“Better than I was,” he says. “I’m dating.”

  Well, that answers my question. “You’re dating,” I parrot, lifting my other foot for James as he looks up at me on a disbelieving shake of his head. “How lovely.” How old is this one? James fastens the small buckle on my sandal and rises, taking the wine off the wall.

  “And I’m running for mayor.”

  “What?” I blurt. “Mayor?” James eyes widen, his mouth falling open.

  “I admit, Beau, the competition is pretty stiff. That Monroe Metcalfe is quite popular.”

  And, oddly, so is my father. But the public don’t know him like I know him. They see a businessman, one that gives to charity and serves his community. What the hell do I say to this news? “Good luck,” I murmur, hoping and praying he doesn’t think he’ll be using me as tool in his campaign. I highly doubt it, now he’s met James. In fact, he’ll be doing everything he can to avoid the public finding out who I’m dating.

  “Thank you, darling. Let’s do dinner. At my place. I’ll cook spaghetti like I did when you were a little girl.”

  I notice he’s not suggesting we go out in public. “Sounds lovely. I’ll call you.” I hang up.

  “He’s running for mayor?” James says, stunned.

  “Yep. Mayor Hayley. Mayor Hayley with a daughter who’s dating an assassin.”

  “He doesn’t know I’m an assassin. And we’re more than da—" He frowns. “Can you smell curry?” he asks, just as the waft hits me. Coriander and spices, it’s rife.

  “And tension,” I say quietly, as he leads us up the path. We round the villa and find everyone sitting at the table on the patio by the pool. Everyone except Rose. I spot Goldie first, and as James predicted, her newfound girlie wardrobe is nowhere in sight, the suit back, the cut expression accompanying it. She’s the woman I first met. Stoic. Imposing. Business-like.

  I find Danny at the head of the table, looking like he’s been slapped in the face. It’s a definite possibility. “Not drinking?” I ask, pointing at the bottle of water in his hand where a tumbler of amber liquid always sits.

  “Not tonight.” He rises and offers his cheek.

  “What’s going on with you two?” I ask quietly, kissing him, but I get no answer, just a shake of his head, telling me to leave it, before he slaps hands with James and drops back into his chair. I look at Esther who shrugs. To Brad who feigns shivering. I round the table and greet everyone with a kiss, finishing with Zinnea. “Where’s Rose?”

  “In the kitchen,” she whispers, as if it’s a secret, filling up her glass, obviously deciding only wine will get her through this evening. “You could cut the atmosphere with a damn knife.”

  I sigh and place my purse on the table where James just took his seat. “Back in a minute.”

  “Don’t offer to help,” Esther calls as I leave them to go to Rose and find out what the hell is going on. “She’ll bite your head off too.”

  I enter the kitchen as Rose drops a spatula and sauce splashes up her legs. “Fuck it,” she hisses.

  “All right?”

  She glances up and smiles so bright, I’m surprised the island doesn’t short-circuit. “Nearly ready,” she sings, dipping to pick up the spoon and tossing it in the sink.

  I watch her, wary, as she stirs the bubbling pot of curry, blowing her hair out of her face a few times. “Esther told me not to offer my help,” I say, going to the island and popping a spoon in the mango chutney.

  She stops stirring and looks up at me. “I’ve got it.”

  I nod and unwrap the pappadams. “Do these need frying?”

  “Shit, yes, they do.” She drops the spoon in the pot and moves on to a pan, where oil is sizzling. She takes the handle. “Fuck!” Drops it and starts shaking her hand.

  “For God’s sake, Rose,” I yell, going to her and flipping on the faucet, shoving her hand underneath. I wince at the glowing red welt across her palm and look at her, seeing tears streaming down her cheeks. Tears from the pain, no doubt, but also tears for something else. “What—”

  “Rose?” Danny blurts, falling into the kitchen in a rush and taking in the scene. “Rose, baby, what happened?” He comes to us, taking her arm at the wrist and inspecting the damage. I move back, letting him take over, but Rose’s tears dry up in a second, a steely expression falling, and she withdraws from his hold. “I’m fine,” she says, sniffing, refusing to look at him. “Beau’s got it.”

