Page 5 of Point Proven
“TheMafia?” Simon blurted above the clinking of utensils and the quiet chatter of customers. Rubbing his neck, he pressedhis pointer finger into the counter. “Will they interfere further? While I’m all for risk, if it’s a potential danger to either of us, I’d prefer treading with caution?—”
Without warning, Thorne’s fingers slipped around the knife to his right, and within a blink, it burrowed into the wood—millimeters from Simon’s finger. “If you could keep your fucking voice down, that would bedandy.”
“Oh, apologies for letting it surprise me.”
“You want to test my patience today, O’Neil?”
Sliding away from the sharpened teeth, it was a minuscule waver of his irises that hinted at his fear of our previous commander. Despite time apart, he hadn’t forgotten the brutality of our leader or how easily he could subdue a man.
“It was an accident,” Oren added, curling his fingers around his wrist. “Though, please keep your tone lowered, because this is off the record. There’s too much at stake for this to leak.”
“Understood,” Simon answered in that timbre, the one I hadn’t heard since our time in the military, and yet, Thorne persisted.
“Not only is what we are about to doillegal,but it is dangerous. With the corruption that runs New York, we do not know who is a friend and who is a foe. I’d prefer to keep my life instead of being sniped from a distance because of my inability to watch my tongue.”
Loosening the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, I looked at Thorne. “Illegal?”
“We will be partnering.”
“Partnering?” Simon shifted uncomfortably, as if someone was poking his side with a hot iron rod.
Nodding, Thorne ran his tongue over his teeth. “With the Mafia.”
“Fucking hell,” Simon breathed. “Well, I trust you both. If this is the best way to help, I’m happy to proceed. It’ll be good to add ‘illegal activities’ to my non-existent resume.”
My jaw clenched as I nudged him with my elbow, but my smile was undeniable. “We’ve all almost died together, so why not keep testing our luck, right?”
“What’s one more limb to lose? Then I’d finally be, hell, part cyborg like that movie… God, what was it?”
“Oh shut up,” Thorne groaned. “If I have any say, no one will get hurt. And based on the information I’ve been provided about this Mafia head, I have no doubt we will be beyond successful in our endeavors.”
CHAPTER THREE
OREN
Sitting on the couch with my feet tucked on the cushions, a threaded blanket was draped over me as I flipped through the folders we’d shown Simon and Liam two days ago.
While I was excited to get started with this endeavor, lingering nerves remained that I hadn’t shared with Thorne. I was excited to paint over the stain of my father with something beautiful, but to throw myself back into danger—a danger neither of us had faced before?
Almost a year and a half had passed since the death of General Andrew Valens, and much of that fateful day remained as trauma for us, hovering like a ghost in the tainted hallways of our home. It was an incessant disease, and despite the cheeriness of my timbre and the radiance I poured into Thorne, that pain still hovered heavily.
Which is why I agreed to his idea: to right my lineage and what my father had done to him for so long. His influence ran thick, and while his death had helped us escape that horrible place, it didn’t end the treachery he’d caused. There was much left to uncover, the roots of his evil sinking deeper than either of us had thought. It wasn’ttechnicallyour responsibility to fix, but with the government and police unwilling to help uncoverhis tracks, there was nothing left to do but take it into our own hands.
With another turn, innocence greeted me, that familiar nausea rolling in my stomach at the look on their faces. They were all so young, and knowing my father did this willingly? Kidnapped kids as young as three and thrust them into a life they didn’t choose?
Tears threatened to escape my waterline as I memorized each one of their faces, the grime covering their skin only the beginning of their terror. It wasn’t fair, and my jaw clenched at the injustice—the cruelty of life stealing their spark.
Adjusting my elbow on the armrest, a fluffball of dimmed orange jumped onto the couch, tongue sticking out of his mouth as a resounding bark echoed.
“Prince, I’mbusy,” I huffed, scratching his chin despite the irritation in my voice. “You know, you’re too cute, so you get spoiled. Highly unfair for someone as small as you.”
Fingers threaded through my hair, a softened chuckle rolling forward. “That’s wholly ironic coming from you, dove.”
Leaning into his touch, my shoulders instantly relaxed as I smiled. “Are you suggesting I’m equally cute?”
“Cute? Never.”
He walked around the couch with a sluggish pace, unhurried. Planting a hand beside my head, he curled his fingers around the leather and leaned in. With a gentle brush of his lips on my throat, he finally elected to speak.
