12. Jamison
CHAPTER TWELVE
JAMISON
“Idon’t give a fuck.” My first mistake was speaking. Harrison looked up from my bar. My second was continuing. “I don’t give a fuck where she goes, who Damius gives her to, which Bellemere cousin they parade in front of me next, or what fucking ring ends up on her finger.”
Harrison’s mouth curved. He was enjoying himself, and I hated him for it.
We were in my private office above the casino, overlooking the gaming floor and enough soundproofing that men could scream inside it without disturbing the rich. Below us, Harlan’s worst people lost money and called it entertainment.
“You said that already,” Harrison said, he sat on the leather sofa, ankle crossed over knee.
I stared at him. “What?”
“That you don’t give a fuck. You’ve said it four times in six minutes.”
“Then hear it better.”
“Oh, I hear it.” He took a sip. “The whole casino hears it. Men on the south floor are telling their wives, ‘Don’t worry, darling, Jamison Crow absolutely doesn’t care about his fiancée.’”
“Former fiancée.”
His brows lifted.
The word had come out like nothing. Former fiancee…it had spent the last twenty-four hours tearing through my head every time I tried to work.
Sienna Bellemere was not mine. Apparently. I took a drink. The whiskey did nothing.
Harrison leaned back. “Former?”
“Damius is reviewing the terms.”
“That isn’t former.”
“It will be.”
“And you’re fine with that.”
“Yes.”
“Thrilled, probably.”
“Ecstatic.”
“Should we order a cake?” Harrison grinned.
He had a death wish.
“Keep talking,” I said.
“I intend to.”
“I’ll break your jaw.”
“You’ve been threatening that since we were twelve. At this point, I’d miss it if you stopped.”
I stepped toward him.
Of course he didn’t move. One of the only living men with permission to sit in my office while I wanted violence and make it worse on purpose.
“Tell me again how little you care,” he said. “I almost believed you on the third attempt. The fourth lost me.”
My grip tightened around the glass.
“You want to know what I care about?” I said. “I care about a hotel wing burning because some soft-bellied fuck decided Crow fire looked good on Veil.”
“Mm.”
“I care about business.”
“Of course.”
“I care about not having Damius breathe down my neck because the Bellemeres are playing replacement games with blonde cousins and old debts.”
“Ah. We’re back to Sienna.”
“We are not back to Sienna.”
“We never left.”
I threw the glass. It shattered against the wall behind the sofa, whiskey and crystal spraying over black marble.
Harrison looked at the broken glass.
Then at me.
“Very calm.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You don’t give a fuck,” he said, lifting his own drink.
“I threw a glass because your voice annoys me.”
“My voice has annoyed you for twenty-eight years. Most glasses survive.”
I moved toward him again.
The office door opened before I reached the sofa.
Marcel walked in. He took one look at the glass on the floor, Harrison on the sofa, me with blood pressure somewhere near murder, and sighed.
“No,” he said.
Harrison pointed at me. “He started it.”
“I did not ask.”
“He’s ranting about not caring.”
“I gathered.”
“He says the merger is basically over.”
Marcel’s face changed.
My eyes sharpened on him. “What?”
He closed the door behind him. Marcel looked between us, and for the first time, his patience looked genuinely dead.
“I have had enough,” he said.
That shut Harrison up.
A real fucking miracle.
“The merger is over,” Marcel walked to the bar, poured himself a drink.
“What?” Harrison’s face lost all humor.
Marcel looked at me, not him. “Damius completed the formal review this afternoon. The Bellemere line has been notified that the original pairing is no longer guaranteed. Sienna is no longer exclusively attached to you.”
I laughed. It did not sound like me.
“Good.”
“Jesus.” Harrison muttered.
“Good,” I repeated. “Great. Saves everyone time.”
Marcel’s eyes hardened. “Stop.”
“No. Isn’t that what everyone wanted? Damius wanted movement. The Bellemeres wanted leverage. Sienna wanted distance. Fine. Done. Let the gods throw a party.”
“For once, the gods are on Sienna’s side.” Marcel set his drink down with a sharp click. “I want to get back to business. Actual business. Not watching you spiral over the girl you spent three years making afraid of your shadow.”
The room felt suddenly too hot.
I looked from Marcel to Harrison and back again.
“You both done?”
“No,” Marcel said. “But I’m finished for tonight.”
He turned toward the door. Harrison stood, slower this time. No baiting. They both left, the door closing after them.
The merger was over.
Sienna Bellemere was no longer exclusively attached to me.
That meant families could approach.
I walked to the bar and poured another whiskey because my body demanded something to do that was not crossing the city, finding Damius, and asking which part of him he needed least.
I took one drink.
Then another.
None of it changed the fact that Sienna was no longer tied to me.
I told myself that was good.
The old debt could be handled elsewhere. The Bellemeres could parade Celeste around until Damius chose a new victim.
Sienna could get whatever polite, useless man everyone seemed to think she deserved. Someone who listened to ballet stories and didn’t have blood under his nails before breakfast.
Good.
I didn’t give a fuck.
By midnight, I had said it enough times that even I was tired of hearing it. I went home because staying at the casino meant Harrison might come back. Rain blurred the city into black glass and gold. I took off my jacket, threw it over a chair, and loosened the buttons at my throat.
My phone buzzed.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
A Veil notification lit the screen where it lay on the bar.
Harlan Arts Live: Winter Midnight Ballet Special— Sold-Out Performance Streaming Now.
