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“Let him. I’ll kill him later.”

“More money for me,” Seamus says cheerfully.

I’m more uncomfortable than I’d like with Dec dancing with her. I shouldn’t be. He doesn’t mean a thing by it. He’d never, not even if he crushed hard on her, do anything. I know because he’s my brother and there have been times when feelings have come up for each other’s piece. No one ever steps on toes or crosses lines. Our blood bond means more than a fucking female. More than a friend, more than a business deal.

And if anyone touched my brothers, I’d kill them.

The fact that these… murderous revenge urges are popping up in me over imaginary men trying to put their filthy hands on my new wrong bride is because I haven’t had her yet. Once I do?

Well now, I guess it’s going to depend just how good she is.

Torin leans in. “Look.” He hands me his phone and a flash of dark violence slices through me.

“Paddy O’Sullivan? What’s that fuck coming to New York for?”

Paddy, real name Piotyr Osinov—does it even fucking matter? Dress a Russian piece of shit up in pearls and diamonds and it still is a piece of shit—tried to take me out when I was sixteen. Imightbe inclined to forgive a man of twenty-five for trying to murder a kid.

But I wasn’t exactly harmless. I’d killed before and I’d have sliced him open from nut sack to throat if given the chanceback then. But he failed at killing me and I didn’t get that chance.

Then when he came after Declan, who was only nine years old at the time, for stealing some sweets, he hurt him. Bad.

I have yet to settle that score.

“Does it matter?” Torin cuts his eyes at Declan dancing and laughing with my bride. Lucie. She likes to be called Lucie. I can think of some other names I’d like to call her.

I’ll fucking torture Paddy before I rip out his heart.

Fuck the Osinov family. They have power, but so do we. And even more now. To me, Paddy’s a weak little fuck who picks on others in the shadow of Russian bratva.

“No.” I toss back my drink. “We’ve got business this week and next. We’ll fit him in.”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“Tor, Paddy’s a piece of shit. He can’t do?—”

“He’s still an Osinov.” Torin looks at me.

I sigh. “The Osinov Bratva might have his back, but his family doesn’t let him have power?—”

“There’s being reckless and a fucking death wish, Cal.” Torin’s eyes narrow. “Family is still family, whether they want him as part of the bratva or not, and you know it.”

I ignore him, even though he’s right. “He keeps trying to make his own moves and every time, he fucking fails.” New York isn’t a place for him to easily ascend anywhere. But he’s arrogant. And maybe… Shit. “Yes, he’ll know we’re here. Maybe he wants a job.”

Torin rolls his eyes. “Or a chance to make alliances with other bratva? Osinov sticks to Europe. If the family has ties here, they don’t advertise it.”

“If he wants me? Wants a fight? Bring it the fuck on.”

“I’ll talk to our bratva contacts. I don’t want to step on toes.” Torin types on his phone.

“I don’t think any other crime family is going to let him in. He lives off family scraps and carves his own pathetic path. When we meet with him, take out the rest of his people if he has any in your way. But Paddy? He’s mine.”

“What if he’s got business with your new father-in-law?” Tor mutters.

“Then he’s not what I thought. And anyway, I doubt it, because Paddy can’t keep his mouth shut.” That’s going to be my job, to permanently shut it.

Torin frowns. “Don’t rock this boat, Cal.”

The business this week and next that we have is one small reason I moved the wedding up. I need de Rosa’s connections, and the sham union will get me exactly what I want.