Chapter 10
The sirens never came close enough to matter.
Sofia’s men moved like they’d done this a hundred times, bodies dragged into the refrigerated truck, the burning van pushed into the water, shell casings kicked into the dark.
One of them wrapped Keisha’s arm with a clean strip of black cloth while Demario kept pressure, his hand never leaving her.
Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage in a slow, stubborn bloom.
“Flesh wound,” the Russo soldier muttered. “Through and through. She’ll live.”
Demario didn’t answer. He just lifted Keisha into the back of the SUV himself, climbed in beside her, and told Rome to drive.
Sofia rode in the front passenger seat like she belonged there, red dress streaked with someone else’s blood, diamond bracelet still perfect.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows.
No one spoke until the waterfront was miles behind them.
At the safe house the lights were already on. Two of Demario’s remaining soldiers had the perimeter locked. Rome parked under the carport and killed the engine. For a long second the only sound was the soft tick of cooling metal and Keisha’s uneven breathing.
Demario carried her inside. He took the stairs two at a time, kicked the master bedroom door open with his boot, and laid her on the bed like she might break.
The Glock he’d given her earlier was still in her hand.
He pried it free, set it on the nightstand next to his own, and went to work on the bandage.
The graze was clean, two neat holes on either side of her upper arm, the kind that burned like hell and left a scar but wouldn’t kill her. He cleaned it with the kit Rome brought up, stitched it himself and wrapped it tight. Keisha watched him the whole time.
He looked up. The cold that usually lived in his eyes was gone, replaced by something rawer.
“I chose you tonight.”
“I know that baby.”he replied
He finished the bandage, wiped the blood from his hands, and sat on the edge of the bed. For a long time neither of them spoke. Downstairs, Rome’s voice murmured with Sofia’s low, careful, the sound of two people who had just shared a kill and weren’t sure what came next.
Demario finally exhaled. “Malik’s still out there running.”
“I know.”
Keisha reached for his wrist with her good hand. “He’s dead to me.”
He stared at her fingers against his skin. The same fingers that had once gripped another man’s shoulders while Demario sat in a cell. The same fingers that had just pulled a trigger three times and dropped Rico into the water.
“You stay in this house until the arm heals,” he said. “You need something, you tell me. Clear?”
“Clear.”
He leaned down and kissed her slow, deliberate, When he pulled back her eyes were darker.
“I’m going to fuck you later,” he said, voice low. “When the adrenaline drops and the pain starts you’re going to take it like you meant every word you said on that dock.”
Keisha’s breath hitched. “Yes daddy.”
He stood, pressed one more kiss to her forehead, and left the room.
Downstairs, Rome and Sofia sat at the kitchen island with two glasses of cognac neither of them had touched.
Sofia’s coat was gone. The red dress clung to her like a second skin, one strap slipped off her shoulder.
Rome’s suit jacket was draped over a chair, sleeves rolled, the faint scent of her still on him.
“Your brother loves her,” Sofia said.
Rome didn’t deny it. “He always did, That was the problem.”
“And you?” She turned the glass slowly between her fingers. “Do you love the idea of walking away from all this, or are you starting to like the dirt under your nails?”
Rome’s mouth twitched. “I liked the way you came on my tongue more than I like the dirt.”
Sofia’s laugh was soft and dangerous. “Careful, Mr. Lawyer. My father still expects a full report. He wants to know how hard you fought to keep your hands clean.”
“Tell him whatever keeps you breathing.”
She stood, walked around the island, and stopped between his knees. “I’m going to tell him the Kings kept their word. Rico’s dead. The shipment’s gone. The truce holds. After that…” She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “After that I decide how much of you I keep for myself.”
Rome’s hands settled on her hips. “You’re playing a long game.”
“I learned from the best.” She kissed the corner of his mouth and stepped back. “I’ll be at the penthouse, Don’t make me wait more than two days. I get bored easily, and bored Russo women are dangerous.”
Rome stared at the closed door for a long time.
Then he poured the cognac down the sink and went to find his brother.