I stared at it.
No. Absolutely not. I reached for a cigarette instead.
Lit it.
Took one drag.
The notification remained there, glowing faintly. Background news, I told myself.
That was all.
Veil streamed major society arts events all the time.
The ballet had been everywhere since Sienna’s last performance went viral.
Harlan would talk about it tomorrow. It was useful to monitor what society watched.
Useful to know which families attended, who sat where, who paid for boxes, who put their daughters on display near influence.
Business.
That was why I opened it.
Nothing more.
The stream filled the wall screen.
The theatre appeared first. Black velvet. Gold balconies. A stage framed by old carved wood and pale blue lighting. The camera moved in one slow, expensive sweep across the audience.
Harlan loved seeing itself before it watched anything else. Patrons lifted glasses. Veil tags moved softly at the bottom of the screen.
BELLEMERE HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER INJURY.
VIRAL VARIATION EXPECTED IN SECOND ACT.
My cigarette burned between my fingers.
Bellemere heiress. My did those words bother me. The feed shifted to the front row. Four Crow cousins sat there.
Front fucking row.
Crow men did not sit front row at ballet. Four vultures wearing my name sat close enough to count the beads on her costume.
The first cousin sat far left.
Dante Crow from Malice.
Beside him sat Rafe Crow from Harrington.
Next was Preston Crow from Torrance.
Torrance Crows were colder, less charming. They bought things, and buried whatever delayed construction. And on the far right...Weston from St. Cross.
Black tuxedo. He was the kind of man who enjoyed watching fragile things tremble before he touched them.
My cigarette snapped between my fingers.
The camera lingered on them because Veil knew exactly what it was doing. Four Crow cousins in the front row of Sienna Bellemere’s ballet performance. The tags changed immediately.
CROW ATTENDANCE RAISES QUESTIONS.
BELLEMERE MERGER SHIFT?
Raise questions. I scoffed. What it did, was rise my fucking blood pressure. My phone started ringing.
Harrison.
I ignored it.
Marcel called next.
I ignored that too.
I stared at the screen.
The camera caught Weston leaning toward Rafe, saying something that made Rafe smile. Then Weston’s gaze moved to the stage.
Waiting.
For Sienna.
The urge to break something became physical a need.
Damius had done this. He had opened the merger and let four cousins make themselves visible at her performance. In front of anyone with enough literacy to understand dynasty signaling.
Sienna did not know, four Crow men had sat in the front row like bidders at an auction. My hand closed around the whiskey bottle.
The screen cut to the curtain.
Blue light spilled across the stage.
Music began.
Then Sienna appeared.
For one second, all the rage went silent. She stepped into the light wearing white. Layered tulle and fitted bodice, tiny silver details catching along her ribs and shoulders. Her hair was pinned with delicate crystals.
She made the dance look effortlessly
But, I could see the discipline. The strength in her ankles, and control through her hips. The theatre leaned toward her without realizing it.
The dance shifted. She crossed the stage, turned, paused on pointe so long the audience seemed to stop breathing with her.
I did too.
Then she fell into the music.
The movement was beautiful enough that even I understood the room had just been given something rare.
The applause came too early from someone. Then was swallowed back into silence because everyone wanted to see what she did next.
Three years.
She had told me about rehearsals, performances, costumes, and I had treated every word as static around the business I cared about.
I had never watched. The knowledge sat in my stomach. I did not understand why.
Sienna moved across the stage.
My vision sharpened on them again.
Weston did not move. That was what made me want to kill him most. He watched her with kind of attention I recognized because mine had become the same violent thing.
Only mine had history under it.
My phone rang again. This time, I answered without looking. Harrison would not stop until he heard my voice.
“What?”
“Tell me you’re not watching.”
I stared at the screen. Sienna turned again.
“I’m watching background news.”
“Right. And I’m a virgin.”
“Be useful or hang up.”
Harrison exhaled. “Damius did this.”
“I know.”
“Marcel is already calling him.”
“Tell Marcel to stop.”
“That’s a terrible idea, so obviously I’m interested. Why?”
I watched Weston lift one hand and touch his lower lip, eyes fixed on the stage. Something dark moved through me.
“Because if Damius wants a response,” I said, voice calm now, “I’ll give him one.”
Harrison went quiet. Everyone in my bloodline, knew that tone.
“Jamison.”
“No.”
“Think before you—”
“I did.”
“No, you reacted.”
“Same result, faster.”
The first act ended. Applause detonated through the theatre. Sienna stood center stage, breathing hard, chest rising under the costume. The camera cut to the front row. Four Crow cousins stood with the rest of the audience.
Applauding.
I ended the call.
My phone immediately lit with Harrison’s name again. I ignored it and called Reeves.
He answered on the first ring.
“Sir.”
“Get me the theatre layout.”
“The ballet theatre?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
“No, sir.”
“And find out who assigned the front row.”
“Understood.”
“Every name attached to those seats.”
“I’ll have it in minutes.”
“You have three.”
I ended the call.
On screen, the stream moved to intermission commentary. Two society hosts in black discussed Sienna’s return after injury, the technical difficulty of the variation, and, the surprise Crow presence.
I muted them. The camera returned to the audience between segments. A message from Marcel appeared.
Do not go to the theatre.
Weston leaned back in his seat like he belonged there. On screen, the second act lights dimmed. The theatre hushed. The camera caught Weston’s face one more time before the curtain rose.
I picked up my jacket.