Chapter 6
brONX
I told Kingston I’d come up with a plan to fix the whole Blake heist shit show.
But I’m still coming up empty as I walk into Kingston's office on Tuesday morning for our Tuesday morning briefing. He’s not at his desk, though. He stands at the window, glaring at the city below with his spine stiff and jaw set.
“Congratulations,” he says without turning around. “You're getting married.”
I stop dead just inside the doorway. “I'm what?”
He lets out a sigh. “In a few days. It’ll be a courthouse ceremony. Simple, quick, and legal.” He finally turns, and his expression is carved from granite. “Tierney Blake will be your wife in four days.”
What the fuck?
“How the fuck does that help us? And how could you make a marriage deal without talking to me first?” Kingston raises an eyebrow at my tone, but I don't give a shit about diplomacy right now. “I told you I'd figure out a way to—"
“But you didn’t. So Declan Blake figured it out for us.” Kingston walks to his desk and drops into his chair like he's carrying the weight of the family on his shoulders. Which, to be fair, he usually is. “He called this morning at six. Woke my ass up to deliver his ultimatum.”
I sink into the chair across from him, my brain rattling with questions. “What kind of ultimatum?”
“The kind that doesn't leave any room for negotiation. You marry his daughter, or he releases every piece of intel Tierney stole.”
He scrubs his hand down the front of his face.
“And they have documents that can crush us for good. Financial records, operational details, names of every politician and judge we own. All of it. He threatened to post them online, send them to the FBI, distribute them to every rival family from here to Sicily.”
My jaw drops. Our entire empire, exposed. Decades of careful relationship-building, destroyed. The kind of leak that doesn't just hurt business. It ends bloodlines.
“He had us by the balls,” Kingston continues. “I had thirty seconds to give him an answer before the old bastard hung up and started uploading files.”
“So you said yes to a marriage without asking the groom.”
His eyes flash, ire sparking in his hard gaze. “I said yes to keeping this family alive. The rest are details we can work out later.”
I sink into a chair, defeat leaking out of me like I’m a goddamn popped balloon. Part of me is furious that he just rearranged my entire life without a heads-up. But the strategic part of my brain is already spinning, seeing all the angles, recognizing the opportunity that just fell into my lap.
“Smart move by Declan,” I say finally. “Desperate, but smart. He knows we can't refuse without destroying ourselves, and marriage ties give him exactly what he needs - our protection. The Tribunal won’t touch Connor if he’s connected to us by marriage.”
“Exactly. And it gives us the access we need to recover our stolen intel and ensure there are no more surprises.” Kingston’s expression holds a sliver of sympathy. “I know this isn't how you wanted to handle it, but—"
“Nah, it's a perfect plan.”
His jaw drops. “You’re serious.”
I shrug. You’d think those words would shock the shit out of me, just like they do him. “Sure. Better than perfect, actually. Marriage gives me complete access – I get in, gain her trust, and boom. We get what we need.”
Kingston studies me. “You're taking this well. Maybe a little too well.”
“Listen, it’s not ideal. I’m not a fucking idiot. But we need our stolen intel back, and we need to keep tabs on Declan. I don’t trust anyone who makes threats against us, no matter how desperate they are. We need to know exactly what he’s got and right now, the only way in is through her.”
“What happens when we have what we need?”
The question hangs in the air. My mind trips back to Tierney and the way she fought me in the alley like her life depended on it. And in a few days, she'll be walking down an aisle toward me, probably furious and definitely plotting my murder.
After the ceremony, she'll be mine to protect. Mine to betray.
I let out a snort. Jesus. Blake really has some pair of balls. As if Tierney is some prize he's gifting me instead of a lethal weapon with a streak of sadism and a penchant for violence.
Fuck her if she thinks I’m gonna drop to my knees when she shows up. But there's something coiled tight in my chest that feels less like victory and more like anticipation before a fight you're not sure you're gonna win.
I lift an eyebrow at him. “What aren't you telling me?”
Kingston's smile widens and he leans across the desk. “Close the door.”
Once we're alone and away from prying ears, Kingston goes into predator mode.
“The alliance is real. The marriage is real. But there's another layer to this, and you need to understand it before she walks through your door.”