Demario was on the back deck, shirt off, the old bullet wound in his shoulder and the fresh graze on his arm both dark under the outdoor lights. He didn’t turn when Rome stepped out.
“Sofia’s gone,” Rome said.
“I heard.”
“She’ll hold the line with Johnny. For now.”
Demario nodded once, the Silence stretched.
Rome leaned on the railing beside him. “You pulled me in, I stayed and We finished it. This is over and,”
“You’re not walking away clean,” Demario said quietly. “Not anymore, You felt it tonight when you pulled the trigger. You’re in, little brother. Same as me.”
He didn’t argue, He just stared out into the dark and accepted the weight of it.
“Keisha took a bullet for you,” he said after a while.
“I know.”
“You going to keep her?”
Demario’s voice was low. “I love her.”
Rome nodded. “Then I’ll watch the perimeter. You handle your house.”
He went back inside. Demario stayed on the deck until the sky started to lighten at the edges.
Keisha was still awake when he returned.
The painkillers had taken the sharpest edge off the graze, but her eyes were clear.
She watched him lock the door, strip out of the bloody clothes, and walk naked to the edge of the bed.
His dick was already heavy, half-hard from the leftover adrenaline and the way she’d looked at him when she said she chose him.
He climbed over her carefully, mindful of the arm, and kissed her slow , deep, claiming, the kind of kiss that rewrote history one breath at a time.
Keisha opened for him, good hand sliding up his back, nails digging in when his mouth moved down her throat.
He took his time. Mouth on her breasts, sucking one nipple then the other until they were tight and dark.
Hand sliding between her thighs, finding her already wet.
Two fingers pushed inside, curling, stroking that spot that made her hips lift.
He watched her face the whole time, every flicker of pleasure, every soft sound she tried to swallow.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
He added a third finger, stretched her open, then pulled free and replaced them with his tongue. Slow, filthy strokes. Sucking her clit between his lips as Keisha’s thighs trembled. When she came it was quiet and shaking, juices flooding his mouth, body arching off the bed.
Demario rose over her, lined up, and pushed in with one long, controlled stroke.
The stretch pulled a broken sound from her throat. He bottomed out and stayed there, forehead pressed to hers, letting her feel every inch.
“This pussy,” he said against her mouth, “is mine. The next man who thinks otherwise dies. Clear?”
“Clear,”
He started moving. Deep, measured thrusts that made the bed creak.
Not the punishing rhythms from before. deliberate, almost tender in its intensity.
He fucked her like he was rewriting every betrayal with the shape of his body.
One hand braced beside her head. The other cupped her jaw, keeping her eyes on his.
“You chose me in front of God and the Russos and every ghost we’ve got. So now I’m choosing you back. Every night. Every war. Until one of us is in the ground.”
Keisha’s eyes filled. She nodded, legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper.
He didn’t rush the finish. He fucked her slow, relentless, grinding against her clit on every downstroke until she was sobbing his name and clenching around him so tight he finally let go.
He buried himself to the hilt and came hard, flooding her, holding her locked against him while the last pulses left him.
They stayed like that for a long time, breathing the same air, the city waking up beyond the trees.
Eventually Demario pulled out, watched his cum leak from her in a slow, thick drip, and pressed a kiss to the bandage on her arm.
“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here.”
Keisha’s eyes were already closing. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Three days later the first message from Johnny Russo arrived through Sofia.
Tell the king the next time we meet it won’t be under a white flag.
Demario read it once, deleted it, and poured two glasses of cognac. One for himself. One for Rome.
Keisha sat on the couch with her arm in a sling, scrolling through new security camera feeds from the remaining corners. Rome stood at the window, phone in hand, Sofia’s name lighting up the screen.
Outside, the woods were quiet. Inside, the house that had once felt like a cage now felt like the only ground any of them had left to stand on. Demario raised his glass and Rome raised his.
Keisha looked up and met Demario’s eyes across the room. Something solid and permanent lived there now, blood-tested, bullet-proven, the kind of allegiance that didn’t need pretty words.
the Kings were ready for whatever came next. Together.