Page 26 of Brutal Queen

“Fine,” he huffs, before stealing a kiss. “I’ll wear it.”

When he pulls away my hands explore the plains of his chest and I don’t miss the grimace that fixes itself on his face as I trace his more faded scars. Lifting my forearm to show him how we match, he follows the barbed silver tracks with his eyes and then cups my wrist in his palm, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point.

I follow him out of the bathroom and smile when he manages to sort the neck strap of the sling by himself, forgetting that he needs help with the one that wraps around his ribs.

“Infernal contraption,” he gripes, trying to secure it one-handed.

“Why are men such fucking idiots when it comes to asking for help? Here, let me.”

I reach the strap around his waist and link it through the loop at this elbow. It’s designed to limit the rotation of his shoulder. Oddly, as soon as I tighten the strap, he lets out a long breath and I watch his shoulders relax. Almost like he’s enjoying the restriction.

Interesting. I make a note of that and wonder if the ropes I’ve seen in Sin’s drawers might be something he’ll appreciate.

We spend the rest of the day together, enjoying each other's company. We snack, binge a significant number of TV episodes and we kissa lot. We find any excuse to touch, whether it’s feeding each other or curling up together with our limbs entwined. I feel like a teenager whose boyfriend hassnuck her into his bedroom—and it’s bliss. Tucked away from our responsibilities, only concerned with each other.

As the sun sets, there’s a gentle tap at the door. “Come in,” Zo says.

Sinclair pokes his head around and chuckles as soon as he sees the regency ball paused on the screen. “We’re making dinner. Do you want it up here?”

I appreciate his offer of space, but I want us all to spend the evening together. I can’t figure out if that makes me inconsiderate or not, expecting Enzo to come out and join us, but the guys need this. They mourned him like I did, and now they need their brother back.

“We’ll come down, Sin,” I reply, still cuddled into Enzo, giving his chest a squeeze of reassurance.

Sinclair nods, then locks eyes with Zo. “Good to have you back, boss. It wasn’t the same without you.” His words are even, but his cadence is off. We were all devastated when we lost Enzo, but Sinclair took on the bulk of the responsibility when it came to looking after us. He kept us going. I don’t think he ever got the chance to deal with how it affected him, and so having Zo back now must be hitting him like a ton of bricks.

“Glad to be back, brother. If I haven’t said it already, thank you,” Zo says.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Enzo.”

“That’s bullshit, and we both know it. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. Aurora told me how you tracked down my location. The CPR. Hell, how you held everyone together. Thank you, Sin.”

After a long pause that should have been more uncomfortable than it was, Sinclair nods, accepting the praise before retreating back down the hall as he shouts to us, “Dinner’s in ten minutes.”

I clear my throat. “Before we head downstairs, you should know that I’ve already spoken with Stefano and the capos, and I’ve nominated you as my second. You are the Bianchi underboss. Sinclair, Nico and Benedict have been assigned tasks that sit outside of the new capo’s responsibilities and will continue to report directly to you. Sinclair has been working to handpick your foot soldiers and security for the last few weeks. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”

Enzo moves to get up, and even with the sling, assumes a stance I recognise well. Rising to his full height, he rolls his shoulders back and lifts his chin, oozing strength and power. “Yes, boss. Whatever you need.”

Kneeling up on the edge of the bed, I crook my finger and beckon him towards me. When he’s close enough, I stroke my fingers along his jawline, smiling when he leans into my touch. “Thank you for coming back to us,mio re.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I whisper, “We need you.”

I finish stackingthe plates in the dishwasher and go to get myself a wine glass from the cupboard. I giggle when I notice that someone has rearranged them so that they are on the bottom shelf. They were on the top shelf because the giants I live with never used them. The other day Nico found me climbing on the counter to retrieve one, so I assume this is his doing.

He thinks we don’t notice all the things he does to watch out for us, but I’ve got his number. He may not be rocking the daddy vibes as hard as Sin, but he’s definitely got a softer side.

I take the wine glass through to my office and pick up my dad’s old decanter, pouring myself a drink. I’ve taken to keeping it filled with one of my favourite reds. I settle behindmy desk and start going through the printouts Sinclair left out for me. His level of detail borders on certifiable, but it's vital, especially now. We’re overhauling the entire organisation and fighting a war at the same time.

Today, the guys were out acting on intel from Gabriella’s team. They found who’s been tasked with Manny’s security, which is key to finding out where he’s been hiding. From the looks of it, he never left the city and has been holed up in a safe house for weeks. It must be killing Manny to be under orders to hide.

He’s a fucking idiot if he thinks Max will ever let him leave. Max needed him for his influence and his manpower, but my husband doesn’t play well with others. There’s no way he’ll tolerate having a second to undermine him. Manny’s only value now is information and any influence he still has. Manny’s nothing more than a puppet now, whether he knows it or not.

I couldn’t give a fuck about his value to Max. When we get our hands on him, I’ll hand him over to Nico and let him extract every bit of information that scum has on the De Luca organisation. And then I want Manny dead. By my hand. In the most brutal way I can think of.

Which reminds me, Benedict said he was working on some micro charges… I wonder if they’re ready yet? Maybe I can use them in some way.

I pull out my phone and call my right-hand man. Stefano answers within a few rings.

“Evening, boss.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Rory, old man,” I chide.

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