“Listening.”
“Declan Blake is desperate, not stupid. The intel Tierney stole from us? He's only handing over part of it. I guarantee he's keeping something in reserve as insurance against us turning on him.”
“Smart move. You’d do the same thing.”
"Yeah, well, it’s not smart enough. Because we're going to find out exactly what he's hiding.” Kingston opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a thick folder. "This is everything we’ve pulled together about Tierney Blake. Her training, her operations, her psychology. You need to study it.”
I take the folder, and flip it open. Her face stares up at me from a surveillance photo.
Focus, asshole.
“Your job isn't just to marry her,” Kingston says. “It's to turn her.”
My brows furrow. “Turn her?”
“Make her trust you. Make her fall for you. Get close enough that she tells you things she wouldn't tell anyone else.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Pillow talk, Bronx. It's the oldest intelligence technique in the book, and your extracurriculars make you naturally equipped for it.”
I flip through pages of the file. "So, you want me to seduce my own wife for information and turn her against her own blood.”
"I want you to do whatever it takes to protect this family.
You said you would. Remember?" His voice drops, but his voice is wrapped in steel.
"Tierney is dangerous. She's skilled, she's loyal to Declan, and she has access to information that could destroy us.
If you can make her loyal to you, I mean really loyal, she might choose us over him when the lines are drawn. "
“What if she doesn’t?”
“Then we find another way. But that’s when things get messy. And vicious.” Kingston’s eyes root me to the spot. “But I'd rather handle this as a family matter now that she's going to be one of us. This way is cleaner.”
I toss the folder onto the desk. “What happens to her when we get what we need?”
He shrugs. “That depends on her. If she proves that she’s loyal to this family…and to you…it’ll guarantee her our protection. But if we find that she’s working against us...well, family members who betray us usually disappear permanently. Marriage certificate or not."
“What does that even mean? I ask. “You'd kill my wife?”
"I'd eliminate a threat to this family, regardless of what ring she's wearing.
" His eyes are arctic as they always are when he’s discussing known threats to the family.
“Don't get attached, Bronx. This is still a mission. She'll be family in name only until we decide otherwise. The second you forget she’s Declan Blake’s daughter, you endanger all of us.”
I hold his stare. “I know what this is.”
“Oh yeah? Because the way you've been obsessing over her photo over the past few minutes suggests otherwise.”
My lips pull together into a tight line. I don't have a comeback for that. Because he's right, and denying it would be futile.
“Don't let her pretty face make you stupid,” Kingston says. “She's manipulative and dangerous…to us, to you, to everything we've built. Make sure you remember that.”
Later on when I’m back in my penthouse, I stand at the window and try to see the place through her eyes. She'll be here soon enough, sleeping down the hall, eating breakfast in my kitchen, looking at me with those fire-blue eyes every single day.
The bachelor minimalism of my place suddenly feels stark. It’s all hard, clean lines, nothing homey or welcoming. Just dark wood, expensive whiskey, and the punching bag I use to work out my frustrations.
She'll hate it. She'll hate me.
Good. Angry and resentful people make mistakes.
I call my housekeeper, arrange for the guest room to be prepared with fresh linens, cleared closet space, and toiletries that cost more than most people's rent. I tell myself it's all strategy. Comfort makes people drop their guard.
I'm lying to myself, and I know it.
The truth is, I want her comfortable enough to drop her guard, but pissed off enough to act without thinking. I want to see her dark hair spread across my pillows while she's plotting my destruction.
I want to watch her move through my space like a caged predator, all coiled violence and burning resentment.
Which is fucked up on multiple levels, considering she's here against her will and I'm planning to manipulate her into betraying everyone she's ever loved.
Get your shit together, B.
The file Kingston gave me sits on my desk. I walk over to it, flip it open, and dive deep into the intel, looking for her vulnerabilities, her pressure points, the soft places I can exploit…if there’s any softness to her.
What I find complicates everything.
She's been trained since she was a teen.
Combat, enemy infiltration, weapons. Declan turned his own daughter into a living weapon before she was old enough to agree to it.
She's completed seventeen confirmed operations, probably more that never made it into any file. And she's killed men. Multiple men.
