Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“To think,” he continued lightly, “a bodyguard to the Abandonatos—someone who ran errands for the syndicate—thought he could pry his way into the five families?” Cassian laughed under his breath. “Adorable.”
He lifted his hand and pointed past me. “And yet… there he is.”
Playing house.
I followed his gaze before I could stop myself.
Louis was crouched near the picnic table, helping one of the kids scoop fallen ice cream back onto a plate, listening intently like it mattered. Like this moment counted for something.
My throat tightened.
“At least he’s good for something,” Cassian said pleasantly.
I forced my voice steady. “What?”
Cassian’s grin widened—slow, satisfied, like he’d been waiting for that exact question.
“Distraction,” he said. “People never see the knife when they’re watching the smile.”
His eyes slid back to me, pinning. “Tell me, Tempest—are you testing how much poison he can take… or how much softness you can afford?”
The vial burned hotter in my purse.
And for the first time all day, Cassian wasn’t smiling for fun.
He was smiling because he knew.
Louis chose that exact moment to walk up. “Oh look, cake.”
I shoved mine into his hands. “Let’s go inside.”
"Right.” He eyed Cassian and nodded his head. Funny how it was the little things that made you pause. And for Louis it was just that. It wasn’t in the way he barely acknowledged Cassian, it wasn’t even his bored expression.
It was the way he moved past him.
Completely unbothered that he was next to one of the most dangerous assassins the syndicate had to offer.
A man who played both sides.
And Louis didn’t as much as flinch.
No, he stepped into his space and grabbed my arm as if that space wasn’t being occupied.
And Cassian?
He made Cassian…
Step.
Back.
13
LOUIS
Compassion is the basis of morality. — Arthur Schopenhauer
The trick to poison is knowing when to let it show; at least that was my current theory. She had no clue I already had a bit of a tolerance anyways. I’d taken the vial hours earlier. Not enough to drop me. Just enough to give my body something to argue with. Tempest watched everyone at this party like a hawk pretending to be a dove, and I let her believe the dosage was under control.
It wasn’t.
I stood at her side while we continued to make small talk, close enough to feel the tension rolling off her like angry waves crashing against rocks during a storm. She smelled like citrus and steel. Sweet on the surface. Dangerous underneath.
Perfectly deadly. A mix many a man would kill for.
My stomach twisted—not violently, but convincingly. Sweat prickled at the base of my neck. My vision narrowed just enough to sell it.
I leaned close, my lips pressed against her neck like I was kissing rather than confessing. God her skin felt nice and cool against my mouth. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Her head snapped toward me. “What?”
“Either that,” I murmured, keeping my voice low, “or I pass out in front of your entire family. Your call. The last thing we need is your mom making me concoctions to strengthen my vigor and all-around dick health.” Her fingers caught my wrist instantly. Steady. Controlled. A little too tight.
“We’ll be right back,” she said flatly, already moving, interrupting one of the cousins who was going on and on about her latest art presentation at Eagle Elite University. We cut through the house fast. I let my steps falter just enough that she had to support me. She hated that part—hated needing to touch me when she didn’t know whether she wanted to push me away or pull me closer.
The door closed behind us. Silence swallowed the noise of the party.
I leaned against the counter, breathing through my mouth, letting the nausea crest… then fade.
She reached for the sink. “I told you not to—”
“I’m not sick,” I said.
She froze.
I straightened slowly. “Or maybe I was.” I looked at her, really looked. “Maybe I just needed water. Or you. Or both.”
Her eyes darkened. “What are you doing?”
“Testing a theory,” I said softly.
I moved before she could stop me.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t desperate either. It was controlled—mouth to mouth, breath shared, just enough pressure to blur lines without crossing them. Her body stiffened, then betrayed her with a half-breath she didn’t mean to take.
That was when the door opened.
“Well,” Dante drawled, surveying the scene like he’d walked in on a crime he’d expected. “Can you two be newlyweds anywhere but my office?”
Tempest swore under her breath.
I grinned and did the most infuriating thing I could think of.
I slid my hand to her ass and squeezed.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Shit, she was going to kill me later, wasn’t she? The question was… would it be entertaining? Yes. Yes it would.
“But she’s so tempting,” I said easily. “Weird you named her Tempest, don’t you think, Dante?”
Dante’s smile was a deadly force. I wouldn’t wish that sort of politeness on my worst enemy. “Weird you think I won’t slit your throat just because she said yes to you.”