  Danny, understandably hurt, looks at me standing awkwardly to the side. There’s not one sane man or woman on this planet who would stand in the way of Danny when it comes to his wife, and yet here I am, caught in the middle. “I’ve got it,” I confirm, fearful of the repercussions if I leave them alone together.

  He swallows, moving back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Rose, I—”

  “I’m fine,” she snaps, turning away from him. “Just go.”

  He does, and it rings even more alarm bells. Since when does Danny Black have his tail between his legs? The moment he disappears, I turn to Rose. “We’re not leaving this kitchen until you tell me what the hell has happened,” I say, shoving her hand back under the faucet.

  Her eyes drop, but I still see them welling. “I said no,” she whispers. “I said no, and he didn’t stop.”

  “What?” I ask, shocked. She meets my eyes, and the tears begin to trail her cheeks again. “Last night?” I ask. When he was drunk?

  “This morning.”

  Oh fuck. Although Danny was so plastered last night, there’s a distinct possibility that he was still drunk this morning. It’s not an excuse. I am not making excuses. I’m just trying to make sense of this madness. I flip off the faucet. “Where’s your first aid box?”

  “The last cupboard, top shelf.” She points, and I collect it, going to the door and trying to get Zinnea’s attention. Esther’s standing behind Danny’s chair, her hands on his shoulders, her mouth close to his ear, obviously trying to pacify him. Zinnea spots me and sets her wine down, rising and tottering across the patio in her heels.

  “Everything all right?” she asks, looking at Rose by the sink weeping.

  “We just need some help.” I point to the bubbling pot of curry. “Would you mind taking that out? I’ll bring the rest in a moment.”

  She doesn’t ask questions, which is exactly why I summoned Zinnea and not Esther. “Of course, my darling.” She gets straight to it, collecting a couple of kitchen towels and taking the pot off the stove. “Spoon?”

  “In the pot,” I say, making her frown down into the curry.

  “I’ll fish it out.” She leaves, and I return to Rose, opening the box and rummaging through for what I need to fix her up.

  “What happened?” I ask, dabbing at her hand to dry it.

  “I’m trying to think reasonably,” she says on a sigh. “He was so completely out of control, and I just felt incapable of sustaining it today.”

  “So you asked him to stop?” I squeeze some cream onto her palm and rub it in.

  “Yes.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “No.” Rose looks up at me, and I hate the anguish I see in her dark blue eyes. This will be killing her. Danny’s the only man in this world who can hurt her. And right now, she’s in agony. I’m not going to stand here and tell my friend I’m sure he didn’t mean to do what he did, even though I know Danny’s history as well as I know Rose’s. I would never play down my friend’s distress, not after everything she’s been through. Danny’s foul mood, Rose’s distance, it all makes sense now.

  “You need to talk to him.”

  “And say what?” she asks, exasperated. “Why did you, my husband, take me against my will?”

  I notice she refuses to use that word. “He looks like a broken man, Rose.” I have to point that out, at least. My loyalty lies with Rose, of course, but I feel like I would be doing myself and Rose an injustice if I don’t raise the obvious, because perhaps during her trauma she’s forgotten who she’s married to. The Danny Black I know would kill anyone who laid a hand on his wife with her permission. Without? It would be slow, messy, and painful. I look back to the garden. I know how he’ll be feeling right now. I need to tell James to watch him. “Do you want me to talk to him?” I ask, claiming the bandage and starting to wrap her up.

  “No.” She snivels and wipes at her nose roughly. “Please don’t tell him I’ve told you.”

  I smile mildly, fastening the end of her bandage and going to the stove. “I won’t.” She doesn’t want me to think bad of him. She doesn’t want Danny to feel any worse than he already does, if that’s possible. I don’t think it is.

  I take one of the pappadams and drop it into the pan, making the oil sizzle once again, the circle expanding rapidly. “Do you want some wine?” she asks.