But buried in the psychological assessment is something that makes my chest tighten.
Struggles with intimacy. Subject compartmentalizes trauma, exhibits hypervigilance, difficulty trusting. Likely suffers from attachment issues stemming from weaponization in adolescence.
Reading it feels like I'm looking at X-rays of her soul without permission.
I read more and find one exception.
Current relationship: Damien O’Rourke, 8 months, civilian. Pub owner. Subject appears emotionally invested. First relationship of significant duration.
Something hot and ugly twists through me when I read about her boyfriend. A fucking pub owner who’s not involved in the Blake business. Some safe civilian who probably thinks her most dangerous skill is mixing a proper Irish coffee.
I bet he has no idea what she's capable of, no idea about the violence living just under her skin, no idea that she's killed men with her bare hands.
And somehow, that gentle ignorance was what she wanted. What she chose.
The jealousy hits me like a fist to the gut. I toss the file aside and stalk toward the kitchen before I do something stupid like put my hand through a window.
Tierney wanted safe and soft. She wanted normal. She wanted someone who would never ask her to be a weapon.
And instead, she's getting just the opposite.
Well, fuck that because she’s mine now.
Whatever she had with this Damien asshole is dead. He’ll be nothing but a distant memory. Declan would have made sure of that before putting her on a plane.
The thought of another man's hands on her, another man seeing her stripped of her battle armor, makes me want to break things. Which is fucking insane because she tried to kill me a week ago and would probably do it again if given the chance.
You're losing your mind over a woman who hates you.
Maybe. But she won't hate me forever. People can be turned, loyalties can be shifted, and I've never met a woman I couldn't charm when I put my mind to it.
Tierney Blake will be no different.
The next few hours crawl by like torture.
I review security protocols. She'll have protection but not be stuck in a gilded cage. I want her to be a wife, not a prisoner. At least until I figure out what game she's playing.
I’ve had updates from the team watching her in Belfast. She left her country completely emotionless and something about that bothers me more than it should. Either she's a sociopath who feels nothing, or she's damn good at hiding how much it affected her.
Knowing what I know about her psychological profile, it was probably the latter. She compartmentalizes trauma and locks away pain so she can function.
All so she could come here and marry me.
I click on video files leaked from our contacts in Ireland. They show her during sparring sessions and weapons drills. Watching the way she moves, the way she avoids threats, the fierceness I saw in Bucharest..shit, it all makes my pulse throb.
Every motion is precise and lethal. In one video, she managed to disarm a man twice her size and pins him on the ground in under thirty seconds.
My soon to be wife is beautiful when she's dangerous. And apparently, she's always dangerous except for when she’s with her boring boyfriend.
I grit my teeth and drain the rest of my whiskey.
Focus.
I’ve been trying all night to run scenarios, to plan my approach, and to think strategically. But every time I close my eyes, I remember her writhing underneath me, angry, desperate and absolutely magnificent.
And in a few hours, she's going to be mine to manipulate, seduce and ultimately betray when the time comes.
At midnight, I get the text I've been waiting for.
Her plane just landed. ETA to the penthouse is 45 minutes.
Forty-five minutes until she walks through my front door and my bachelor life grinds to a halt.
I read the message three times, toss my phone aside, and push back my hair.
She's here. In my city, breathing my air, probably plotting seventeen different ways to escape or kill me in my sleep.
Her father tore her away from the life she knew, from the man she chose, and from a future she thought she could control.
And here I am, ready to let her fall in love with me instead.
I’ve never met a woman who could resist the old Bronx charm when I really turn it up. In reality this job should be straightforward but nothing about Tierney Blake is typical.
The lights of the Manhattan skyline glitter in the dark inky sky. Somewhere out there, she's in the back of a Viacava car, probably staring out at the same lights and any minute now, she'll enter my territory to face the man who destroyed her old life.
My pretty little fiancee will have to be contained for her own good. Especially knowing her skill set and motives for risking her life.
Yet despite knowing all of that, I can't fucking wait to see that vicious hellcat again.
Get ready to sink your claws in deep, Tierney Blake. I’m ready for you, and claws slice both ways.