Dangerous Temptation (Dark Dream 1)

“I’m always available,” I told him, which was true.

A couple months ago when he’d ordered me to jump on a plane to Ireland to track down Caroline Constantine’s bulldog, Ronan, I’d done it without question even though I was in the middle of securing a rigged construction contract for the new Price Tower in New York.

Bryant grunted through the phone. “I find out you’re up to something unsanctioned, Tiernan, I’ll be very unhappy.”

Unsanctioned.

The only unsanctioned thing I’d ever done was fall in love with someone he didn’t approve of when I was seventeen. Grace didn’t deserve what happened to her simply by associating with me and perhaps, Bianca didn’t deserve what I had planned simply because she was the bastard offspring of Lane Constantine.

But life wasn’t fair.

It amused me to think of how young and foolish I’d been then.

Now, I was the one in control.

Not Bianca.

Not Bryant.

“You’re welcome to come by and help me sort Grandma Zelda’s Matisse collection,” I offered drily. “Though, I distinctly remember you saying once that art was the pastime of sloths and fools.”

He snorted. “Don’t forget the mentally unhinged. Whatever it is you’re doing, Tiernan, I expect to be kept informed. Be in my office tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

Without waiting for my reply, he hung up.

In the echoing silence that followed, the men I’d collected into my employ over the years, my inner circle the underworld of NYC called “The Gentlemen,” shifted restlessly in their seats around the room.

“It’s not going to work, you know,” Walcott informed me as he poured chilled Kona Nigari water into a crystal tumbler and set it by my elbow on the desk. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

I ignored my old friend’s remark and lifted the glass to my lips. The absurdly expensive water was smooth and cool rolling down my throat when I yearned for the harsher burn of whiskey or scotch. I’d been sober for thirteen years even though I’d never been an alcoholic to begin with, but the desire never seemed to wane. That was fine with me, the daily struggle reminded me what I had lost to alcohol and drugs when I was still just a teen.

“Bryant’s going to find out,” Henrik added. “He has a way of sniffing out everything.”

“Yes, the way is through me,” I pointed out. “So this time, I won’t tell him. He trusts me, his loyal servant, enough not to scrutinize me the way he makes me scrutinize the rest of his world.”

“Tell him you took in two innocent kids to use them against him and Caroline Constantine?” Henrik murmured, as if the decibel of his voice would soften the blow of his traitorous words. “You’re really willing to ruin two young lives to get revenge?”

“Et vindictam retribuet in alis nigro,” I quoted the Morelli family motto in Latin.

Vengeance on black wings.

We’d built our entire family history on climbing to the highest echelons of success on the backs of lucky risk-taking, so of course, we were bound to be burned on occasion, just as the Constantines had burned us decades ago. The difference between a Morelli and everyone else was that we never let betrayal go unavenged.

And I wasn’t about to start deviating from the norm now.

“They took two lives from you,” Walcott whispered, leaning forward earnestly, his scarred face creased in odd places. “I know you want Bryant’s in retribution, but you’re taking two more by involving Brandon and Bianca.”

“You just met them, what the fuck do you care?” I demanded, but my fingers tightened on the glass of useless water I raised to my mouth.

“They’re cute,” Walcott admitted with a little shrug. “Cute, but tragic.”

Like you, Ezra signed to me, following the conversation by reading our lips.

Cute? I signed back.

A little bit tragic, he corrected.

“I have nothing in common with those brats.” I was being mean, but then again, I was always mean. Cruelty felt right in my mouth, ice in my veins. But there was something shifting restlessly beneath my breastbone that made me reluctant to discuss the matter further.

I didn’t care about the cost of revenge.

I didn’t need my own men reminding me about Bianca and Brandon’s stake in the situation because it didn’t matter.

Or, it shouldn’t.

Ezra knocked his heavy fist on the front of my desk to get my attention, then signed to me when I looked over at him.

You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“What are you? A fucking wise woman, now?” I snarled at him.

He blinked at me, completely unfazed by my horrible temper.

And I was. In a horrible temper.

Why, I couldn’t quite understand.

I’d laid out the rules for Bianca and taken her locket the way I’d intended. I wasn’t the kind of man to be moved by female wiles or woes. The sight of tears tumbling from those blue eyes, sticking to her long lashes, staining her pink cheeks…none of it should have perturbed me.