Naomi Belle

The man in black didn't blink as he said it.

"Mr. Zackary Quinn is on the second floor. Are you ready to see him?"

So that was the name. His friend—the one who'd handed Pierre that pathetic little invite.

"I think I heard you mention him earlier," I said to Pierre, my voice light, but my eyes sharp. "Didn't you say you'd introduce us?"

Pierre puffed his chest up like a bird pretending to be bigger than it was. "Let's go." His voice was firm, protective, like he thought he could do something if it all went wrong. I almost rolled my eyes.

We moved down the hallway toward the stairs, and luck tossed me a gift. That same idiot—the one who had tried to insult me earlier with his little brother story—stood there sulking. I'd half expected him to slink off and lick his wounds, but no, he was patched up already. Mr. Smith's bullet had only grazed him. Terrible aim. At least he'd left this fool intact enough for me to deal with.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I said, feigning casualness. "Go ahead of me, okay?"

"Okay, but make it quick," Pierre said, like he was in charge.

The bathroom was blessedly empty. I strode inside, punched the side of the paper towel dispenser, and—just as I designed years ago—the lid flew open. My hand slipped in and found the cold weight of the pistol, silencer already fitted. My lounges were full of hidden nests like this, and clearly, my design philosophy had made the trip overseas. Good. I smiled.

It was unexpected, but comforting.

With weapon in hand, I slipped back out. First, the cameras. Every one of them. The obvious, the hidden, and even a light fixture I knew doubled as an eye. Each silenced shot was precise, controlled. Then the pistol vanished into my purse, and I walked out into the hallway like nothing had happened—straight toward the idiot.

He spotted me and spat, "Huh? What the fuck?! This little bitch!"

I put on my best tremble, voice soft. "Oh, I was wrong. Don't take it out on me and my brother. Bullying isn't good."

"You embarrassed me in front of the boss of this place!" he snarled, his chest heaving. "Now you want me to let this go?"

So Smith was pretending to own my turf, was he? Tch. I'd deal with that later.

I backed up slowly, carefully, like prey on the run. Let him stalk forward, let him think he had me. Just a little more—then I pulled the gun from my purse and pressed the silencer hard against the center of his forehead. My trembling mask slipped into a smirk.

He opened his mouth, but I pushed the barrel harder, cutting him off. "If you value your life, you won't scream," I giggled. "I can carve a hole straight through that wonderful face of yours, you know."

"Wh-who are you?" His voice broke. All the bravado vanished the moment steel kissed his skin. Typical.

"Who—" I started, then stopped, because I could feel the eyes on me again. Always watching. Always testing. "Colin!" I snapped. "Get your ass out here! Why the fuck are you still hiding?!"

He emerged from the shadows like he'd been waiting for the call, smoothing his brown hair back, pinstripe suit catching the low light. Too extravagant. Trying too hard. But sharper than when I'd last seen him.

"Bro! Save me!" the idiot cried.

Colin's boot answered first, a vicious kick that knocked him aside. "Shut up." His voice was cold, deliberate. "La Grande Dame, I didn't educate this guy enough. Blame me for the disrespect."

"La Grande Dame?" the idiot croaked, blood on his lip. "Isn't that... the boss lady of the organization?"

Colin's fist slammed into his face, cracking bone against knuckle. "Who taught you to be so disrespectful?"

The idiot dropped to his knees, scrambling, crawling toward me like a beaten dog. His forehead nearly touched the floor. "Please forgive me! I had no idea you were the leader! I'd never have said that if I'd known! Please, I didn't mean it! I'll never do it again, I swear!"

Pathetic. I hated men like this. If he'd stood his ground, I might've respected him. But no—groveling, begging, changing his tune the second power revealed itself. Useless.

I turned to Colin, voice sharp. "I expect you to handle this accordingly."

"Of course." His hand clamped onto the man's collar, dragging him upright like a sack of meat. With his other hand, he pulled a knife, the blade flashing in the dim light. "This is for your own good."

The idiot screamed as Colin pried his jaw open and pressed the knife inside, cutting. His tongue—source of his insolence—bled red as he writhed and choked.

I flicked my lighter, raised a cigarette to my lips, and drew in the smoke, calm, steady. Watching him squirm..

Much needed.

***

"Naomi, what took you so long?" Pierre asked as soon as I stepped back into the hall. His eyes swept over me in that suspicious big-brother way, and then they narrowed. "Why do you smell like blood?"

What?

