Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
EMILIA
The pizza box sat open on the coffee between us.
They hadn’t said much since I offered to order it. Bastion had insisted on doing it himself, and I didn’t argue. I hadn’t been in the mood to fight—not with them, not with myself .
Now the three of us were here. Sitting in lounge room on the ground. I wasn’t sure why they weren’t on the lounge. Instead, they were on the ground and close.
I had my knees tucked, trying not to make it weird. Trying not to think about how Bastion’s arm kept brushing mine every time he reached for a slice. Or how Luca hadn’t taken his eyes off me for the last five minutes.
I picked at the crust of my second slice, pretending I wasn’t aware of every movement. Every look.
The boys had showered. Their cologne was wrapping around me,
Luca hadn’t touched the pizza yet. Just sipped from a glass of whiskey, shirtless and relaxed like this was normal. Like he always looked this good without trying.
I forced myself not to look at their muscles—or the tattoos. But it was impossible not to see them .
Both of them were ripped. Built like they were made to ruin things. Broad chests. Sharp shoulders. Arms carved with tension.
And identical.
The kind of identical that made your head spin when they stood too close. Same jaw. Same mouth. Same effortless cruelty in the way they carried themselves.
But it was the tattoos that undid me.
The Crows crest took up their entire backs—shoulder to shoulder, spine to spine—like a family emblem carved into skin. Old-school. Regal. Violent. You didn’t just look at it. You felt it.
And the rest of their bodies were no less marked.
Both were covered in tattoos, but I hadn’t realised how many until they were shirtless.
If power had a body. It was theirs.
“You should eat more,” I said softly, glancing at Luca.
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me with that unreadable gaze. Sharp. Dark. Heavy.
Then he leaned forward.
Slow. Deliberate.
Before I could react, his fingers wrapped gently around my wrist—his touch light but certain—and he brought my hand closer to him.
And then… he took a bite of my slice.
Not his. Mine.
I blinked.
It shouldn’t have startled me. But it did. The intimacy of it. The casual possession. The way he held my gaze as he chewed, like he’d done something far more personal than steal a bite of food.
“You said I should eat,” he said quietly, licking his bottom lip. “So I did. ”
My breath caught. I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He let go of my wrist, just as slowly as it had taken it.
I looked down at the slice, the tiny crescent his teeth had left in the crust. For a stupid second, I didn’t know whether to keep eating or throw the whole thing away.
My pulse was everywhere— my ears, my throat, between my thighs.
“She’s blushing.” Bastion’s voice broke the silence, low and amused.
I looked up sharply.
“I am not,” I lied.
Luca smirked, leaning back on one hand. “You kind of are.”
“You’re both idiots,” I muttered, setting the pizza slice down, ignoring how shaky my fingers had become.
Bastion moved before I could think.
He reached out, and with a slow, deliberate motion, brushed his thumb across my bottom lip—catching the faint smear of sauce I hadn’t realized was there.
But he didn’t pull away.
He held his thumb there. Right at my mouth. Hovering like it belonged between my lips. Like he wanted it there.
The look in his eyes made my breath stall. That silent command. No words. Just heat and dominance and something else beneath it— something possessive, dangerous.
I didn’t even think.
I just opened my mouth.
Took his thumb in.
My lips wrapped around it. Warm. Obedient.
And for a second, neither of us moved.
His eyes darkened. His jaw flexed. My tongue grazed the pad of his thumb without meaning to and I felt a flicker of something primal pass through him.
Then he pulled it out slowly. Wet. Glinting in the low light .
“ Good girl, ” he murmured, so low I almost didn’t hear it.
But I felt it. Deep in my spine. In the place between my thighs that had no business reacting the way it did.
I swallowed hard.
Luca didn’t say a word. But I could feel his gaze like heat on the side of my face.
Bastion leaned back like nothing had happened.
Like I hadn’t just let him put his thumb in my mouth in front of his brother.
Like I wasn’t trembling with something I couldn’t name.
“You always listen that well?” Luca asked, voice velvet-dark.
I couldn’t speak. Not yet.
But I nodded.
God help me, I nodded.
Bastion reached for his glass. “You want a drink?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Maybe it was the way he asked. Like he already knew the answer. Or maybe it was the way both of them looked at me—quiet and watchful. Like I was something they were still trying to figure out how to break without shattering .
I gave a small shrug, brushing my fingers over my knee.
“Or don’t dynasty daughters drink unless it’s for show?” Bastion smirked.
Luca’s brow lifted slightly.
I took a bite of pizza, chewed slowly, then said around it, “Not really.”
