25. Greer
GREER
Three weeks since Newark, and I've stopped pretending I have a normal life.
My apartment sits empty most nights while I stay at Zaria's loft, her space gradually filling with evidence of my presence—books on the coffee table, my jacket on the back of her chair, coffee mugs in the sink because I'm the one who actually uses the kitchen.
She hasn't said anything about it, but I catch her looking at those small invasions with something that might be satisfaction.
Like she's pleased I'm marking her territory as mine too.
Tonight follows the pattern we've established—dinner at Marco's bar where Cain gives me shit about everything, handling some low-level business with a supplier who got creative with his math, then back to her place where the tension that's been building all evening finally breaks.
Now I'm sprawled in her bed, chest still heaving, watching her move to the bathroom in that loose, satisfied way that means I did my job right. The sheets smell like sex and her—something dark and intoxicating that I'd bottle if I could.
She returns with a warm washcloth, taking care of the mess with efficient tenderness that makes something in my chest tighten. This part is always quiet, intimate in a way the violence never is. Just us, stripped down to skin and honesty.
"You should just move in." The words come out casual, like I haven't been building up to this for days.
Zaria pauses mid-motion, amber eyes flicking to mine. "What?"
"You heard me." I sit up carefully—the ribs are mostly healed but still tender when I move wrong. "I'm here every night anyway. My place is empty. Doesn't make sense to keep paying rent somewhere I never sleep."
"Your place is in the suburbs." She tosses the washcloth toward the hamper, missing by a foot. "You want to commute to Jersey every day?"
"No." I catch her wrist, pulling her back to bed. She comes willingly, settling against my side. "I want us to get a new place. Something between your territory and where I am now. Closer to the city, easier access to everything."
Her body goes still against mine, that particular tension that means I've surprised her. "You want to live together."
"Yeah." I stroke my good hand down her spine, feeling the lean muscle and scarred skin. "I want to wake up with you every morning. Come home to you every night. Stop pretending this is casual when we both know it isn't."
"That's..." She trails off, and I realize with shock that Zaria Bennett—who killed a man in front of me without flinching—is nervous. "That's serious."
"We're serious." I press a kiss to her forehead. "Or did torturing someone together not make that clear?"
She huffs a laugh against my chest. "Fair point."
"So?" I tilt her face up, making her look at me. "What do you think?"
"I think you're out of your mind." But her eyes are soft, vulnerable in a way I've only seen a handful of times. "But yeah. Okay. We can look at places."
The casual agreement makes something settle in my chest—rightness, like pieces clicking into place. This woman who runs a criminal empire, who's killed more people than I can count, who terrifies everyone she meets... she's mine. And I'm hers. Might as well make it official.
"There's something else." I keep my voice careful, gauging her reaction. "I want you to meet my family. Properly."
Zaria goes rigid. "You mean Hayes and Lilah."
"Yeah. And Heath and Ella—they're usually around for these things." I run my thumb across her cheekbone. "I'm all the way in your world. I want you in mine too. Not as the dangerous woman I'm involved with, but as my girlfriend. My partner."
"Greer." She pulls back enough to look at me fully, and I can see genuine fear in her eyes. "Lilah already knows what I do. She's terrified you're going to end up like her—trapped, addicted, destroyed."
"You're not Dylan." The name tastes like acid. "You've never manipulated me, never tried to make me smaller or dependent. You've given me choices at every step."
"I tortured someone in front of you."
"Who had it coming." I cup her face, making sure she hears this. "Sweetheart, you're not the villain in this story. You're not destroying me—you're giving me purpose, passion, something worth fighting for. Lilah will see that when she meets you properly."
Zaria searches my face, looking for doubt she won't find. Finally she exhales slowly. "Okay. When?"
"This weekend?" I press on before she can change her mind. "Saturday dinner at Hayes's place. Nothing formal, just family."
"Just family." She laughs, but it sounds strained. "The Carelli brothers and their wives. No pressure at all."
"They're going to love you." I pull her back down, wrapping around her. "Hayes already respects you—he wouldn't have sent backup otherwise. Ella's a sweetheart who's going to ask you a million questions about everything. Heath's going to be politely terrifying but that's just how he is."
