immediately works his jaw like he’s testing for damage.
“Family recipe,” Wren calls from the kitchen. “Roasted bones for the stock.”
“What kind of bones?” Victor asks, then immediately looks like he regrets speaking.
“Best not to ask too many questions about Wren’s ingredients,” I advise. “She’s very creative with her sourcing.”
Victor clears his throat pointedly. “So, Blue. Heard you were retired. What’s all this then? Midlife crisis?”
“Something like that,” I agree pleasantly, tearing my bread roll in half. “Turns out retirement doesn’t suit me.”
“You’re completely fucking insane,” Jack states with the confidence of someone making a weather observation.
“Guilty as charged,” I say, raising my wine glass in a mock toast. “Thank you for noticing. I do try to maintain professional standards.”
Leroy snorts. “Professional standards? You’ve kidnapped three people and are serving us soup like we’re old friends catching up.”
“Are we not?” I ask with genuine surprise. “I thought we were having a lovely time. Hans, are we not having a lovely time?”
“Is very nice dinner party, Boss,” Hans confirms while straightening the napkins. “Very civilized conversation.”
“See? Hans agrees. We’re practically family now.”
Saylor has been quiet through this entire exchange, mechanically eating her soup while shooting glances at the carving knife. I can see the wheels turning in her head, weighing options, building courage.
I catch her eye and nod almost imperceptibly toward Leroy, then glance meaningfully at the knife. Do it, I mouth silently when the others aren’t looking. Take it.
She looks uncertain, so I try again. For your father, I mouth, attempting to be encouraging.
“So,” Leroy says, apparently deciding to try charm over aggression. “Saylor, right? You’re even prettier than your photos suggested. Peter talked about you constantly.”
Saylor’s spoon freezes halfway to her mouth. “Oh really? You knew my father?”
There’s my girl. I can see she’s starting to toy with him.
“Knew him? Hell, I was there when we killed him.” Leroy’s smile is pure cruelty. “Watched him bleed out like the pathetic waste of space he was.”