Page 53 of His to Claim (The Owner’s Club #2)

GRAHAM

The private dining room at Le Bernardin hums with quiet conversation that only serious money can buy.

Delilah sits across from me, the emerald-cut diamond on her finger catching light every time she gestures.

I went completely overboard with the ring—ten carats of pure excess—but watching her admire it when she thinks I'm not looking makes every penny worth it.

She's animated as she talks with Luna about some gallery opening they're planning to attend together.

"So let me get this straight," Beckett says while cutting into his perfectly prepared halibut. "You locked Delilah in your penthouse, went after a mob boss with no plan and somehow came out of it engaged?"

"That's a gross oversimplification," I reply, taking a sip of wine.

“Seemed pretty accurate to me,” Sebastian quips.

The edge creeps into my voice before I can stop it. "Speaking of that, we never did finish our conversation about how you happened to know Stanley so well."

Sebastian's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Graham?—"

"No, I'm genuinely curious. The way he greeted you suggested a relationship that goes back further than a single evening's negotiation."

The table goes quiet. Even the women stop their conversation, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

"Stanley has connections to some of my father's old political associates," Sebastian says finally. "We've crossed paths at fundraisers, charity events. Places where you shake hands with people you'd rather not know but can't afford to ignore."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

I study his face, looking for tells, but Sebastian's poker face is legendary for a reason.

Still, something about his explanation feels incomplete.

Men like Stanley Torrino don't just honor agreements out of respect for political connections.

There was leverage Sebastian used in that car that he's not sharing.

The thought sits in my chest but I force myself to push it aside. Tonight is about celebration, not paranoia.

"Well, whatever you did worked," I say, steering the conversation back to safer ground. "Stanley's out of our lives and the Club cleared me of any wrongdoing."

"Cleared is generous," Beckett points out. "You're on probation from participating in Hunts for a year."

"Like I care. I've got everything I want right here." I catch Delilah's hand—the one with the ridiculous ring—and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"How romantic," Sebastian says dryly. "Though speaking of the Club, there was one other piece of business that got resolved this week."

"What's that?"

"Martin Pemberton was arraigned yesterday. Turns out his association with Stanley's operation extended beyond just that night. The FBI found financial records linking him to several money laundering schemes."

"Good," Delilah says with satisfaction. "He had it coming."

Luna nods in agreement. "Some people just need to learn there are consequences for their actions."

“I couldn’t agree more, sweetheart,” Beckett says, kissing Luna on the temple.

“But, also because we know that none of us actually ever plan to behave, I propose that Sebastian try and make Collector status. So we can tip the scales when we all do inevitably get into trouble.” Beckett grins.

"No pressure or anything but we can't let Preston rule our lives forever. "

Sebastian nearly chokes on his wine. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard him," I say, unable to resist joining in. "You're our only hope now. The pressure's all on you."

"That's terrifying," Luna says, looking genuinely concerned.

"It should be," Delilah adds. "These idiots put a lot of stock in their ridiculous competitions."

"Hey," I protest. "Those ridiculous competitions are how I met you."

"You met me because I was trying to con you."

"Details."

The conversation flows easily from there—wedding plans (Vegas, definitely Vegas), Luna's upcoming art show, Sebastian's political aspirations and Beckett's latest business acquisition.

It's the kind of evening I never thought I'd want—domestic, settled, surrounded by couples and close friends instead of conquests and business rivals.

But watching Delilah laugh at something Luna whispered, seeing her completely at ease in this world that once seemed so foreign to her, I realize this is exactly what I've been missing without knowing it.

As we're preparing to leave, Delilah and Luna excuse themselves to the restroom.

"So," Beckett says once they're gone, "you're really doing this. Marriage, the whole domestic thing."

"Looks like it."

"Any regrets?"

I consider the question seriously. "None. She's... everything I didn't know I was looking for."

"Good," Sebastian says. "Because if you screw this up, she will probably kill you. And honestly, we'd probably help her hide the body."

"Noted."

