Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Iona
Diran takes a seat at one of the tables. “Leith, you first.”
Leith steps aside so we’re a few feet apart. I feel his loss immediately as a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. Though he faces the guests, he speaks to me. “Think of this as a high-stakes game, Iona. The conditions we agreed upon at our engagement will hold—if you pass the tests.”
Gulping, I look down at my clasped hands and white knuckles.
Maw and Lowden’s freedom, my identity, and Skye’s well-being are all on the line.
I don’t dare search for Moyra’s or Isolde’s faces in the crowd.
What if they take their fiancés’ sides against me?
Everyone here feels solidly pro-Syndicate and pro-Leith.
Leith prowls behind me, kicking my heart rate into overdrive. “Name one thing you believe is true about me and one thing I’ve claimed is true but you have reason to doubt.”
I hesitate a long moment, certain this is a trap. I can’t voice my suspicions about the parts of his memoir I think were fictionalized, because doing so might throw him under the bus professionally.
I moisten my parched lips. “I believe . . . you lived abroad many years as a child, working and learning other languages.” I trap my lower lip in my teeth. “I don’t think you’ve read as widely or as much as you claim to have done.”
After all, mobsters are notoriously illiterate, and mafiosi don’t have time to read. They’re too busy killing people and striking drug deals.
He skulks around to my right, wearing a satisfied smirk. “What do you think I have read, Iona?”
My heart drums like hard rain in my chest as I consider him, a man in a pragmatic profession. “Maybe nonfiction, biography, and history.”
“Name something you’re certain I have not read,” he presses.
I shift from one foot to the other, weighing my options. He doesn’t look as if he’d care for historical romance and adventure. “The Scarlet Pimpernel.”
He takes a step closer, wafting tantalizing breaths of Achnasheen my way. “Ask me something random about the novel.”
My eyes infallibly dip to his shapely lips. “Whom does Sir Percy Blakeney marry?”
His own gaze drops to my mouth. “The beautiful, talented French actress Marguerite St. Just.”
A blush explodes over my face, and butterflies erupt in my belly. A roar of approval travels around the guests. So maybe he is as well-read as he claims.
Smiling, Leith tips up my chin using his index finger. “On to the next test.”
Did I pass the first?
Diran beckons us over. “Now for the blood bond.”
“B-blood bond?” I echo incredulously, my heart racing.
Leith guides me over to where Diran has produced a penknife. “We mingle our bloods to forge an eternal bond.”
Leith opens a palm, and Diran cuts a shallow line across it, drawing wine-red droplets.
“Iona?” Diran prompts.
I extend a clammy palm. Holding my gaze, Leith lifts my hand and takes the knife from Diran.
He drags the blade’s tip over the pad of my palm, breaking the surface of my flesh.
Passing the knife back to Diran, he swipes the blood from me and licks it off his fingers.
A feral glint fires in his eyes as he glides a finger along the track of his own blood and holds the digit up to my lips.
A rush of heat floods my core. I dart my tongue out and suck off his essence, more arousal leaking from me. He tastes coppery, metallic, and briny. Foreign yet familiar, masculine yet deliciously vulnerable.
Leith presses his bloody palm to mine, raising our hands for all to see. “Bonded in blood.”
Whistles and cheers erupt amidst the applause.
Diran raises an arm, and everyone quiets down. “And now for the final test: a couple of hypothetical scenarios.”
Leith releases me and wraps a handkerchief around my hand. Stepping back, he observes me with cool calculation.
Diran takes a swig of whisky. “You believe Leith is cheating on you with another woman, though you can’t prove it.
You’re angry at him and haven’t yet been able to confront him about your suspicions.
The NCA sends two agents to your house to question you about his whereabouts on the night of a murder.
Do you tell the truth—that you don’t know where he was—or do you lie and say he was home with you? ”
I thrust my chin in the air. “I know you want me to prove my loyalty to him by lying and giving him an alibi. But if he cheats on me, he’ll prefer life imprisonment to my wrath.”
The room explodes with laughter, and the women murmur their assent.
Leith’s lips twitch, and even Diran’s eyes glimmer with mirth.
“Lie to the NCA first,” Diran instructs.
“Then rip him a new one.” When the amused rumblings have died down, he tilts his head, his eyes jumping between mine.
“It’s your first anniversary, and you and Leith have planned a getaway to the Caribbean.
At the last minute Callum and me inform you that we require Leith to oversee an important negotiation. What do you do?”
Callum murmurs, “No cute escapes from this one.”
