A Thousand Cuts (Underworld Kings)

I regarded him. “What kind of partnership?” I wasn’t asking this to get incriminating information, I was asking it because I wanted to know.

As Cristian’s partner.

Not his enemy.

“A series of real estate developments. Imports. Along with a plan to take over the De León cartel’s drug and weapon’s trade.”

I didn’t react outwardly, merely sipped my wine. It didn’t shock or disgust me that Cristian was involved in weapons and drugs. I’d suspected as much. If the Catalano family was not involved in illegal trade, then they were just businessmen. They were part of the underworld for a reason.

“Do you trust them?” I asked. “The Bianchi family?”

If Cristian was surprised that I didn’t ask questions or cast judgement over the drug and weapon portion of the conversation, he didn’t show it. “No. I do not trust anyone. Which is why we’re marrying off their oldest son to Vincentius’s brother’s daughter.”

I ground my teeth, but my gaze did not waver. “I don’t expect either party is happy about a forced marriage between two families who had been killing each other up until recently.”

Cristian regarded me. “They understand their duty to their family.” His tone was flat, cold.

Things like drugs, weapons, assassination attempts, rapes and forced marriage would be commonplace in this life.

I wouldn’t ask Cristian to change this because he couldn’t. Because this very treachery was the reason I was so captivated by him more and more every day.

But I was furious. At the fact he was announcing all of this two nights before. That his decisions would always be final, no matter how subtle I was in my manipulation.

“You have any other questions?” Cristian asked when I’d been mulling for a long time.

I didn’t answer him immediately. I let him stew. Let the silence linger between us.

“No.” I picked up my glass, draining the last of its contents. “No more questions. I want you to take me up to the bedroom and fuck me.”

Now I got a reaction. Speckles of warmth returned to his eyes, fissures showing through his granite exterior. He slammed his glass down on the table so hard the wine sloshed everywhere. Neither of us were looking at the wine.

He wouldn’t see my anger. He may suspect it. But he definitely wouldn’t see how deep it ran.

Not until it was too late.

Not until I punished him.

I met with Greg Harris the next day.

Even as I sat in the diner, I knew I was making a mistake. A grave one. But I also understood that I had made the decision to work with Harris, and I couldn’t cut off our relationship completely. It was far too dangerous.

So I had to take the meeting. Had to give him this information.

“There is some kind of party,” I said, sipping my coffee. It was fucking terrible, but I needed to do something with my hands.

My entire body felt drenched in filth. Shame. Though I was doing what mainstream society would consider right—working with the authorities to catch a dangerous criminal—it felt utterly wrong. In every part of me, down to my DNA.

“It’s an engagement party,” I added, staring at Harris, glad his partner wasn’t here this time. “Well, that’s the cover. But he told me the Bianchi family is coming to negotiate peace accords. To do some kind of deal. Guns, maybe. Drugs … I’m not sure. He hasn’t shared the details with me.”

The lie came out of my mouth smoothly.

“Of course, he hasn’t,” Harris scoffed after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “He’s not stupid enough to tell a woman about all of his business.”

I bristled at his tone. His meaning. “Interesting, since you’ve trusted a woman with what I can only imagine is the most important case of your career.” I ran my eyes over the man, perusing the deep-set wrinkles in his face. “Likely the last case of your career.”

Harris looked taken aback. Either he didn’t think I was going to call him out on his casual misogyny or he was really that oblivious. “I just meant—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” I interrupted. “I don’t have much time, and that’s not what we need to be discussing right now. All I’m here to tell you is that the Bianchis will be at Cristian’s house tomorrow. For the weekend. I’ll collect whatever I can and get back to you.” I stood up, done with this conversation, the decision that had been eating away at my insides like a cancer.

“It is four weeks until your wedding, isn’t it?” Harris asked, placing his knife and fork down and observing me with a glint in his eye.

I swallowed but didn’t reply.

“You’ll be wanting to find something concrete before then, I assume.” It felt like he could see right through me as he wiped his napkin across his mouth. “Because you don’t want to be married to a man who would brutally murder you if he knew you were here with me.”