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“He’s worth billions, yet at his core, he’s a cheapskate.”

I ignore his baiting of me and ask if he would like something to drink.

“Red wine, if you got any, and go easy on the antifreeze, yeah?”

His blue eyes twinkle. I’m not amused.

“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t be subtle, Cillian. Believe me, you’ll see it coming.”

“Ah, so you did cut off those wankers’ junks.”

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

“Did they plead for mercy when you and your men stood over them with machetes, Maddox?”

I lock my jaw. How the fuck did he know that detail?

Blaise looks from Cillian to me with questions in her eyes. Buried in those questions are revulsion and fear, I’m certain of it. Great, my wife is revulsed at the idea of touching me with her bare hands and she’s fucking scared of me too.

I march over to my stash of wine, find the cheapest bottle, and poor the bastard in the well-fitted suit a drink. Jesus H. Christ, for a house call he is certainly formal. Jeans and a T-shirt would’ve put me more at ease, but a fucking suit? His attire tells me his presence here is all about business. Fuck business. This is my turf, my home he is trespassing on.

He seats himself at the kitchen table, makes a show of sniffing the air, and asks in an arrogant tone, “Smells good, sweetheart. What’d you cook for Daddy tonight?”

Daddy? What the hell kind of game is Cillian playing?

“Please refrain from talking to my wife in that manner, Cillian.” I set the glass of wine in front of him and take my seat next to Blaise, my spot across from her taken by the bastard with the scarred face.

We were sitting down for dinner when the front desk called with news of a visitor in the lobby surrounded by an entourage of men with concealed weapons strapped to their hulking bodies.

“Or else what?”

“I’ll cut off your dick, that’s what.”

He laughs. Blaise loses color from her already pale face.

“Maddox.” Her hand settles on my thigh under the table. Tap, tap, tap from her fingers. She’s imploring me not to let Cillian’s baiting get to me. For her, I’ll do my best not to go with the urge to sock him in the face.

“Why are you here, Cillian?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“And what is that?”

“One night with your wife and you can develop the southeastern blocks to your heart’s content.”

“Fuck no.”

“I’m only asking for one night.”

“One minute. One hour. One night. The answer will always be the same. She’s mine.”

“I’m not your property, Maddox.”

Wait, what? My attention swivels to Blaise. She’s siding with the arrogant bastard?

“You’re willing to spend a night with him?” I point my finger at Cillian, not being shy with my middle finger.

“A night of conversation and that would be the extent of it.”