Page 13 of The Boss
“After we’ve learned everything she came to teach,” Alaric countered, voice mild. “We aren’t amateurs.”
Leif let them volley, let the rhythm of them settle his own temper. This was why the Dominion stood when other houses fell: fire to threaten, ice to preserve, and his hand onboth.
“Put an extra layer on the west elevators,” he said. “Keypad and biometrics. If her badge touches a panel she doesn’t own, the lift halts between floors. And I want cameras on the stairwells covering any and all blind corners. No shadows she can melt into.”
Alaric was already typing the orders into his phone. “Done.”
Magnus straightened and rolled his shoulders, the restless energy bleeding into motion. “One more thing. If the Dantes get wind and come knocking, do we host them or barricade?”
Leif’s mouth curved, almost a smile. “We host. People mistake hospitality for peace. It gives us angles.”
“Good,” Magnus said. “Because I’d pay money to see Titus try to be polite to you.”
Alaric slipped his phone back into his pocket. “And what do you want from us when it’s not about water or Brands?”
Leif didn’t answer right away. He looked at both of them—their faces, his blood, his history—and the shape of the answer built itself from old vows. “I want you to remember who we are. We don’t let outsiders define our names. We don’t let a mark dictate our hierarchy. And we do not fracture because a woman walked through our door.”
Magnus’s chin lifted. “We won’t fracture. But we might bend to leverage.”
Leif nodded once. “Then bend with your eyes open.” He turned back to the glass, to the dark seam of Trinity River. “Tonight we watch. Tomorrow we press. If she is a door, we open it. If she is a blade, we learn how to hold the edge without bleeding.”
Silence settled again, charged rather than empty. It was Alaric who broke it this time, voice a smooth thread. “I’ll brief the east crews and draft the HR memo. Magnus, you spool the guest protocols in case the Dantes do more than sniff.”
“Already on it,” Magnus said, but his attention returned to his brother. “And you—get some sleep. You’re meaner when you’ve only had two hours.”
Leif’s smile was thin, real. “I’m mean enough now.”
The twins moved toward the door in that mirrored cadence of theirs. At the threshold, Magnus paused and looked back. “If she hurts you, I’ll break her.”
Alaric didn’t turn. “If she helps you, I’ll keep you from breaking yourself.”
Leif took both promises like armor and said nothing. The door whispered shut behind them. The room expanded by an inch. He stood in the center of it and let the Dominion’s heartbeat drum against his soles until his own found the same tempo. Then he reached for the map on his desk and drew a line along the Trinity River, marking places where fire could follow current—and where he would be waiting when it did. His finger stopped on the bend nearest the city’s heart, and he thought ofher.
Mariah had walked in as though she owned her choices, but he would make sure she learned the truth: in Severin Dominion, every choice still answered tohim.
Chapter 5
MARIAH WOKEbefore dawn, though sleep had never really claimed her. Each time her body drifted close to rest, heat curled under her skin, sharp and insistent, as though the Brand pulsed in her veins and reminded her of what she could not deny. What she tried—and failed—to ignore.
Leif Severin. His name was a brand of its own, burning hotter than the mark etched beneath herskin.
She tossed the covers aside, breath already shallow. Her nightgown clung damply, her body restless from dreams too vivid to be dismissed. Dreams of a man whose gaze stripped her bare more ruthlessly than his hands ever had. She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing the heat away, only for memory to surge harder. The cut of his voice, the way he occupied a room with dangerous certainty, the deep timbre that slid beneath her defenses and left her shaking.
Mariah forced herself to rise before the alarm. The marble floor was cold under her bare feet, but even that could not cool her. She stood under the punishing stream of the shower, longer than necessary, water striking her skin until it turned pink. She stared at her reflection in the fogged mirror after, unsettled.Her body glowed as though it had been touched. Every inch of her looked flushed, sensitized, as if she had already spent the night with him instead of alone. She hated the reminder of her weakness, hated that part of her that didn’t want the heat tofade.
Clothes became armor. She pulled on a slate-gray sheath dress that skimmed her figure without clinging, modest but far from safe. Her breasts pressed against the fabric, an unyielding curve she knew he would notice despite his saying nothing. She slid into matching heels, each inch of height making her back straighter. She coiled her hair into sleek submission, pinned and polished, so precise that not a wave dared slip free. Lipstick followed, in a shade between rose and plum, smooth as lacquer, and her reflection sharpened into someone untouchable. Or at least someone who wanted to be. Beneath the facade, heat still licked at her veins.
Mariah struggled to control her wayward emotions. She was his assistant now. That was all. Professional. Efficient. Disposable. Arole she could play even with her body betraying her. Even with the Dante Brand burning under her skin like a lover’s claim.
By 7:55 she was walking down the corridor toward Leif’s office, her tablet clutched like a weapon. Each step echoed too loud, like the whole building listened. She steadied herself with every breath. Leif was just a man. Just her employer.
Just the man who had branded hersoul.
The door opened on his voice. “You’re late.”
She checked her watch instinctively. 7:58. Early. He knew it, but the blade of his gaze told her lateness was not measured by clocks. Dark suit, brilliant blue eyes. He leaned against his desk as if it were a throne, and she the subject who dared approach.
“I’m early,” she replied, crisp as the heels striking marble.
