Chapter 44
Forty-Four
“Every queen needs a sword at her side. Mine swings a bat, curses like a sailor, and threatens mobsters before breakfast.”—Aria Boschett.
After Tasha and I finish talking, she follows me back to the bedroom. I need a shower; there’s no way I’m going to breakfast looking like someone’s well-fucked secret. When I come out, a towel wrapped around me, she’s already rifling through my closet like she owns the place.
“Girl, your man has style.” Her fingers glide over a row of dresses. “I know you don’t know designer prices, but Aria… I’ve never regretted us not being the same height more than I do right now.”
I blink. “It doesn’t look that expensive.”
With an abrupt turn, Tasha stares at me, scandalized. “You do not know, do you? That bra and underwear you’re wearing. La Perla. Minimum five hundred a set. You have two drawers full.”
“Really?” I blink again. “Cyan keeps ripping them off me.”
“Oh, I bet he does.” Her eyes twinkle. “Don’t think I missed the fact that you still haven’t told me what position your mobster had you screaming earlier.”
“Tasha!” My cheeks burn. I’m thrilled she’s here, but I’m not ready to confess that I let Cyan restrain me and liked it.
“Alright, fine.” She lifts her chin. “I’ll drop it… if you admit I was right.”
“About what?”
“Getting regular D,” she sings, wiggling her brows.
I take my time pulling a dusty blue romper from the hanger, deliberately smoothing the legs of the fabric down. Tasha has zero patience for suspense. I weaponize that. “Well…” I drag it out.
“Well, tell me, Aria Concetta Boschett.”
My sigh is dramatic as I smile. “Sex with Cyan is…” I tap my lips, pretending to search for the right word. “Let’s just say his body size matches his package, and you heard my screams–so you know he knows how to use it.”
Tasha gasps, a knowing, wicked grin shaping her face. “Ari, girl… if I’d known this about Irish men, I’d have added a little Irish cream to my coffee years ago.” We dissolve into laughter, the kind that feels like home.
When we calm down, I exhale. “Tasha Diamond… you are right.”
She nods. “Thank you. There’s a glow around you now that your pipes are properly unclogged. I told you regular sex is healthy.”
“Really?” I glance at my reflection.
“Yes!” she gestures wildly. “You’re wearing your hair down. I’ve been telling you forever to let your curls breathe. It’s your crown. That severe bun was torture. Your scalp is writing you a thank-you card as we speak.”
“Hmm…” I consider it. Sure, part of this glow might be sex–but the warmth in my chest? That’s him. That’s Cyan.
“Tasha… you’re somewhat right.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Somewhat?”
“This isn’t just about sex. It’s the guy. It’s love.”
She quiets. That lands somewhere deep. My best friend and I are alike, both closed-off, independent, allergic to vulnerability.
We don’t trust easily. We don’t love easily.
She’s never told me much about her time in the foster system, and I’ve never pushed.
Just like she’s never pushed about my parents.
Trauma recognizes trauma. “Tasha,” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for storming the castle for me.” I swallow. “You know, if you’re ever in trouble, I’ll have your back. Guns blazing, bat swinging… whatever.”
“No thanks necessary.” She squeezes my wrist. “You’re my chosen family. Family shows up.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Love you too… I’m glad you’re home, Tash. Do you have plans today?”
“Nope. Raffiel forced me into a two-week break after the case I just won.” She makes a triumphant signal with her arm. “Let’s just say the bastard’s lucky he still has pants.”
I can’t help giggling. “I knew you would when he did that shit. During the declaration of his assets.”
“You know me so well, Ari. What’s the plan? And don’t you have work? Please tell me you didn’t quit to become a mob wife.”
“Hell no. You know I love my job. Cyan just told my bosses I’d be taking a few days off.”
“Oooh. Bet Simon’s grinding his molars to dust wanting you back at work.”
“I doubt it. Cyan choked him at the restaurant next to work for ogling my breasts.”
Tasha’s eyes light up like Christmas. “That beats my plan to slash his tires. I’m liking your Capo more and more.”
“At first it didn’t make me happy. But now? Simon doesn’t dump extra work on me, and I’m not half-dead by the time I get home.”
“I’ve been telling you to stand up for yourself!” She flicks my curls. “How’s your Nonna liking her new place?” Tasha asks, picking up where our conversation in the library left off.
“She loves it. She’s independent again. Twenty-four-hour support, her own home… she even goes shopping. I’m visiting her tomorrow. Come?”
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s grab breakfast, then go wedding dress shopping.” Excitement swells in my chest. I didn’t want to shop alone. Now I don’t have to.
When Tasha and I head into the breakfast area, it surprises me to see the entire crew is here.
Half the men are in sweats and tees; the other half are suited up like they’re headed to a board meeting.
