“We have four people,” Nico says, hunching his shoulders and putting his hands out in front of him, begging us to see. “Maybe six, if you could count Tony and fucking Lucy, which I very much think we cannot after the events of this morning. We have no real fire power, no excessive access to cash or
“Enough,” Frankie growls, stepping in front of me and tucking me behind him. “You’re out of line, Nico – go pull your shit together.” “You two,” Nico murmurs, livid, backing off but glancing between us. “What a fucking pair you make. The stripper and the hitman, both with hearts of gold. So fuckin
Christian gasps in horror, stumbling a little as he instantly drops his arm and fumbles at the knife, which falls to the floor. “Iris!” he cries, his voice shaking. “What the –“ But then he growls, grabbing my arm, tugging me aside. I gasp a little in surprise – not pain – and look up into his fac
“Christian!” Nico barks out, and I hear the hard slap of a hand on flesh. “Stop! Think for a minute!” The room goes quiet for a second, the only noise Calvin’s panting breath. “Get your fucking hand off of me, Nico,” Christian growls, livid. “Two minutes,” Nico snaps, his voice tense to a brea
“Clear!” Frankie barks out, indicating that the only person there actually is Tony with his hands up. Christian grabs his brother and hauls him into the room, slamming the door shut after him. “What the hell are you doing, Tony!?” he shouts, sending his little brother stumbling aside with a hard s
“Tony, get the fuck back home,” Christian snaps, grabbing him by the shirt collar and hauling him towards the door. “I need you to do serious triage here – you need to go convince dad of the truth!” “Why can’t you do it!?” Tony gasps. “Because he’ll fucking shoot me on sight right now!” Christia
“Just…say as little as possible, Iris,” Nico murmurs, glancing at me. “No problem,” I reply, my answer dry. He huffs a tiny laugh at me and then steps forward, opening the door for his Don and his Donna, stepping inside. The house is quiet, but it doesn’t take long to find people. We move quic
“Iris,” Christian scolds, frowning at me. “You don’t need that. Besides, you shouldn’t mix it with the drink.” I look at my husband seriously for a moment, wondering what it is that stopped him really, when Frankie snaps the tin shut and slips it into my hand. “For later, then,” he says, speaking