I close my eyes and inhale when Rose rounds the table, going to him. “I’m Rose Cassidy, Daniel’s mom.” Oh Jesus, she’s holding no prisoners. I flick a nervous look to Danny. His nostrils are flaring as he rises from his chair. Rose Cassidy. She places her dainty hand in Lennox’s and smiles brightly, and, of course, Lennox Benson is taken aback. Most men are when they meet Rose. Although, wisely and respectfully, trying not to show it.

  “Pleasure.” He shakes Rose’s hand briefly and steps back, out of the range of her magnetic allure. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you were eating.”

  Danny moves in, tall and intimidating. I’m not going to be able to hold my breath for much longer, and as I glance around the table, I can see everyone is with me, the women watchful, the men bracing themselves to pull him back, including James who’s tense under my hold of his leg.

  “Danny Black.” Danny extends a hand, his face deadly straight, his scar looking particularly deep. And, again, Lennox Benson is taken aback . . . as most men are when they meet The Brit. “Daniel’s father.”

  “Good to meet you.” He accepts and shakes, and I watch Lennox’s face for any sign of discomfort.

  Surprisingly, there’s none, but then Danny says, “Not a pleasure?” and it appears. Uneasiness.

  Lennox laughs, nervous, glancing around the table as he takes back his hand. “I’ll leave you to eat in peace.”

  “Join us,” Rose sings, motioning to us all at the table. All of us who are silent. Nervous. Don’t do it, Mr. Benson. Run for your life now.

  “Yes, join us.” Danny cracks a smile, and Lennox seems to loosen up.

  Because Lennox does not know Danny Black, therefore he does not know that the smile currently being splashed around is fake. Deadly.

  “No, no.” His hands come up as he backs away. “We have reservations at the new restaurant in town. Daniel didn’t mention you had . . .” He glances around the table again, and James starts snorting in his chair next to me, laughing. I follow his eyes to Brad, Ringo, and Otto opposite who all have cheesy grins plastered on their faces. For God’s sake. If they’re trying to appear friendly, it isn’t working. “Friends for dinner,” Lennox finishes.

  “Hey, Mister, can I go?” Daniel asks, kicking the stand of his scooter down and going to Danny, giving him praying hands. “Please?” He knows. He just knows that Danny wears the pants around here, even if Rose is trying them on at the moment. She’s wasting her time. The pants definitely don’t fit her, and it isn’t because she’s pregnant.

  “Sure you can, kid.” Danny dips into his pocket and pulls out a pile of dollar bills.

  “Ah, no need,” Lennox says, hands up again.

  “You don’t mind if my men join you?” Danny says, motioning to Tank and Fury as he passes them some cash.

  Lennox laughs a little, but he’s frowning. “Not at all. What time do you want him”—he eyes the Vikings—“them home?”

  Rose moves in front of Danny, smiling. “I can pick him up if it helps?”

  “She wants to die,” James mutters, shaking his head.

  I agree. Tank and/or Fury will bring Daniel home. They’ll take him now too. That kid goes nowhere without them. Christ knows what Barney’s dad is thinking.

  Danny smiles darkly at the back of Rose’s head. “Yes, we’ll collect him.” His hand rests on her nape and massages as the Vikings look on, plain confused. “One of the weird pregnancy things Rose has going on at the moment is a craving for pickles around ten at night, so we’ll be out picking some up anyway.”

  “Oh, congratulations,” Lennox says, looking at Rose’s stomach. “You’d never know.”

  “But now you do.” Danny smiles. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Sure.” Lennox holds up his hand to the table. “Nice meeting you all,” he says, getting a collection of murmurs in return.

  “I’ll come,” Rose says.

  “No, baby, your ankles are all puffy.” Danny turns her by the shoulders back toward the table. “Sit. I insist.” His lips move to her ear and kisses it sweetly, and he whispers something before he strolls off to see Lennox Benson out.

  “A death threat?” James asks quietly.

  “Yep.” I take my wine to my mouth, but it doesn’t make it there, soon being replaced with water again.

  “One domestic is enough for tonight, don’t you think?” he says gruffly.

