Page 155 of Sadistic

"When?"

"This week, probably." He studies me. "You planning to interfere?"

"Why would I? The MC handling Bembe saves us the trouble."

"And the risk," Mikhail adds. "If they move on him, it's their war, not ours."

"Unless he retaliates against Revna," I point out.

"He's not that stupid," my father says. "Touch her and he has both families coming for him. Even Bembe's not suicidal."

The meeting continues for so many hours—logistics, finances, the boring but essential details that keep money flowing and enemies at bay.

By the time we finish, I'm ready to be home, and surprisingly, I’m an hour earlier than expected.

The house glows in the afternoon sun when I pull up.

It's everything the penthouse wasn't—warm, lived in, ours.

Dalla's car is in the drive next to Revna's, and I can smell garlic from the kitchen.

"I'm home," I call out.

Dalla yells back. "Kitchen!"

I find her stirring something on the stove while Revna sits at the island, laptop open, surrounded by law books.

"How'd the presentation go?" I ask, kissing Revna's temple.

"Nailed it." She leans into me. "Professor Adams actually said 'impressive' which from him is like a standing ovation."

"That's my girl."

"Your girl needs wine." She closes the laptop. "This brief is killing me."

I grab a bottle from the rack—a good red we picked up on our honeymoon.

The normalcy of it strikes me sometimes.

Pouring wine for my wife while her sister cooks dinner.

"So," Revna says as I hand her a glass. "Dad called today."

"Oh?"

"Club business." She takes a sip, organizing her thoughts. "About Bembe."

I keep my face neutral. "What about him?"

"He's been pushing boundaries. Making threats. Small stuff, but the club's had enough." She meets my eyes. "I think they're going to handle it. Soon."

"Your father's a smart man."

"That's very diplomatic of you."

"I'm learning." I top off her wine. "Some problems solve themselves if you're patient enough."

"And this problem? You're okay letting the club handle it?"

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