He glanced down, and I followed his gaze. A single dark spot marked the hem of my pale skirt. Damn it. This is exactly why I hated bright clothes. At least black and blue kept bloodstains discreet.

"There's blood there!" Pierre's voice spiked, alarmed. "Did someone try something with you?"

I didn't even blink. "I'm on my period," I said smoothly, quick enough to cut off the panic before it escalated.

"Oh." His shoulders dropped, and he sighed in relief. "No wonder you took so long. If that's the case, let's say hi and go back quickly so you can rest."

He led me into the private room the guard had directed us to.

The man waiting inside looked up, eyes narrowing. "How'd you get in here?" His tone wasn't hostile—more confused than anything.

"You gave me an invite. What's wrong?" Pierre replied, sounding defensive.

Ah. So this Zack was the one who'd handed Pierre that worthless slip. Using my lounges for his own games, pulling strings with my brother... what was his angle?

We sat down on the couch, but before I could get comfortable, that Smith guy walked in. Again. Always where he wasn't wanted.

"This is the famous king of the business circles, Stephen Smith," Zack said with a little flourish. "The other is his assistant, John."

"I've heard of you guys," Pierre said politely.

I ignored them both and rose, drifting to Zack's side. I wanted to get a better look at this scumbag. Smith could hover all he wanted—he wasn't the problem right now. Zack was. And I wanted to kill him more than anyone in this room.

"Uh, thanks for your help earlier," Pierre said to Smith. "I'll buy you a drink for your troubles."

"We always help where we can," John chimed in. His eyes flicked toward me, deliberate. "Is just buying him a drink enough? I think your sister is more valuable to him."

"No!" I cut in, fast and sharp. "I'm just an orphan. I've barely been in the country for a week. I don't know anything about this place—I'd only embarrass people. There's no way I could match Mr. Smith."

Smith looked at me like he'd just been called weak. He was. Pathetically so. A transparent type—like the new politicians who came crawling to me back home, puffing themselves up as if I couldn't see right through them.

I shifted closer to Zack, leaning just enough to make my intent clear. "I'd prefer someone more gentle and considerate," I said lightly, "like the one who was kind enough to invite my brother here today."

Anything to make Smith drop this ridiculous fiancée idea. It was never going to happen. I couldn't be tied down by some fragile wimp.

Zack's eyes slid to me. I brushed my hair back, tugging my sleeve just enough to expose the raven tattoo etched into my arm. His gaze froze on it, recognition sparking, and then—just as quickly—he turned away.

Good. He knew exactly what that meant. He knew who he was sitting with. Another fake tough guy, already rattled. Figures.

"Stop looking at my sister, man!" Pierre barked suddenly. "Someone already tried harassing her—don't you start as well!"

"Bring him here then," Zack said casually to the guard. "The guy clearly doesn't value his life."

My eyes flicked toward him. A test? A distraction? Or just a fool trying to flex?

"Tell me more about the deal," Smith said flatly, clearly uninterested in the sideshow.

"Maybe you haven't heard," Zack said, puffing his chest, "but La Grande Dame destroyed more than half of Sinaloa's trade routes and shipments. The other mobs collapsed almost overnight. A huge organization fell just like that." His tone was reverent. Then he added, "It was actually me who did that."

The water I'd been sipping sprayed from my mouth before I could stop it. Bitch!

"I didn't expect to be around such powerful people," I said quickly, feigning awe, masking the burn in my chest. "You could do all that and still walk around in public without worry. Amazing."

"Hey, I'm just a hell of a guy," Zack bragged, grinning like a pig in slop. A hell of a liar, more like. My hands itched. I would murder him next and strip him bare for stealing credit.

"Sir, I've brought the guy," the guard returned, shoving the idiot from earlier into the room.

That was fast. Colin had been thorough—of course. The idiot trembled on the floor, eyes locked on me. He made noises, garbled, wet—but no words. His tongue was gone.

Perfect.

"Can we go, Pierre? My stomach," I said softly, already standing.

"Right! Let's go!" Pierre said, eager to protect me. He started to lead me toward the door, but Zack intercepted us, kneeling by the idiot.

"Before you go, let's get you an apology!" he said cheerfully. "Go on and—oh shit!"

"What?" I gasped, pitching my voice high with innocence. "His tongue is gone! Pierre!"

"Let's get out of here," Pierre said firmly, pulling me along.

I glanced back once, just enough to catch Smith raising his glass at me, smiling like he thought he'd scored something.

The ick crawled down my spine.

What a loser.