Page 153 of Sadistic

"Really?"

"Would I lie about fashion? Your sister would divorce me."

She grins. "True. She's gotten very particular since Greer started dressing her."

"Speaking of my dear old mum, isn't your internship starting soon?"

"Monday." For the first time since moving in, I see nerves crack through her confidence. "What if I suck at it? What if switching from pre-med was a mistake?"

"Do you miss the blood and guts?"

"Fuck no."

"Then it wasn't a mistake." I pour myself coffee. "Besides, Mom already thinks you're brilliant. She showed me your portfolio."

"She did?"

"Twice. I can now identify bias cut versus straight grain, which is knowledge I never needed."

Dalla laughs. "Sorry. She gets enthusiastic."

"She gets family." I lean against the counter. "That's what you are now. Family."

"Even though I threatened to castrate you if you hurt Rev?"

"Especially because of that."

My phone buzzes—Mikhail with the morning updates.

Territory secure, shipments on schedule, no immediate threats requiring attention.

It's been quiet since the wedding.

Too quiet, maybe, but I'll take the peace while it lasts.

"You heading out?" Dalla asks, noting my suit.

"Meeting downtown. Should be back for dinner."

"Cool. I'm making that baked ziti thing." She pauses. "Rev said you liked it last time."

"I did."

"Good. Because it's literally the only thing I can cook that doesn't come from a box."

The drive downtown takes thirty minutes—enough time to review the reports Mikhail sent.

Everything's running smoothly, which should make me happy.

Instead, it makes me suspicious.

In our world, smooth usually means someone's planning something.

The meeting is in one of our legitimate holdings—a restaurant that serves as neutral ground for the various crews in Jacksonville.

My father's already there when I arrive, studying profit margins like the businessman he pretends to be.

He’s been back in Ireland mostly, but came to check in and see how things were doing.

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