Page 12 of Sapphires and Snakes

Darius grumbles, “And they would have if?—”

“That’s enough.” I snatch the tray out of Darius’s hands and move to toe the door shut. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Pat stops me. “Wait—how is she?”

“Stop whispering at the door and come in, Jesus,” Zarina grouses from the bed.

I glare at them both. “I will put you both on overnight guard duty without a fucking coat if you fuck up her mood.”

Pat elbows Darius out of the way, pushing past me into the room. “Yeah, dude, don’t be so insensitive.”

Darius tries to trip them through the door, but Pat evades easily with their tongue stuck out. They laugh on their way to the bed, and Darius shakes his head. He clears his throat before I can turn into the room. “A moment.”

I sigh. “Pat, take this.”

They grab the breakfast tray out of my hands and skip back over to the bed, where Zarina is still hunkered down under the covers and watching Pat with fond scrutiny.

“I’ll be a second,” I call.

Zarina blows me a kiss and waves me out at the same time that Pat wolf-whistles. “Shut up,” she grumbles.

I step into the hall, feeling a tug in my gut luring me back into the room, back into bed. In this moment, I wish we weren’t stuck in this tangled web of gangs and mafias and power politics. Even if it’s what brought us into each other’s lives. I want to crawl under the covers and doze through the morning, plant lazy kisses down Zarina’s spine, let the morning pass into afternoon as we lie in bed without a world of responsibilities and adversaries heavy on our shoulders.

As much as I might want it, it’s not in our cards.

Something Darius rudely reminds me of as soon as the door clicks shut. He takes an envelope from his inner jacket pocket, because of course he’s already fully dressed and ready for business, and offers it to me.

I pluck it out of his hand. There’s no stamp, no address, only Zarina’s name and mine in handwritten calligraphy. I turn it over and stare at the Council’s crest pressed into a burgundy wax seal. “Who delivered it?”

“A Capone kid.”

“Interesting.” I break the seal and pull out the cardstock. Darius sidles up beside me to read over my shoulder. Far less beautiful handwriting scrawls across the page:

The Council formally offers Miss Zarina Gallo and Miss Andrea Tamayo mediation, to be conducted by James Falcone, in an attempt to avoid escalation between the Accardi Family and the Tamayo gang. The meeting is set for Tuesday, November 03. Please RSVP promptly for the time and place.

“So, this was definitely not Alonso’s idea.” I tuck the paper back into the envelope and chew over its contents. The Council is doing the least they can. They want to avoid all-out war, fighting in the streets spilling over into their businesses and threatening their soldiers, but they won’t outright side with a non-Cardinal Family, let alone a gang. Even worse, they want to stop the Accardi-Gallo merger (I refuse to call it a marriage) without outright doing so, lest they offend Alonso and his dick-for-brains son into getting their way with brute force.

I have no doubt that, had Marcus forcefully married Zarina last night, the Council would have supported and affirmed his claim. They would have ignored Zarina, turned away from what would boil down to kidnapping and assault, in favor of moving against the Accardis later. She would have been—could still be—collateral damage they’re more than willing to sacrifice.

I run my fingers through my hair and snag on a few tangled threads. “Fuck.”

Darius scrapes a hand down his face. “Fuck is right.”

“We have to accept.” But the mere thought of doing so heats up the core of me, like magma before it bursts out of the Earth’s crust.

“It’s the only way to stall for time,” Darius confirms.

“Which is what we desperately need.”

“Zarina, too,” Darius murmurs.

I tongue my cheek and nod at that, not wanting to think about the reality of why Zarina is here, why there’s an expiration date on our fake engagement. Damnit. Only minutes ago, we were tucked away under soft blankets with entangled limbs, the world shrunk to her and me lying in bed. For a short moment, there were no Accardis, no Gallos, no Council.

There was only us.

But it was an illusion. And as easy as the breaking of that wax seal, as the ripping of that paper, it fractured with the slightestpressure. We’re on the precipice of a gang war that could rival the fall of the Russos unless Zarina and I can figure out a way to silence the Accardis for good.

Which would require more trust than we have between us.