Page 109

“Anyway, so you already had some creep bust into your apartment and do gross things. Which, by the way, why didn’t you tell us when that happened?”

“Yeah, Lucy, we would’ve all come for you,” Clem says softly.

“Sorry, I just, I didn’t want it to be a big deal. Our family always has so much going on, and well, Balor had me,” I tell them, feeling the truth of that last statement to my bones.

Balor really does have me. Body, heart, and soul.

“Never mind all that. Okay, Lucy, I don’t have to tell you this is so not good,” Andrea summarizes, reaching for another empanadilla.

Like she needs the comfort of fried carbs to process the tension rippling through the room.

Maybe she does. Hmm. Maybe it’s a good freaking idea.

I snag one, too.

Clementine isn’t even pretending to be chill. Her mouth is a tight line, her eyes fixed on me with an expression that’s equal parts you okay and oh, fuck no.

“Oooh. Yum. No shit, this is not good,” she mutters, setting her drink down with a soft clink.

“Guys, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the details about the break-in,” I begin, thinking my cousins are pissed about that.

“Oh, it’s not that, Lucy. I just think you better prepare yourself for when your husband gets home,” she says, with a knowing grin.

“What do you mean?”

“Balor is gonna come straight here like a bat out of hell. Then he’s gonna fuck that little prick’s shit up.”

Shit. She’s right.

I sit there, completely still, my heart thudding like a war drum in my chest. Because despite everything, I know damn well what my husband is capable of.

See, before I ever let Balor Cruz slide that beautiful blue diamond ring onto my finger—or curl his body around mine in the dead of night—I did my own homework.

While he was busy rejecting me at first, then negotiating my future with my father behind closed doors, I was doing recon of my own.

Digging into the man behind the sharp suits and the quiet stares and those arresting, bi-colored eyes.

What I found?

Balor isn’t just smart. He’s not just handsome, or intimidating, or rich.

He’s a force.

Before Volkov Industries ever knew his name, he was already carving a path through the shadows.

A low-level soldier in the Callahan syndicate—yes, the old school Callahan family.

But under Connor’s leadership, he rose fast.

Ruthlessly. Quietly.

Like smoke seeping under doors and through cracks until it fills the whole damn room.

I don’t know all the details. No one does. But I know enough.

Enough to understand that people do not fuck around with Balor Cruz.

Not if they value their bank accounts. Or their online presence. Or business reputations.