Are they all against me in this union? So be it. My sole job tonight is to keep my family alive. Leith’s supporters want me to show how selfless I am, how I’d put the Syndicate first.
But I have to be true to who I am.
“I’d find out who’s forcing Leith to stay and talk to him myself,” I state with more conviction than I feel.
“And if your husband’s first duty is to us?” Diran prods.
“I’d say you get one chance to tell me that.”
“After that?” Callum asks.
“After that, he’ll catch hell for choosing you over our plans. That’ll be on your conscience.”
“Bravo!” someone shouts from deep in the crowd.
“Hear, hear,” others murmur.
Snatching me by the waist, Leith gracefully sweeps me into a dip, as if we’re dancing. Leaning over me, he presses his lips to my ear. “Good girl.”
His praise acts like an electric shock to my nerve endings, making me feel more alive than ever.
But I’m furious. I don’t even want to be in this engagement, yet I had to prove my loyalty, cleverness, and trust in Leith. A trust I scarcely possess.
I struggle to break free of his arms, though the awkward angle makes me dizzy. “Let me go.”
As T.I.’s Whatever You Like plays over the speakers he raises me and spins me, nipping my ear so I gasp. “You survived the sharks, Flame.”
“I failed all the tests,” I grumble.
“You proved how strong you are,” he amends. “That’s all that matters.”
Warmth expands my chest, yet I resent his condescension. “I don’t want to stay any longer. I’m done performing.”
“Done performing for the night? Perhaps. Leaving? No.” He whisks us about, his grip on my back tightening. “I’ll decide when we leave.”
I’m determined to wipe the smug smile off his face. “I’d be radge at you for cheating on me, but not out of jealousy. I don’t tolerate disrespect.”
His large hand burns a hole in my bare lower back. His tone taunts and goads. “And that Caribbean trip you were so desperate to take with me?”
“I don’t like wasting money,” I sniff.
“A pity that in real life they’d give zero fucks about your opinion.” He whirls me out for the final notes of the song, and applause greets the end of our dance.
“And you?” I huff.
Pressing a hand to my lower back, he leads me toward a table. “I appreciate the sentiment, but no one threatens me.”
He seats me next to two muscular men who resemble Diran in features, stature, and manner. My heart performs a few more gymnastics as I try to regulate my breathing the way Dr. Hsu instructed.
Settling to my left, Leith unfolds his serviette in his lap. “Iona, this is my friend Declan and his brother Darian, both sons of Diran.”
The other two underbosses, cousins of Malcolm and Chance.
“Pleased to meet you,” I stammer, meeting their huge extended hands with my own small one.
“I’ll be impressed if you can prove Leith is human,” Darian grunts. “As far as anyone can tell, all he does is work and read.”
Declan exchanges an amused glance with Leith. “That’s the image you project, right, mate?”
“What’s the good of projecting an image if people don’t buy it?” Leith accepts a dish of sliced filet mignon from the waitress and helps himself to a couple of pieces.
A lawyer through and through, he deflects questions with more questions and admits to nothing.
I clench my fists as the waitress contrives to slide her hand over Leith’s shoulder, beaming at him as if they’re about to find a private room and do the deed.
Without waiting for me to serve myself, she plops two slices on my plate and passes on to Declan, her smile reigniting as she serves him.
By the time she reaches Darian she catches my stink eye, and a catlike smile unfurls over her lips. “Leith, would you like a glass of your whisky?”
My neck muscles tighten as he looks up and smiles at her. “Sure, Erica.”
She knows him better than I do, and she’s rubbing it in.
I want to leap up and cause carnage at our table. Gnashing my teeth, I take a bracing sip of water.
“So you thought I didn’t read.” Leith pops a bite of steak in his mouth.
“It’s a fair assumption about a man in your position,” I point out.
He arches a brow. “Be careful what you assume.”
A threat or merely a warning?
Erica returns, brushing against him and hovering behind as he takes a sip of whisky.
“Assumptions are often correct,” I grind out, shooting Erica a poisonous look.
Her smirk tells of dirty thoughts and dirtier deeds.
Have they fucked? Do they plan to again?
“And often wrong.” He pauses with his drink in midair. “That will be all, Erica.”
When she’s left, I say in an undertone, “Seems like you’re trying to make tonight as hellish as possible for me.”
Lips twitching, he captures my sullen gaze in his. “I’m allowed to. No one else is.”
* * *
On the way back to my bit Leith looks up from his phone. “The day after our wedding I expect you to change your Insta profile to read married and change your last name there as well.”
My brows pull together. “Why so soon?”
He quirks a brow. “Why wait?”