Pause.
Then, almost casually, I added, “But we do cocaine.”
Silence.
For a second, both of them just stared at me.
Only to laugh.
Rough, startled, deep-throated, chuckling .
Luca looked down at his glass, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit,” he muttered.
I didn’t laugh.
Instead, I leaned forward, pushed one of the ornate trays on the coffee table slightly off-center, then reached beneath it—sliding free a slim, matte-black baggie I’d stashed there weeks ago.
Back when they’d come home early and I hadn’t had time to hide it properly.
I set it on the table between us like it was nothing more than a tube of lip balm.
Bastion straightened. Luca stilled.
“You’re not serious,” Luca said, voice lower now. Not amused. Just watching.
I shrugged, opening the top of the bag with a familiar flick of my nail. “I didn’t say I liked it,” I said, almost bored. “I said we do it.”
Their eyes tracked every movement. My hand dipping into the pouch. The tiny shimmer of the powder inside. The ease with which I laid it out.
Unbothered. Clean.
Like routine.
I didn’t bother explaining—not really. Just kept my voice even as I reached for a tray card to chop.
“Most functions are painfully dull,” I said, not looking at them. “You sit through four-hour dinners and twice-as-long speeches about legacy, strategy, and how to behave. Usually from the same men you watched cheat on their wives five minutes earlier.”
The sound of the card tapping rhythmically against the wood filled the silence.
“I did a full day at the Academy,” I went on. “Got grilled in Ethics, chased down by half the PR team because I wore red lipstick, then had to attend two brand dinners—one of which included a man who asked if I’d ever considered modeling for legacy whiskey campaigns.”
Luca didn’t say anything. Bastion’s jaw flexed.
“I didn’t sleep that night,” I added softly, brushing the line smooth. “Didn’t even blink. But I smiled for every photo.”
I looked up at them now. Eyes clear. Voice cool. No shame in it.
“It’s not a habit. It’s a tool. Sometimes. For nights when pretending gets heavier than it should.”
Pause.
“Like anything powerful, it’s about moderation.”
Silence.
Then I sat back slightly, dragging the tip of my ring finger across the fine edge of the line and glancing between them with that same sweetness I’d worn all night.
“ Want one? ”
I didn’t look up. Just stared at the line on the table, the tray slightly crooked from where I’d moved it.
“Or you could have me expelled. Get your room back. Get rid of me for good.” My voice wasn’t defensive. Or sarcastic. Just… quiet . Worn out. “Wouldn’t even blame you.”
No one said anything.
There was a pause—long enough I thought they might actually get up and walk out. That they’d do it .
But then Bastion moved.
Not away.
Closer.
He moved around the table and lowered himself to the floor behind me—legs spreading to either side of mine until I was bracketed in. Surrounded.
My spine went rigid.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me .
He just sat there. Quiet. Calm.
But close.
Cedar and smoke. Whiskey and danger. The scent of him filled my lungs like something I wasn’t supposed to want.
And then I felt it—his body shifted forward, his arm reaching around mine.
My breath caught.
And without a word, he bent and took the line.
My pulse jumped. I couldn’t move.
Across from us, Luca didn’t say a thing. Just leaned forward—smooth, deliberate—and did the same, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.
When he sat back, he licked his thumb and smiled faintly.
But Bastion still hadn’t moved.
He stayed right where he was—his chest just shy of my back, his knees brushing me. One hand braced on the floor. The other, eventually, resting lightly on the table beside mine—just a breath away.
No contact.
But the tension was physical.
Electric.
I could feel every inch of him without him even touching me. The weight of his body behind me. The space between us— shrinking .
The air felt thick. Charged.
I didn’t dare shift.
Didn’t dare breathe too loud.
And he just stayed there.
As if he’d claimed the space around me—without saying a word.
Bastion’s voice was low, steady. “Pass me my whiskey, baby.”
I didn’t move right away.
Not because I didn’t hear him— but because I did .
I shifted just slightly, still caged between his legs, and reached for the glass without fully turning around. I couldn’t twist all the way with him that close behind me, so I just held it out—offering it blindly, hoping he’d take it.
His fingers brushed mine as he did. Slow. Deliberate.
He didn’t move back.
I was still sitting on my legs, knees folded under me on the rug. Posture too stiff. Too upright. Luca’s hand moved under the table, warm gentle he touched my thigh.
“That doesn’t look comfortable,” he murmured.
Bastion agreed with a soft grunt and placed a hand on my waist.
Not pushing. Just there.
Guiding.