Page 131 of Fire and Silk

She looks at me. Not with fear. Not with doubt.

But with fury. And something else—something mine.

Around us, silence settles. Chairs stand knocked askew. Shards of glass glitter under the table. Hernandez and his assistant stand frozen, white-knuckled and silent.

I step toward her.

And I swear, nothing else in this room matters.

She shudders out a breath, turns on her heel, and pushes past me.

Her shoulder brushes mine—rough, deliberate. I reach for her wrist, but she pulls it free without a word, her jaw set, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Her heels click hard against the floor, a sharp rhythm echoing off the wood panels. She mutters something under her breath, clipped and angry, and disappears through the open doors without looking back.

Behind her, the room is a mess of silence and wreckage. Mina still wheezes on the floor, curled in on herself. Maksim groans against the wall, one hand pressed to his temple. The lawyers fumble to gather their briefcases and files, heads ducked low, backs hunched like schoolboys fleeing a storm.

I don’t stop them. Let them run.

I turn.

Matteo leans against the far wall, arms folded, his jaw tilted slightly to one side. A red print blooms on his cheek. He’s been silent through it all, watching.

I walk up slowly and nod at his chin.

“You got slapped too?”

His mouth twitches like he’s going to say something dry—something biting—but then he drops his head. His shoulders stiffen, and a sharp breath escapes him.

Then—of all things—he chokes on a sob.

“I didn’t even do anything,” he blurts, voice thick and uneven. “It was all you. And I still got hit.”

His hands come up to scrub at his eyes, as if embarrassed. He sniffs , and glares down at the floor like it insulted him.

I blink at him. “You crying?”

“No,” he mutters. “Yes. Shut up.”

He pushes off the wall and swipes the back of his hand across his cheek, sniffling again.

I chuckle. She chose me.

I reach out, plant one hand over the side of his neck—right over the mark. His skin’s warm. His pulse kicks.

“Want me to kiss it better?” I ask dryly.

His head lolls back against the wall. He nods solemnly. “Yes, Don.”

We both laugh.

For a second, we’re just two tired bastards in too-tight collars and ruined pride.

I clap a hand against his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

He sniffles again and wipes his nose. “Your wife scares me, man.”

I start walking. “Don’t be dramatic. She is just a little mad.”

“Then why aren’t you going home with her?” he asks following behind me.