I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
“You wear that ring, you carry my name, and whether you like it or not,you’re mine.I own you.”
This time, when I stepped in, my chest deliberately bumped into his. “I don’t belong to you, Naeem,” I said, my voice calm but sharp enough to bleed. “Not you. Not your mother. Not my father. Not even our families. I wear this ring, but that doesn’t mean you own me. I’m not a fucking possession! I’m a person. One who earned her place, whether you or anybody else in that room wants to admit it.”
His jaw tightened, but I didn’t let up.
“You think because you’re my husband, you get to speak for me? Control me? Nah. That’s not how this works.” I shook my head, taking another step as my finger jabbed into his chest, my words aimed to destroy. “If you wanna play the devoted husband in front of my men, fine. But don’t come behind me trying to run the show to prove you have the biggest dick in the room.”
“I was fine being your seasonal fuck—really, I was.” I scoffed, a frustrated chuckle following closely behind. “But now that I’m wearing this ring I didn’t ask for, either back me or move the fuck out of my way.”
Heat surged through me, heavy with anger, infused with the kind of rage that makes you reckless and makes you want to slap the taste out of someone’s mouth just to feel better.
“Because what youwon’tdo is stand there and act like you're the head of the Genevese family. That’smyshit. I sit at the head now.”
His gaze dropped to the space between us, then rose slowly, as if he was deciding if he wanted to devour me or destroy me.
“You done?” he asked, voice low and cold.
I wasn’t. “Not even close. I—” I started, but before I could get another word out, his hand locked around the back of my neck, yanking my head back with enough force to steal my breath, and then his mouth was on mine, fierce and claiming.
The kiss wasn't tender. It was hungry, reckless, filled with heat and frustration, and words unspoken that made my whole body react. His other hand clutched my waist, pulling me into him like he needed to feel every inch of defiance he'd awakened. He tasted like mint and wildness, his skin carrying the faint scent of cedar that made my treacherous heart skip against my ribs.
I kissed him back because I didn't know how not to. Because part of me needed the contact as much as the fight. My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in, wanting to push him away and pull him closer in the same desperate motion.
We kissed like we were trying to outlast the war between us. Like our mouths could say what our pride refused to admit. My pulse hammered against his thumb where it pressed into my throat, and I realized with startling clarity that I wasn't surrendering, I was claiming something too. Taking what I needed from him as fiercely as he was taking from me.
God, I hated how much I wanted thisbecause wanting him meant admitting how tired I was of fighting alone.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing like we'd walked through fire and somehow survived. My lips felt swollen, tender, and branded by the admission neither of us had been brave enough to speak.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he murmured against my skin, his voice barely above a whisper. “This thing between us. You being Don, you walking into the same fire I’ve spent most of my life wishing I’d never been born into.”
I gasped, my eyes snapping to his—and just like that, I was drowning. Everything he’d been too proud to say, too guarded to show, was right there. Raw. Open. Unfiltered.
“I hate that shit,” he confessed, fingers gliding up my ribs. “I hate not being able to shield you,” he said, his voice low, rough with truth. “Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be a muthafucka in this world that could challenge you in front of me. Watching you explain yourself to anyone but me doesn’t sit right. Makes me wanna tear the whole room apart.”
His chest rose with a shaky breath.
“I’m trying to trust you,” he said, voice rougher now, “Trying to believe you’ll survive the same world I’ve spent my life surviving. I’ve already lost too much, Tatum. If I ever lost you...”
His sentence broke off, swallowed by silence, his heart thudding against my chest, like it didn’t know whether to race from panic or love.
“I can’t promise to get it right,” he said finally, pressing a hand to my stomach, grounding us both. “But I promise I’ll try.”
That was it.
Not a vow. Not a lie. The truth, raw and imperfect, like everything between us.
And it shattered me more than any argument ever could.
Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the lines of the room, the table, even Naeem. I could barely see him, but I felt everything. For the first time all night, he wasn’t standing aboveme, wasn’t casting his shadow over my decisions. He was beside me, no longer my obstacle, but my partner.
It was everything I wanted. Everything I demanded. And somehow, it was too much.
My breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the pressure behind my ribs surged. My chest clenched, air growing tighter, thinner, like I’d been holding it in too long, and now it was fighting to get out. The kiss deepened, but my body was spiraling. My head spun. My stomach flipped.
I tried to pull back, to get a breath, to find my footing. But Naeem didn’t let me go. He held me like he always did—tight, possessive, unrelenting. His mouth stayed on mine, devouring me like he couldn’t feel the way I was unraveling in his hands.