  I start stirring my rice into my curry as Rose, looking contemplative, lowers to a chair, but my fork stops halfway to my mouth when I catch Brad’s face, and it lowers when he starts coughing, dropping his fork.

  “Fuck me,” he wheezes, thumping his chest, his eyes darting across the table. “Pass me the fucking water.”

  Esther is up in a beat, rushing to fill his glass, but Brad doesn’t hang around, grabbing the jug from her and virtually tipping it down his throat. His face turns an alarming shade of red, his eyes wide and watery, his brow wet. I look down at the curry on my fork.

  “You fucking pussy,” Ringo grunts, shoveling a huge forkful into his mouth, and two seconds later, he joins Brad, coughing and spluttering all over the table, wrestling him for the water jug.

  I lower my fork to the plate, looking around as everyone starts poking at their untouched curry, all of them probably worrying about upsetting Rose even more. Not Danny, though. He returns to the table, takes a seat, and pushes his plate away. I look at my friend. She’s happily working her way through the goat dish, unperturbed and unaffected by the level of heat.

  “What the fuck did you put in that thing?” Brad gasps, reclaiming the water from Ringo as Esther disappears into the kitchen to get more.

  Rose shrugs, forking at a piece of meat drenched in sauce and chewing through it. “Everything the recipe said to put in it.” She taps her phone on the table and brings up a screen, pointing to the list. “I added a couple more Habaneros. One seemed a bit stingy.”

  “And the seeds?” Ringo asks, flapping a hand in front of his face. “What about the seeds?”

  Rose looks down at her fork. “It said the whole chili.”

  “So you put three in?” Brad pushes his plate away, dabbing at his top lip with his napkin. “Fucking hell, I think my tongue’s gonna fall off.”

  “Well,” Rose muses, almost happily. “At least no one will ever be able to cut it out.”

  I peek at Danny, cautious, seeing him shifting in his chair, looking wired. Charged. Ready to snap. And our saving grace, Daniel, has just left the building.

  Everyone else? They want to laugh. They want to laugh so hard, but they obviously value their lives more than the need to restrain their untimely amusement.

  “I just have to know.” Rose pops another forkful of curry into her mouth and chews, absolutely immune to the fact that it’s loaded with enough chilies to literally blow someone’s head off. Brad and Ringo are proof, their faces glowing and wet. She laughs, and I brace myself for the explosion of Danny, my hand falling to James’s leg and squeezing, a silent message to get ready to hold him back. Rose drops her fork and dabs her lips. “What made you think Perry Adams was The Bear?” Her eyes are focused solely on Danny at the other end of the table. No one else. Just him.

  “Here we go,” Otto sighs, peeking out the corner of his eye to Esther, who’s looking nervously at her son.

  “I assume you’re talking to me?” Danny asks flatly.

  “Who else? I think you knew him best out of everyone here, right?” She looks around the table, as if she might get an agreement from someone. “Apart from me, of course.”

  Fucking hell, Rose. I pinch the bridge of my nose, contemplating getting up and dragging her away.

  “It was a tad breezy on the water today,” Zinnea practically screeches. “I took the water ferry to Martinique and there was a pod of dolphins that followed me the entire way. I lost my sunhat too.” She laughs. “The breeze took it right off my head! Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t take my wig and lashes too.”

  I bite my lip and reach for Zinnea’s hand, and Goldie smiles across the table at her. My aunt rolls her eyes and sinks some wine.

  “Well,” Danny says, turning his glass of water slowly, his eyes never leaving Rose as she happily munches through the deadly curry, “we had sufficient reason—”

  “I mean”—she laughs—“the prick hardly had the ability to make me come, let alone head up a deadly crime syndicate.”

  Danny’s fists meet the table with such force, everyone’s curries leave their plates and splashes the table.

  That’s it. Goodbye, my dear friend. I will treasure our friendship forever.

  He stands abruptly, walks the length of the table, pulls Rose’s chair out, and takes her elbow. “Excuse us for a moment,” he grates, leading her into the villa.

  And the moment the door slams behind them, Brad exhales. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck’s gotten into those two?” He grabs his Scotch and knocks it back.

