Page 151 of Money Reigns
When the waiter returns, he sets down two flutes of champagne and a plate of delicate macarons, lavender, pistachio, rose. They look like jewels, soft and breakable.
Warren picks one up and holds it out. “Open your mouth.”
Heat prickles up my neck. I should roll my eyes, say something sarcastic, anything, but his stare is too intense. Too smug.Too him.
I part my lips, and he feeds it to me, slow and deliberate, watching every second like he owns the moment.
“Sweet?” he murmurs, thumb brushing my bottom lip.
“Mhm.” I swallow carefully. “But not as sweet as hearing you speak French. Since when do you do that?”
His mouth curves, the kind of smile that always makes me forget how to breathe. “Since I learned it.”
I raise a brow. “And how many languageshaveyou learned, exactly?”
“Four.” He says it like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t drop-dead sexy.
“Four?” I blink. “You don’t exactly scream‘secret linguist’”
He leans back, eyes unreadable. “Andras Academy. I got shipped off there for high school.”
I frown. “Never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have.” He nods once, sharp and final. “Mostly kids of high-profile men. Or mobsters.”
That last word hangs in the air. Heavy. Quiet. Meant to be left alone.
But I can’t.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. “How close are you to them?” I ask carefully. “The mafia?”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. Just watches me for a long, weighted beat. Then he sets his glass down with a soft clink.
“We’re not in business with them,” he says finally. “But we’ve had dealings. My sister… she dated Santo Amato for a time. Denies it now, but it happened.”
The name punches through me.
Of course I know the Amatos.
Unfortunately, so.
Warren’s jaw tightens. “When it ended, the only way to cut him off clean was to give up a property he wanted. A trade. It kept him out of her life. And out of ours.”
His tone is level, but I see the tension in his shoulders. He’s still carrying it.
Still angry. Still protecting.
“So you’re not…” I trail off, unsure where the line is.
“Mafia?” he says, a bitter little smile tugging at his mouth. “No. But we’ve been close enough to know better. Close enough to protect what’s ours.”
I take a slow sip of champagne, hoping the bubbles will settle the coil of guilt twisting in my stomach.
My secrets.
My lies.
At least now I know Warren’s not workingwiththem.
