After another few minutes, heavy footsteps on the stairs told me that Nate was approaching. I sat up and crossed my arms, waiting for the confrontation. He burst in, his hair darkened with water. Shirtless, fresh from a shower, and with no trace of blood on him, he stalked to the bed, grabbed my ankles, and yanked me down. Prowling over me, he gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head.
“That wasn’t for you to see.” The anger in his voice mixed with the concern in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that.”
“I can handle it.” I met his gaze. This wasn’t the time to back down.
“I know you can.” He squeezed my wrists, then let off. “But that doesn’t mean you have to, okay? It’s part of what I do. I’ve done horrible things, and I’ll do a lot more to keep you safe and to keep this operation running. My men and their families depend on me. I won’t let them down. Not when I’ve brought them so far out of the old ways and into the new.” He shook his head and put a gentle hand to my cheek. “I’m trying to get away from that shit—the killing, the turf wars. That’s why I’m allying with the Irish, why I’ve had Peter focused on gaining more legit businesses. We either modernize or we die. But the Russians are part of the old way. I have to fight this war before we can reach the peace on the other side.”
“I understand.”
“You do. You’re smart. But that still doesn’t mean I want you anywhere near the war that’s about to go down. The things I’ll have to do…” His eyes darkened. “I don’t want you to see me like that. I never want you to be scared, especially not of me.”
I leaned up and whispered my lips across his. “I just saw you covered in blood.”
He winced.
“But I didn’t see anything but you. Being strong. Doing what you had to do. No matter what, I always see you.”
He let out a breath, and I could have sworn his eyes watered, but he claimed my mouth with such sweet intensity that I simply reveled in the feel of him. No more thoughts, no more reassurances—just the two of us coming together exactly as we were meant to.
Chapter Eighteen
Nate
“I’m so fucked. So, so fucked.” I itched to light up a cigarette. “She saw it all.”
Peter snorted. “She’s tougher than you think.”
We sat in the back of a speed boat, gently rocking on the Delaware as we waited for a particular tugboat to appear—one that carried heroin straight from Afghanistan to the Russians. Other boats dotted the river, some seemingly docked for the night, their lights off, giving no clue as to the dozens of men with guns inside.
“I think she’s tough.” My hand reached for a phantom pack of cigs in my suit coat pocket. “But this life isn’t for her.”
“No, you don’t want it to be for her.” Peter gave me a knowing look. “That’s not the same thing.”
I wanted to punch him, if only to release some of the tension. “Did you and Con get together or something? Have a reach-around sesh and talk about my love life?”
Peter grinned. “If the stone-cold killer gives the same advice as I do, then you know it’s the gospel truth.”
Fuck if he wasn’t right. “It doesn’t matter. She’s young, and she’s already been through enough. We’re rough. A bunch of assholes, really. She’s not like us.”
“I could teach her some torture techniques. Not just defense.” David kept his gaze downriver.
Peter let out a hooting laugh, but I wasn’t entirely convinced David was joking.
“So now we’re offering an immersive course in mafia affairs?” I rubbed my eyes. “That’s not on her agenda. Temple is. Law school is.”
“You’re going to have to let her in.” Peter leaned back, his elbows on the silver railing.
“That’s the problem. I already did. She’s all in here.” I pointed to a random spot on my chest. Just happened to be my heart. Coincidence.
“We know that.” David grunted and stared toward a distant boat approaching on the black water, only a tiny sliver moon giving any light. “You love her. Obvious.”
“Obvious?” I gawked at the meaty motherfucker.
“Yeah.” Angus’s voice floated up from the stern of the boat. “You two are done. May as well set the date.”
“Mind your own business, Irish! Shouldn’t even be here. Your dad is going to lose his shit when he finds out.” I turned to Peter. “And since when did you know shit about women? I haven’t seen you or Frankenstein over here with a woman in forever.”
Peter opened his mouth to protest.
“Your one-night chicks don’t fucking count,” I cut in.
“Just because I don’t have it for myself doesn’t mean I can’t call it when I see it. You two are the forever sort of thing. Me? I haven’t found the right one yet.” He smirked. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have try-outs at least once a week, though.”