  “I don’t know,” Esther breathes, exasperated. “But she sure knows how to rub him up the wrong way. It’s not healthy, not for either of them.”

  “He was pretty fucking smashed,” Otto pipes up. “Anyone know what happened? When we left them last night, he was still pissed but back in love with her.”

  “He’s never out of love with her,” Goldie says. “Just out of patience most of the time.”

  “I should have gone to work,” Zinnea says.

  And me? I sit quietly while everyone tries to figure out what the fucking hell is going on, feeling James’s accusing stare on me. I peek out the corner of my eye.

  “You know,” he whispers, just as a deafening bang sounds from inside. “You know what’s wrong with them.”

  “There goes another crystal bowl.” Esther slips down her chair, shrinking, and I stand from mine.

  But I’m immediately pulled back down by James. “No, Beau,” he cautions with so much warning, I’d be a fool to ignore him. So I lower, and the only reason I do is because I know beyond anything I’ve ever known that Danny would never physically harm his wife. Rose, however, will fight like a cat, pregnant or not. “You are not leaving this table,” he warns, his face serious, “until you tell me what the fuck is wrong with those two.”

  5

  DANNY

  Too far. Way too fucking far. I keep reminding myself that she’s pregnant. I keep reminding myself that I love her. That she’s my wife. That I would slaughter anyone who ever laid a finger on her. That includes me, which is why I’ve spent the best part of the day wanting to slowly kill myself.

  I place her roughly on a stool, rest my palms on her knees, get my threatening face up close to hers, and I snarl. “What have I got to do, Rose?” I ask. I have to get us both out of these moods before someone ends up dead. She’s hurt, I get it. She wants to punish me like she couldn’t punish the others because she knows she can. And I will take it all.

  Her eyes are hard, her expression cut as she stares me down, her cheeks pulsing. “I said no,” she grates.

  I close my eyes, hiding my flinch. “I didn’t hear you, Rose.” I was crazed, out of my fucking mind. Everything was distorted, and I heard only my mind screaming at me, demanding I kill.

  Kill, kill, kill.

  How the fuck can I make this right? “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry for not hearing you when you told me to stop. I’m so fucking sorry for making you feel like an object. For failing to end the man who’s threatening our happiness.” I take her cheek, stroking it softly. “I’m so fucking sorry for being one of them.”

  She shies away from my touch, and it’s the worst kind of pain she could inflict on me. Rejection.

  She can’t forgive me. And doesn’t that make me want to kill harder. Slower.

  Lost, I gaze around the kitchen, wondering, what now?

  Without her, what? Where am I?

  Who am I?

  I’m just a killer without a purpose. A man with nothing to fight for.

  My eyes land on a small knife, the blade short for precision. “I love you, Rose,” I say quietly, taking a step back. “With every dark, dirty, corrupt, illegal, immoral piece of me, I fucking love you.” I take the knife, and her eyes widen.

  “Danny?”

  I pull my T-shirt up over my head and toss it aside. “For not hearing you.” I take the blade to my chest and slash it quickly through my flesh on a hiss.

  “No!” She lunges for me, but my arm at full length holds her back.

  Another slash.

  “Stop it!” she yells, her eyes exploding with tears. “Danny!”

  “My punishment, Rose.”

  Another cut.

  I bite down on my back teeth, the pain very fucking real. But nothing like how I know it would feel if she walks out on me. I will never lose my mind when I’m taking her again. I will never put either of us in that position. I swear it. Yes, our sex life has always been lewd and frenzied, but never have I lost my senses. Never have I not heard her.

  Another cut.

  “Danny, please, I beg you,” she sobs.

  Another cut, this time crossing over the others, my chest becoming a fucking chessboard, the blood now hitting the kitchen floor in fat, messy drops.

  “No,” she mumbles, moving back, her eyes darting across my mutilated flesh, but her traumatized face doesn’t stop me, my self-hatred fueling me, making me cut more, take more pain, swallow down the grief.

  I hold my breath through the fog of agony, seeing Rose move. She grabs something, holds it up, and I blink, trying to clear my vision.

  A knife.

  And before I can grasp her intentions, she’s lifted an arm and dragged it through her flesh.

  No.

