@emiliaadams: Bold words. What else would you do?
My jaw flexed. She knew what she was doing—pushing, teasing, driving me past control with her little blue bubbles while men drowned behind me.
@bastioncrow: I’d tear that dress down the middle. Push you flat on your back. Make you spread those pretty legs until you begged me to let you come.
@emiliaadams: Maybe I wouldn’t beg.
I almost laughed. Almost.
@bastioncrow: You’d beg, baby. You always do.
Another body thrashed. My men glanced my way, waiting for a nod. I didn’t give it. My eyes were locked on the screen.
@emiliaadams: after I beg to come?
My chest tightened.
@bastioncrow: thumb in your mouth, first, then my cock inyour throat, I’d ruin you slow, whisperinggood girluntil you broke.
@emiliaadams: You sound like you’ve thought about this.
@bastioncrow: Every fucking night.
@emiliaadams: Then maybe I’ll let you.
I dragged bloodied knuckles down my jaw, the weight of it almost too much. She thought she was in control, dangling those words like bait.
@bastioncrow: Careful, sweetheart. I don’t domaybe.
The screen pulsed. Three dots.
@emiliaadams: Then don’t. Do it.
Cement poured heavy, filling the last grave. Silence spread, thick and final.
@bastioncrow: Keep that dress on. I want to take it off you after dinner.
Almost smiled.
Tonight wasn’t going to end with concrete. Tonight we’d walk into a marble dining room in black suits, pretend to be businessmen while the city pretended to believe it.
And then, when the wine was poured, when the waiter turned away, she finally looked at us the way she used to, I’d make good on every word.
Because this empire wasn’t built for the ports.
It was built for her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
EMILIA
They were already seated when I walked into the restaurant. Of course they were. And of course they looked like that.
Luca black shirt was unbuttoned showing his tattooed chest that went up his throat. The silver chain, the rings on his fingers that I could already feel against my skin.
Bastion sat across from him, black sleeves rolled to his forearms. The tattoos running from his arms to his fingers.
I wondered for a moment if they even realised how many people were staring at them in this room. Because I wasn’t the only one looking. Three different women in the room had already turned their heads.