Cyan, of course, looks devastating in a grey pinstripe three-piece, as if he didn’t just rail me into the mattress an hour ago.
My empty seat beside him waits. Another chair has appeared next to Collin—clearly meant for Tasha.
“Morning,” I greet. “What’s going on?”
“Introduce us to your friend,” Gabriel yawns, stretching. I’ve never seen him awake this early. The legend of Tasha’s bat has obviously circulated.
I gesture proudly. “Guys, this is my best friend, Tasha… my sister from another mother.” A round of heys and hellos follows. I start the introductions. “Tasha, you’ve already met Cyan. Next to him is Collin, his younger brother. The one you hit with your bat.”
Tasha smirks at him. “Hey, Pretty Boy. How’s your shoulder?”
“Fine, now that I’ve popped my dislocation back in,” Collin raises a brow. “Are you going to apologize?”
Tasha tilts her head. “Sure. Here’s my apology: I told you not to fucking touch me. Your ass got what it deserved. So go fuck yourself.” Hurricane Tasha. My best friend.
Collin stares. Not his usual expression. It’s actual confusion. I don’t think any woman has ever spoken to him like that. Tasha stares right back, refusing to break. We will be here all day if I let this continue.
“Tasha,” I pull her toward the next set of introductions.
“Nice to meet you, Tasha,” Trent nods her way from across the table, wearing a shit-eating grin. “We had to come see the woman with the balls to storm the estate.”
Rosa cuts in. “Beautiful. Now that everyone knows each other, let’s eat. Busy day ahead.” I start to introduce Tasha to Rosa .
“Oh! Tasha, this is Rosa, Johnny’s mother.”
“We’ve met,” Tasha waves. She’s the one who brought me in. Those jackass security guards refused to call you. I was about to take Trevor out and smack some sense into them when Rosa drove by and ordered them to let me in.”
Johnny groans. “Mama, you weren’t supposed to do that. You should’ve called me.”
Rosa shrugs. “What? She’s not a stranger. Anyone who knows who Cyan is and still comes looking for Aria? That’s loyalty. She deserved to be let in.”
“Mama,” Johnny insists, “what if she had a gun in that case?”
“Jonathan.” Rosa gives him the mom Voice. “The guard checked her.”
“But that’s not–”
“Jonathan.” She cuts down the conversation with only his name.
Cyan clears his throat. “Listen to your mother, Johnny.” Then he looks at Rosa, gentler. “Next time, just reach out to one of us, yeah?” She nods, and the matter is done.
I pull Tasha toward the open chair beside Collin, but she veers away. “Tasha,” I call out, panic flickering when I see where she’s heading. “Don’t–”
Too late. She stops directly in front of Cyan, measuring him from head to toe. “Look,” her tone is calm, not an ounce of fear. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re the Capo Bastone of Boston. If you hurt my girl, I’ll rip off your balls and make you eat them.” The table falls into stunned silence.
Cyan studies her for a long beat, his face unreadable. “I respect that, Ms. Diamond… warning noted. Anything else?”
“For now? No.” She nods. “Just wanted you to know I’ve got her back.”
“Understood. In that case,” Cyan’s lips shape with a faint smile, “sit down. Rosa worked hard on this breakfast.”
Tasha holds his stare a second longer before lifting her chin. “Since you’re marrying my girl… call me Tasha.” She finally takes her seat.
Cyan meets my stare, and I mouth, thank you. That could’ve gone nuclear.
“Alright,” Rosa claps. “Eat. We have a flight in two hours.”
I pause my jasmine tea mid-sip. “Our flight?”
“We’re going to New York,” Rosa says. “Gracie Hiroshi Atelier Couture Bridal. Two o’clock appointment.”
Thomas’s head pops up at the name. I blink.
Even I know that brand. Yesterday, while scrolling wedding dresses, one of her designs popped out at me, gorgeous, impossible, and ridiculously expensive.
“Rosa… that’s not an off-the-rack store.
The wedding is in a couple of weeks. There’s no way she can make a custom dress in time. ”
Johnny sips his coffee. “It’s possible when you’re marrying Cyan MacBrady.”
“Yes, you’re going, Dove,” Cyan says, his tone brooking no argument. “You only get married once. I want you to have the best.”
“She won’t mind,” Rosa adds. “Gracie’s a friend.”
Thomas sets his fork down, jaw tightening. “I’d like to go with Aria.”
Rosa doesn’t blink. “No. Absolutely not. Gracie said… and I quote… ‘keep that son of a bitch Thomas away from my boutique.”
Thomas stabs at his eggs, silent. And now I’m suddenly very curious about what kind of chaos happened between Thomas and the legendary wedding dress designer Gracie Hiroshi.