  “No, thanks.” I grab some grippers and lift it out, dropping it onto a paper towel to soak up the oil before slipping another into the pan. “You need to wash your face before we go back outside.” Who the fuck am I kidding? Nothing goes unnoticed in this group.

  Rose goes into her purse on the island and pulls out a little mirror, inspecting herself in it. She studies herself for a while, whilst I watch in between frying. Then she sighs and drops the mirror, looking at me. “It never ends, does it?”

  No, it doesn’t. As long as we’re in this world, extreme stress and helplessness will always feature. “We both knew deep down that eliminating The Bear wouldn’t mean they’re out.” I spoon another pappadam onto the paper towel. “There will always be men out there wanting to be kingpin, and our men have massive bounties on their heads.” I’m telling her what she already knows but finds hard to accept. I do too, some days more than others. But when Rose waivers, I have to pick her up. She does the same for me. So long as one of us is strong on any given day, we’ll always be okay. “I just spoke to my dad,” I say, willing to go there to take Rose’s mind off her current anguish. “He’s running for mayor.” I peek up from the frying pan. She looks like a fish. “Exactly. And he’s dating someone.”

  “Jesus, is she out of college?”

  “I didn’t ask. I honestly don’t want to know.”

  “Mayor?” Her cheeks blow out. “Well, he has the ego, I suppose.”

  I hum to myself. “Where’s Daniel?” I ask. I’m done with daddy talk. I’m struggling to get my head around how I can feel sorry for someone but at the same time resent them.

  “He made a friend,” Rose says, loading the chutneys onto a tray. “Barney Benson.”

  “Cute name.”

  “His dad’s a private banker. Lennox Benson. He’s taken the boys out on his private yacht this afternoon.”

  “With the twins?” I ask over a laugh.

  “With the twins,” Rose confirms, as if I needed it. Daniel can’t even go for a swim in the private pool without Tank and/or Fury following him on an inflatable. “He’s single.”

  I frown at the frying pan. “Who is?”

  “The banker,” she says quietly. “Lennox Benson.”

  I stop poking at the pappadam, looking at my friend with a curious eye as she feigns concentrating on stirring the lime pickle. “And you’re pregnant,” I say quietly. “And married to one of the deadliest men alive.”

  She peeks up at me on a straight face. “I know.”

  This is not good. I wouldn’t say many relationships are healthy, but I bet there aren’t many as toxic as Danny and Rose’s. Or, oddly, as passionate and full of love. “I know you want to hurt him right now, Rose,” I say quietly, worried, because if Rose breaks out the big guns—namely her flirting—to kick Danny in the balls, Daniel’s new friend is going to be an orphan very soon.

  “I’m just saying,” she muses, lifting the tray, “he’s single.” And with that, she pivots and leaves. “Nice ring, by the way.”

  “I still said no,” I call, rushing to finish the pappadams, wanting to get back outside before Danny kills Rose or vice versa.

  I meet James at the threshold, and he takes the tray from me. “What’s she done to her hand?”

  “Small accident with the frying pan.”

  “Right. What’s going on?” he asks, circling his spare arm around me and walking me back to the table.

  “Lover’s quarrel. Something and nothing.” I take no pleasure from lying to James, none at all. In fact, I feel guilty, but Danny will be mortified enough, without any of the men knowing what’s happened. Not even the not so small matter of James deceiving me about killing my uncle’s husband eases my conscience.

  “Sure,” he says over a laugh. “They look more in love than ever.”

  “It’s pregnancy hormones.”

  “Can’t wait,” he whispers, squeezing me before setting the plate on the table and pulling out a chair for me. Was that sarcasm? I honestly don’t know. I give him a curious look that he completely ignores. He’s expressed his reservations, but he’s also not pushed for any birth control. He’s also not pulled out of me before he’s come. It may not matter, because I might not even be able to carry anymore. Broken. I wince that thought away, as well as the fact that I’m due on my period tomorrow, and I look down at the ring that’s on the wrong finger. Or is it the right finger?

  What about the marriage part? Are we skipping that bit?

  “Can’t wait for what?” Brad asks, and I shake my head. “Wine?” he goes on, filling up my glass and pushing it toward me, his eyebrows high. “Or am I quitting mafia life?”

