Page 93 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“How are you feeling?”
I think for a moment. “Exhausted but giddy.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “You were fucking amazing.”
I turn to look into his eyes. They seem lighter somehow. He shakes his head, a look of wonderment pulling on his lips.
“And you felt…” He lowers his forehead to mine. “In-fucking-describable.”
I tilt my head and kiss him deeply. I can’t get enough of this man. “So did you.”
He lifts a hand to my chin and gently pulls away.
“Don’t make me hot again, beautiful. Your body needs to recover.”
I arch a brow and he returns a frown. “It’s non-negotiable, Sera. You will hurt.”
I pout and take a sip of the champagne.
“I’ll be away the next few days anyway. I need to be on site for the build planning. Your body will have a chance to recover.”
“The work is starting already?”
There’s a fresh energy in his inhalation. “My team has been waiting for this moment. They’re already three steps ahead, mapping the fiber lines, briefing demolition teams. We need to pull down all the existing structures so we can start afresh.”
“And this is all part of the Alliance?”
He nods, a look of pride ghosting over his face. “Real power isn’t about firing bullets or bringing down gangs. It’s about controlling information. If you can control that, you can control anything.”
My gaze roams him eagerly. I’m not quite ready to admit it yet, but this man inspires me. I’m not officially on board with the underground nature of his work, but the way he thinks, the way he executes with efficiency and flare—it makes me hungry for something of myown. Not hospitality, like I used to think, but something else. Something meaningful.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say quietly, “that maybe I’d like to start something too.”
He lifts a brow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Ever since you told me about how you ended up on the streets, in that shelter for homeless and orphaned kids, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
He chews his lip, waiting.
“I want to do something that can help kids like you and Arrow. Maybe get them off the streets, or give them a few more options when they come to carve out their adult lives.”
His brow dips. “You mean, like a kids home or a soup kitchen or something?”
“No, no. That would feel disingenuous, you know, someone from a privileged background handing out skin-deep smiles and food packages that expire within two days.” I shake my head at the thought. “No, I’m good with people, I think. I enjoy attending the dinners and galas with you. I feel surprisingly comfortable in that world. Maybe I could do something… political?”
His eyes round, and I realize how hilarious that sounds—the wife of a mobster getting into politics.
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” I say, my collarbone flushing in embarrassment.
“No, wait…” He rests a hand on my arm. “It’s not ridiculous.”
I lift my gaze to his and he’s looking beyond me, figuring something out.
“It’s genius, actually.”
I straighten up. “Genius how?”
His gaze drops back to mine and roams me for a long moment.