When the women return, Delilah's wearing that smile that still makes my pulse quicken—the one that suggests she's thinking about something that would probably get us arrested in at least twelve states.

"Ready to go home, Mr. Ellsworth?" she asks, slipping her arm through mine.

"Always, future Mrs. Ellsworth."

We say our goodbyes and head out into the Manhattan evening. The city feels different now—less like a hunting ground and more like a place where we can build something real together.

"So," I say as we wait for the valet, "any regrets about agreeing to marry a reformed criminal mastermind?"

"Reformed?" She laughs, holding up her hand so the massive diamond catches the streetlight. "Graham, you literally had someone arrange for Martin to get prison justice. I don't think you qualify as reformed."

"I prefer 'evolved.'"

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"That's what I'm calling it. You can call it whatever you want, as long as you call yourself my wife."

She stands on her toes to kiss me right there on the sidewalk outside one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. It's soft and sweet and tastes like promises we're both ready to keep.

The ride home passes in comfortable silence, her hand in mine while the city streams past our windows. But when the elevator opens to my penthouse, we're greeted by an unexpected sight.

Mrs. Kim stands in my foyer with her arms crossed and a scowl that could melt steel. She launches into rapid Korean the moment she sees me, her voice rising with each syllable.

"Uh oh," I mutter.

"What's she saying?" Delilah whispers.

"I think she's asking where I've been for the past week and why I haven't been eating the meals she prepared." Mrs. Kim switches to English mid-tirade. "You look skinny! And pale! You eating restaurant food instead of good Korean food I make?"

"Mrs. Kim, I'd like you to meet?—"

"And who is this?" Mrs. Kim's sharp eyes fix on Delilah, taking in everything from her designer dress to the massive rock on her finger. "Pretty girl. Too pretty for you."

"This is Delilah, my fiancée. Delilah, this is Mrs. Kim. She... takes care of things around here."

Mrs. Kim's expression shifts from annoyed to delighted in approximately two seconds. She bustles over to Delilah, chattering in a mix of Korean and English while examining her ring.

"Very good! About time! I tell him for years he need good woman to settle down." She pats Delilah's cheek affectionately. "You make sure he eats proper meals, yes? He works too much, forgets to take care of himself."

"I'll do my best," Delilah says, clearly charmed.

Mrs. Kim turns back to me with renewed fury. "And you! Disappearing for week without word! I worry you dead in ditch somewhere!"

"I was handling some business?—"

"Business!" She waves her hand dismissively. "Always business with you. Now you have wife soon, you learn priorities." She gathers her purse and coat from the table. "I go now. But tomorrow I bring kimchi and bulgogi for new daughter. You too skinny."

She marches toward the elevator, muttering in Korean about foolish men and proper nutrition.

"Mrs. Kim?" I call after her.

She turns back with raised eyebrows.

"Thank you. For worrying about me."

Her expression softens slightly. "Someone has to. Maybe now I worry less with good woman to watch you."

The elevator doors close behind her, leaving us alone in sudden silence.

"Well," Delilah says, "that was..."

"Mortifying?"

"Adorable. She really cares about you."

"She's been trying to fatten me up and find me a wife for three years. Tonight probably made her entire decade."

Delilah grins, sliding her arms around my neck. "Think she approves of me?"

"Baby, you're Korean food's biggest competition for her affection now." I pull her closer, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. "Though I should warn you—she's going to try to teach you to make kimchi."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Even the part where she critiques everything you do for the first six months?"

"Especially that part."

I lean down to kiss her.

"So," Delilah murmurs against my lips, "ready for the rest of our lives to start?"

"With you? I'm ready for anything."

"Good," she says, grabbing my tie and pulling me toward the bedroom. "Because I still owe you a proper thank you for that ridiculously excessive ring."

I stop just short of the hallway and catch her wrist gently. "Color?"

Her eyes light up with that dangerous sparkle I've come to love. She holds her ring hand up and waves her fingers. “Neon fucking green forever, baby.”

Best con I ever fell for.