  I feel James’s curious eyes on me, as Brad looks between us. Broken. “Not just yet,” I say, taking the glass and having a long swig, feeling James’s stare rooted to my profile.

  I swallow down the liquid and . . . it burns. It burns so much. Tomorrow.

  “Oh good. One psycho pregnant woman in the family at a time, please.” Brad looks at Rose. She’s distracting herself from having to face her husband by serving up dinner for everyone.

  “It’s goat,” she says, finishing and lowering to her chair at the opposite end of the table to Danny. “Enjoy.”

  “What happened to your hand?” he growls, prompting everyone to look at the bandage.

  “I wasn’t concentrating in the kitchen.” Rose reaches for the wine before her, and I still, but Esther swoops in, predicting her daughter-in-law’s reckless intention and removes the temptation before Danny, who’s twitching at the other end of the table, finally explodes.

  “Excuse me?” James says, his hand landing on my knee and squeezing. “Did you change your mind about something pretty fucking monumental and not bother telling me?”

  I rest back, the wine in my hand. “You’re giving me mixed signals, James.” See Doc. Take time to build my strength. But . . . no wine. No protection.

  The wine is swiftly removed from my hand and replaced with water. “Let’s not turn my mood as dark as Danny’s.”

  I’m so fucking confused. “Are you telling me we’re trying?”

  “Yes.”

  Tomorrow. “Don’t I get a say?” I ask for the sake of it, surprised by his demeanor.

  James turns his eyes onto me, his jaw grinding. “If you were my wife, I may consider giving you a choice.”

  I balk at him. “You sound like a barbarian.”

  He growls, losing his straight face and hooking an arm around my neck, hauling me into him, his mouth going to my ear and nibbling the lobe. “I’m going to get a yes out of you eventually, Beau, so let’s just cut to the bit when you realize it’s the best idea and we crack on with things.”

  My smile is unstoppable, and it feels so utterly wrong when Rose is across the table in turmoil, although feigning being fine. Smiling. Laughing. It’s a bit of an insult, really, to everyone here. The temperature is still sub-zero, the atmosphere frosty, as people talk among themselves, pretending they aren’t as uncomfortable as each other. Except Danny. He’s not pretending to anyone. Seems incapable, actually.

  “We’ll see,” I muse, detaching myself from James and joining everyone, taking a fork. But we’re all halted from diving in when Daniel comes racing around the corner on an electric scooter, a friend, Barney, I assume, following.

  “Hey,” he calls, jumping off like a pro. “Barney’s dad has invited me out for dinner with them. Can I go?”

  “No,” Danny grunts. “Your mum’s made curry.” He motions around the table. “We have guests.”

  Daniel rolls his eyes. “I see everyone here every day.”

  “Of course you can go,” Rose counters, standing from the table, completely ignoring, Danny. “Where’s Tank and Fury?”

  They both round the villa at the same time, as if beckoned, followed by someone else. “Oh no,” I murmur.

  “What?” James asks, looking at me, not noticing the man behind the two colossal Vikings.

  “Barney’s dad,” I whisper.

  “What about him?” James looks thoroughly confused. He wouldn’t be if he’d heard the intentions in Rose’s tone earlier. Barney’s dad passes through the two giants, looking a little bemused by them, and my worries multiply. Because he’s hot. Really fucking hot. Fuck. This is bad. So bad.

  “What the fuck’s going on, Beau?” James asks, his eyes passing between me and Lennox Benson.

  “Nothing. Nothing’s going on.” I pray. I pray so hard that Rose sees sense. I’ve seen her in one of these destructive moods before, and it isn’t pretty for the other man involved. Our only saving grace here is Daniel. Danny would never kick off in front of Daniel. And Rose knows it. Which, I conclude quickly, isn’t a good thing at all.

  “Hi,” Barney’s dad says, looking around the table, even more bemused by the eclectic mix of people that is our family. “Lennox Benson.” The poor man doesn’t know who to hold his hand out to, his limb hovering awkwardly in midair.