"And Lilah?"
"Is going to be cautious." Honesty matters here. "Because she's protective and scared. But she'll see how I look at you, and she'll understand."
Zaria's quiet for a long moment, her breath warm against my skin. Then: "How do you look at me?"
"Like you're everything." Simple truth. "Like I'd burn the world down if someone tried to take you from me. Like violence and sex and strategy and love are all tangled together and I don't want to separate them."
Her hand finds mine, fingers threading carefully around the splinted ones that are almost healed. "That's how Hayes looks at Lilah."
"Yeah." I kiss her hair. "Exactly like that."
She doesn't say anything else, but her body relaxes against mine, accepting what I'm offering. Saturday dinner. Meeting my family. Taking the next step in whatever this is we're building together.
Perfect.
We fall asleep tangled together, and when I wake up Saturday morning, the nerves hit immediately.
Not for me—I know exactly what I'm doing, exactly what I want.
But Zaria's already awake, staring at the ceiling with that particular tension that means she's running scenarios, planning for every possible outcome.
"Stop strategizing." I press a kiss to her shoulder. "It's just dinner."
"It's meeting your family." She turns her head, amber eyes sharp despite the early hour. "Your sister who thinks I'm destroying you. Your brother-in-law who could absolutely have me killed if he decided I was a threat."
"Hayes wouldn't?—"
"I know." She cuts me off gently. "But the possibility exists. That's how our world works."
"Our world." I catch the phrasing, the way she's included me without hesitation. "Yeah. It is. Which is why this matters—showing Lilah that I chose this, that you're not some predator who trapped me."
Zaria's quiet, processing. Then she rolls to face me fully. "What do I wear?"
The question catches me off guard until I realize—she's actually nervous about making a good impression. Zaria Bennett, who faces down rival crews without flinching, is worried about what to wear to dinner with my family.
It's fucking adorable.
"Something that's you." I run my hand down her side. "Not tactical gear, but don't try to be someone you're not. They need to see the real you, not some sanitized version."
"The real me has blood under her nails most days."
"Then make sure they're clean." I grin at her glare. "Sweetheart, they know what you do. Hayes knows what I do now. Pretending otherwise would be insulting to everyone involved."
She considers this, then nods slowly. "Okay. Real me. Got it."
We spend the day handling business—checking in with Cain about the Okafor borders holding, meeting with Pax about a distribution route that needs adjusting, dealing with paperwork that proves crime requires just as much administrative bullshit as legitimate business.
Zaria's in her element, commanding and precise, and I find myself studying her the way I always do—cataloging the small things that make her extraordinary.
The way she listens completely when someone speaks.
How her orders are clear but never condescending.
The casual violence in her posture that everyone respects.
The sharp intelligence that catches patterns others miss.
This woman runs an empire, and she's nervous about dinner with my sister. The contradiction makes me love her even more.
By six o'clock we're dressed and heading to Hayes's place.
Zaria settled on dark jeans, boots, and a fitted black sweater that shows her figure without trying too hard.
She looks like herself—beautiful, dangerous, real.
Her hair is in braids today, pulled back from her face in a way that highlights her bone structure.
I catch her checking her reflection in the visor for the third time. "You look perfect."
"I look like I'm about to rob them."
"You look like exactly who you are." I take her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Which is all they need to see."
The drive to Hayes's place is quiet, tension building as familiar streets give way to the suburban neighborhood where my empty house sits. We pass it on the way, and Zaria glances at the dark windows.
"You really never go back there."
"Why would I?" I squeeze her hand. "Everything I want is with you."
Hayes's house appears ahead—lights glowing warm through the windows, Heath's car already parked in the driveway.
My stomach does something complicated, anticipation mixing with protectiveness.
This matters. Not just meeting my family, but showing Lilah that I'm okay, that the darkness I've embraced isn't destroying me.
That Zaria is exactly what I need.
I park behind Heath's sedan and kill the engine. Zaria takes a deep breath, visibly centering herself. "Okay. Let's do this."
"Hey." I wait until she looks at me. "Thank you. For trying. I know this isn't easy."
"Nothing worth having is easy." She leans across and kisses me, soft and sure. "Your family is important to you. That makes them important to me."