Chapter 2
CURRENT DAY
The tension in the air is almost palpable as we wait for our surprise guest.
I lean against the counter, chewing a toothpick to keep myself from grinding my teeth.
Enzo is drumming his fingers on the granite like he’s trying to wear a hole through it.
For the last half hour, Cillian has been pacing, his hand brushing the Glock tucked in the small of his back every few steps like a nervous tic.
We’re all wired. Tense. Humming with the kind of anticipation that never bodes well.
After hours of arguing, we made the call to keep Eavan and Madison here.
They are safer under our noses than out of our sight, where someone could take them and use them for leverage.
If whoever’s coming is planning to test us, we aren’t going to let them get the upper hand. At least not using the girls.
Eavan and Madison are parked on the couch, as far from the kitchen as they can be.
To a stranger, they might look relaxed—disinterested, even—but we know better.
Eavan is an anxious mess; her pregnancy only heightening the fear of history repeating itself.
Madison is watching everything. Every movement. Just like Cillian. Just like me.
Before he left her side, Cillian tucked her Glock into the couch cushion. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask questions. She merely nodded. She has proven her loyalty to this family, and I have no doubt she won’t hesitate to use it.
The buzzer jolts the room, snapping the silence like breaking a neck.
I push off the counter and press the button to return the call on the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Guests for The Kings,” the doorman replies. “Three men. Are they cleared for the penthouse?”
I glance at Cillian and Enzo. We exchange a look—tight and grim. Cillian tips his head.
With the intercom engaged again, I advise, “Send them up.”
Cillian moves to the door, his hand already on his weapon. The elevator dings a few seconds later, and the tension in the penthouse ratchets even higher. “What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice drops into a growl, sharp with fury.
A man in his early twenties steps into the kitchen, his gold chain swinging as he walks.
He’s wearing joggers and designer sneakers that probably cost more than Enzo’s ridiculous Ferragamos.
He’s flashy, arrogant, and familiar. Alek Sargsyan.
I can’t fault Cillian’s reaction to our unwanted guest. He was going to marry his sister after all.
Two men follow behind him. Mid-forties, dark suits, military posture.
Their eyes sweep the space with clinical detachment.
Private security, I’m almost certain. Alek strolls deeper into the penthouse, all swagger and condescension.
“Relax. All of you.” He throws his hands up like we’re the ones overreacting. “I’m not here for my wife.”
My spine goes stiff. He spits the word like it tastes sour.
Enzo is on his feet before I can blink. “My wife,” he snaps.
Without pulling his stare from Alek, Cillian throws an arm in front of Enzo to stop him from murdering the little punk where he stands. “Then why are you here?” Cillian asks.
Alek shrugs as if this is a damn social call. “Trust me, I don’t want your sister. I’m here to give you mine.”
I blink, my brows furrowing with confusion—certain I misheard him. “What!?”
He nods to one of his guards, who steps forward and hands Cillian a thick folder. Alek grins like he’s just dropped off a housewarming gift.
“I’m done. With all of it. That business of selling girls… That was my father’s kingdom, not mine. And frankly?” He glances around the room… “I want a piece of this.”
Cillian flips through the folder quickly before tossing the contents onto the island. My stomach drops as my eyes flit across the papers. Photos. Ledgers. Surveillance stills. Meeting notes. Every bit of it is incriminating, every sheet only guaranteeing life without parole.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Enzo’s jaw tightens. “You’ve been holding this?”
“I only came into most of it recently,” Alek says, smooth as silk. “Turns out my old man was more paranoid than I gave him credit for. Bastard kept receipts on everyone.”
I don’t like where this is going. At all.
“Why bring it here?” Cillian asks, his voice low.
“Because you have something I want. And I have something I don’t.”
“What do you want?”
Alek flashes that predatory grin. “Simple. I have two conditions, and all of that disappears forever.”
“Let’s hear them,” Enzo insists tightly.
“First, I join your empire. I’ve got more connections than you can count in the little gun game you’ve got going. And my connections have a lot of fucking money.”
I glance at Enzo. Then Cillian. They nod subtly.
“And?” Cillian prompts. “What else?”
Alek turns to me, his dark smile growing wider, and I already hate what’s coming. “You marry my sister.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I choke on a laugh, pushing from my perch on the edge of the counter.
“My sister,” he repeats, like I’m hard of hearing. “That bratty bitch needs to be someone else’s problem. So, that means she’s your responsibility now.”
Staring back at him in silent disbelief, all I can do is blink as I wait for the punchline. A punchline that clearly isn’t coming. “Wait. You’re fucking serious?”
Oh, fuck… he’s deadly fucking serious.
“She’s pretty. She’s not completely insufferable. But she needs someone who can keep her in check. Someone who won’t be intimidated by her tantrums and sharp mouth. And from what I hear…” He smirks. “You like the ones who bite.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and vehemently shake my head with a grumble. “I’m not marrying some… some mafia handoff just because you don’t want to babysit her anymore.”
Alek raises an eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll take this little folder to a few old friends at the FBI. Or the press. Whoever answers my call first.”
Enzo takes a step forward, fists clenched. “Hold up—”
“I’m offering you a deal,” Alek interrupts smoothly. “One that lets you keep your kingdom and makes mine one I actually want to deal with. It’s good business.”
My gaze flits between my brothers. Neither of them speaks. I open my mouth to say something, but my throat is so dry I can’t muster a sound. My hands curl into fists as my eyes flick between my brothers and the smug kid holding my future in his hands. “This is a fucking joke,” I choke.
Alek coyly tilts his head. “She’s arriving later tonight. I’ll send you the location in the morning.”
My jaw drops and I blurt, “You brought her here?”
“Would’ve been a waste of time if you’d said no.” He shrugs, flipping his phone casually in his palm. “But you won’t. You can’t. Not if you want to keep what you’ve built or stay out of prison.”
He turns toward the elevator, and I follow behind him, still waiting for someone—anyone—to laugh at this absurd joke.
“We can finalize terms over breakfast,” Alek insists, stepping into the elevator cab with his security.
As the doors close, he smiles broadly and adds, “I’ll let her know you’re excited to meet her.
” He winks as the doors shut with a soft ding, and I feel my stomach drop with the elevator.
And just like that, he’s gone.
And apparently so are any plans I had for my bachelorhood.
The three of us stand in silence, heavier than any gun in the room. From the couch, I feel Madison and Eavan watching us. Waiting. I run a hand down my face and grouse, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Enzo leans against the counter again, tension radiating off him. “This isn’t good.”
“He’s not wrong,” Cillian laments. “He’s got us by the balls.”
I round on him. “Don’t you dare tell me marrying her is a good idea.”
“I’m not saying it’s a good idea. I’m saying it might be the only idea,” he retorts.
Of course it is.
Eavan steps into the kitchen, her voice cautious as her gaze wanders between the three of us. “What the hell just happened?”
I sigh through my teeth. “Apparently, I’m getting married.”
“Congratulations!” Madison snorts.
Fucking brat.
“That’s not funny.” I shoot her a withering glare and rake my fingers through my hair. “We are so fucked.”
I am so fucked.