Standing in front of my office window, I look down into the moonlit backyard. Though I stare intently, my focus is within. I lean up against the window’s frame and try an experiment.

See, this morning when I got up, I couldn’t remember Anna’s face. Well, I could remember the broad strokes. I could remember that she was a brunette and that she laughed a lot. A sort of low chuckle.

But I couldn’t picture her face in my mind.

Instead, I could only conjure Fiore. Her soft smile, the excitement that flared in her eyes when I proposed moving to New Orleans.

The sheer terror on her face when I pulled out the box from underneath her bed. Her expression when I picked her up afterward and put her into her bathtub.

All those things are sharp, real. Whereas all my memories of Anna are just that… memories.

I am slowly beginning to forget Anna, in favor of her murderer’s daughter. I’m not sure what kind of fucked up person allows that to happen to himself, but I don’t want it to.

I don’t want to feel anything for Fiore.

I want to hang on to the burning hatred I felt after I opened that box containing Anna’s bloody head. Clenching my fists, I crack my knuckles.

What am I supposed to do about it, though? If I punish Fiore, I seem to just make her more needy, more dependent on me. And for whatever reason, I like that feeling.

I could always tell her that I killed her father and brothers with my bare hands. I’ve been holding that card in reserve, telling myself that I’ll tell her at just the right moment. That I’ll use that fact for maximum carnage.

But I had the perfect moment last night, when I was sitting on her bed and she was shrouded in her comforter, huddling close. That would’ve been the moment if there was ever going to be one.

And yet I paused. I hesitated.

Why?

Because I was concerned about Fiore. About how tender she was, how raw. About hurting her even more, after she divulged some surprising facts on the topic of her mother’s death.

My computer beeps, drawing me out of my thoughts. Narrowing my eyes, I walk over and press a button. Dryas pops up on the screen.

“Hello, brother,” he says, his expression tight. “I’m calling to see how you are faring with the city of New Orleans. Damen contacted me today, and he was impatient for things to begin.”

I sit in my desk chair, raising a brow. “Arguing that the New Orleans operation should be rolled into the London option, was he?”

He shrugs. “He seems to think that the tarot cards are telling him to do it. If it wasn’t so useful to have a mad dog backing us, I’d probably have him institutionalized.”

I steeple my fingers. “Yeah, Damen’s never been quite right. I mean, there is something wrong with all of us, but… he’s a different story altogether.”

“He’s not wrong about your operation taking too long. I was under the impression that you were going to roll up the whole city, burn all the existing operations down, and start over.” He favors me with a bland expression. “What are you doing over there, Arsen? This isn’t about your girl, is it?”

His mention of Fiore makes my hackles raise, but I don’t want to show my hand just like that. “You’re making something out of nothing, Dryas. Damen’s jumping at shadows, and it seems he has you jumping too.”

His eyes turn to slits. “That’s not an answer. Where are you in the negotiations?”

Drumming my fingers on the desk, I repress a sigh. I’m not exactly used to having to account to anyone.

“Four of the six families have signed on the dotted line. They’re taken care of.”

“And the other two?”

“They’ve agreed to my takeover of New Orleans, but they’ve both stalled when it comes to the terms. One is being prickly about the marijuana trade, of all things. The other wants a couple of their people stationed here, overseeing the daily business.”

Dryas nods slowly. “That could be a problem. We don’t need anyone overseeing us. Not when we’re supposed to be in charge.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s the marijuana issue? Can you put that to bed this week?”

I shrug. “I’m trying. It’s the cartel; they want their stuff smuggled in from south of the border, but I think we would be crazy not to just bring stuff down from Colorado.”

“It sounds like you have a better idea. I have your back.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I say with another shrug. “It’ll be resolved, with violence if need be.”

“That’s the brother I grew up with.” His eyes twinkle a little as he smiles.

Rocking back in my chair, I eye him. “What about you? Did you decide the next US city to take over?”

“Mm. I’ve narrowed it down to Atlanta or Chicago. Both strategically strong in different ways.”

“When will you decide by?”

He leans back, suddenly evasive. “I don’t know. A couple months, maybe.”

I nod. “Alright.”

Dryas looks off into space for a long moment. “How are things going with your girl? What’s her name again?”

Gritting my teeth, I force my face to remain neutral. The last thing I want is for Dryas to grow too curious about Fiore, though.

God knows we’ve destroyed enough in our battles amongst ourselves. While fighting it out to rise to the top of the Cypriot food chain, we shredded much tougher targets than Fiore.

“Things are fine,” I lie. “Normal.”

His eyes narrow. “Normal? Since when have things ever been just normal for you?”

“I don’t know,” I say blandly.

“So, she’s underperforming for you, then?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.

“I didn’t realize that my older brother was so interested in seeing me fuck.”

“I’m interested in her more than I am interested in you,” he said pointedly. “I think that she’s really taking you out of the game. Which is unfortunate, because the stakes are so fucking high right now.”

I pause, thinking. He seizes on that.

“I knew it. You’re falling in love with her, just like you did the last one.”

“Fuck off. I was never in love with Anna.”

“You were! It was disgusting to have to watch!” he says, gleeful. “You’re like a little kid when you have a woman around, you know that? You just can’t help yourself.”

I sneer at him. “And you? How are you with a woman around? Nobody knows because you’re so fucking crazy about it. If I didn’t know you better, and I hadn’t visited so many brothels with you, I would say that you don’t like pussy at all.”

Dryas gives me a sly smile. “You know that I like pussy as much as the next guy. I like cocks, too. I just don’t let any of it interfere with work.”

Giving him a belligerent glare, I shake my head. “So you say. I think it’s just been a while since you’ve fucked anybody worthwhile.”

He shows me two rows of perfectly white teeth. “There’s a whore in my bed right now.”

“I said worthwhile,” I growl.

He laughs. “I think I should come to visit you. Meet your girl, get to know her. Maybe she’ll like me better, eh?”

Without thinking, I disconnect the video chat. I stare at the blank screen for half a minute afterward, angry. I shouldn’t have done that, at all. Dryas will know that I hate that idea.

And when he gets here, he will know that I’m weak. Worse, he’ll know the source.

Her. Fiore.

Fuck, I think I really might have let her get too close, become a problem.

The thing is, I can’t just kill her and be done with it. The idea of cutting off my supply of Fiore’s moans of pleasure and wide-eyed looks of surprise… She is rife with all the things that I need to enjoy myself. And if I’m not mistaken, Fiore is starting to like the same things I do.

That fact gives me immense gratification.

So, no, I’m not done with her yet, not by a long shot.

I stand up, walking back to the window. Thinking of Fiore brings up something that I recently learned.

Well, someone that I recently acquired. Someone that should prove very interesting when I re-introduce them to Fiore.

Someone that could break Fiore of her nasty ideas of familial dependence.

There is a slim chance that this person will cause Fiore to fracture in a way that displeases me, but I feel good about it. It’s a risky gamble, but I’m willing to bet her.

Especially when the winnings would be so, so good.

I walk over and push the intercom button on my desk. “Bring the car around. I need to go out.”

Smiling grimly, I head downstairs.