  I drop my blade to the floor, snapped from my own crazy to deal with my wife’s. “No!” I lunge forward, knocking the knife from her grasp, and I grab her, hauling her toward me. She’s quickly in my chest, hugging me, my blood-drenched skin seeping into the material of her dress.

  “I forgive you,” she sobs, crying into my neck, feeling at my bare back frantically. “Please, just stop hurting yourself.”

  I close my eyes and sink into her embrace, my head pounding so hard, my chest throbbing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, constricting my hold. “I’m so sorry.” I feel her nod into me, clinging tighter, and I open my eyes when I hear movement by the door. Beau’s taking in the scene, the mess of blood, my face, James standing behind her looking a bit what the fuck? I’m glad they’re here.

  “Hospital?” Beau asks, cool and calm, like she knew the outcome of this particular shitstorm.

  I shake my head. “First aid box is in the cupboard.”

  She moves quickly while James wanders in slowly, in no rush at all. His eyes are questioning. He knows. He knows what I did, and I fucking hate the concern I see. I look away, ashamed, knowing he’ll be wondering if it’s time for me to back away from the frontline before I kill myself, whether that be through drinking too much or cutting myself to shreds. Before I do anything else stupid. Either or, my frame of mind is clear.

  Fucking crazy.

  “Rose, baby,” I say quietly, easing her from my chest, sucking back air as her dress peels away from my open wounds. “We need to clean you up.” Her hair is sticking to her wet cheeks, her mascara staining her face. I take her arm and inspect the damage, wincing at the deep wound. “You stupid, stupid woman,” I breathe as she sniffles and sniffs, motionless before me. “Get Doc.”

  “He’ll be asleep, Danny,” James says, looking as disturbed as I feel. “We can deal with this.” His look as he stares at my chest tells me he’s questioning his own words.

  I don’t give a shit about me. Doc was only brought here to keep tabs on Rose and do regular scans. No one anticipated he would be wiping up more blood.

  “Here,” Beau says, setting a bowl of warm water on the counter and tipping some antiseptic solution in with some wipes.

  I sit Rose down, sterilize my hands with a few of the wipes, and then start cleaning her up. “Will you go find her a clean dress, please?”

  “Danny,” Beau says, concerned. “Your ches—”

  “Can wait.” I hold Rose’s arm and dab at the flesh, cleaning away the blood until I’m staring at the open wound. It’s not quite deep enough for stitches but too deep for just a plaster. God damn her. “There’s some medical glue in there,” I say, pushing the two sides together, gauging the work that needs to be done.

  James plucks the Dermabond from the first aid box and hands it to me before resting his hand on Rose’s shoulder and massaging. “Need any painkillers?”

  She shakes her head as I get to work, sealing the cut and wrapping her up, pushing back my anger. After all, I started it. I can’t possibly be any madder with her. And yet I am.

  Beau appears with a dress and a cardigan. “Thank you,” Rose says, and James turns his back as she pulls her blood-drenched dress over her head. Her swollen belly is like a brick to my face, and my eyes drift to her newly bandaged arm. My fault.

  “Danny?” she says softly, a clear attempt to distract me as she slips the clean dress on with Beau’s help.

  I take the cardigan from the counter and hold it open for her. “I’m fine,” I say, feeling the blood trickling down my torso as she slips her arms into the sleeves. “Will you give us a minute?” I ask, and James and Beau both leave us without a word, although I know they’ll only be on the other side of the door. Probably discussing what the fuck to do with me.

  I sit Rose down and drop to my knees before her, taking my finger to her chin and lifting so she looks away from my bloody chest to my face. I say nothing, only stare into her eyes as she stares back at me, her lip still quivering. I’m so fucking angry with myself. Not only have I crushed her trust in me and how I handle her body, but I’ve also made her cut herself again. I made her feel there was no other way. We were past those black, dangerous days when we hurt each other. When we pushed each other’s boundaries. But I can’t take it back. “Never again.”

  “You—”

  I place my finger over her lips and shake my head. “Never.” I’m not demanding anything from her. Not compliance or surrender. Not a promise to never harm herself. “I’m telling you I will never let you down again.”