Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“My taste in men is none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business.”
The words hang there. Too honest. Too raw.
He realizes it the same moment I do, because he's suddenly very interested in the ceiling.
“Go back to sleep, Venom.” His voice is softer now. Almost gentle. “I'll make breakfast.”
“You don't cook.”
“I'll order breakfast.”
I should kick him out. Should demand answers. Should do anything except what I actually do, which is close my eyes and let the warmth of him seep into my bones.
“If you tell anyone about the Thor thing—”
“I'm telling everyone.” I can hear the grin in his voice.
Rolling out of bed, I snatch the first pair of clothes I see and drag my ass into the shower. Since my dream has been so rudely interrupted, there's no point now.
I wash up quick and squirt a thick tube of paste on my toothbrush, swiping through my notifications.
A new email pops up as I rinse and spit.
From: N.
To: M
Subject: Tonight's Assignment - POSTPONED
The schedule for tonight at the Southside warehouse has been flagged for elevated risk. New intel suggests the target doubled his security detail after last week's incident in Pilsen. Without Leon running backup, I'm not comfortable sending you in solo.
We'll reschedule when he's back. Non-negotiable.
Stay sharp. Stay safe.
—N
I stare at the email, toothbrush frozen mid-motion, foam dripping down my chin.
“Non-negotiable my ass,” I mutter, spitting into the sink.
My phone is already dialing before I finish rinsing. I wedge it between my ear and shoulder, yanking open the bathroom door to grab clothes from my closet.
Nonna picks up on the second ring. “Before you say anything—”
“You can't bench me.” I rifle through hangers, pulling out a pair of worn Levi's. “I've been prepping this for two weeks.”
“And Leon's been out of pocket for three.” Her voice is calm. Measured. The way it always gets when she knows I'm about to argue. “You think I don't know what you're doing? Taking extra jobs, pushing harder, running yourself ragged?”
I shimmy into the jeans one-handed, hopping on one foot. “I'm fine.”
“You're spiraling.”
“I'm working.”
Silence stretches between us. I can picture her—wherever she is—pinching the bridge of her nose the way she does when any of us test her patience.
I grab a ribbed tank from the drawer, pulling it over my head. The fabric catches on my still-damp curls and I have to wrestle it down.
“The target's security doubled,” Nonna says finally. “Six men minimum, rotating shifts, plus the new cameras on the east entrance. Without —”
“I'll improvise.” I let my hair fall loose, dark waves tumbling down my back. “I always do.”
“Improvising is what got you that scar on your hip.”
My hand instinctively brushes the raised skin beneath my jeans. A souvenir from a job that went sideways in Miami. Leon had pulled me out. Barely.
“That was different.”
“Was it?” I hear movement on her end. The creak of a chair. “You were reckless then too. Thought you had something to prove.”
“I don't have anything to prove.”
“Then why are you fighting me on this?”
Because I can't sit still. Because every night I'm not working is a night I'm thinking about things I shouldn't. People I shouldn't.
I don't say any of that.
“Because the target is moving product through that warehouse in seventy-two hours.” I keep my voice steady, professional. “Girls, Nonna. Young ones. If we wait for Leon, we lose the window.”
More silence. I pace the length of my closet, bare feet silent against hardwood.
“You've confirmed this?” she asks.
“Punk intercepted the manifest last night. Twelve containers scheduled for Port Authority on Monday.” I grab a hair tie from the vanity, twisting it between my fingers. “If he's alive when those ships dock—”
“He won't be.”
I freeze. “So you're approving it?”
A long exhale crackles through the speaker. “I'm saying… I trust your judgment. Even when it's clouded by whatever's going on in that head of yours.”
“Nothing's going on in my head.”
“Ivy.” The way she says my name—soft, knowing—makes my chest tight. “You can lie to everyone else. You can't lie to me.”
I sink onto the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted despite the hour.
“I'm fine,” I say again, but it comes out quieter this time.
“You're not. But that's a conversation for another day.” I hear the click of a keyboard on her end. “I'm sending updated schematics. Punk will run remote support. You go in fast, you go in clean, and you get out before anyone knows you were there.”
“I always do.”
“And Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever's distracting you—whoever's distracting you—figure it out. Before it gets you killed.”
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a long moment, phone clutched in my hand, staring at the doorway to my bedroom. From somewhere in the apartment, I can hear Asher moving around. Cabinets opening. His voice, low and easy, probably on the phone with whatever restaurant he's ordering from.
Figure it out.
If only it were that simple.