Julian didn’t speak for a long time.

He sat across from Roman in the private room of the club, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. Whisper stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes alert, saying nothing.

Roman had told him everything. About Red Hook, Mr. Quinn, the threats, Joshua, and also the proposal that still burned in his chest.

Julian finally exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That man and his daughter.” He shook his head slowly. “They were really bad eggs.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Roman said, his voice flat.

Julian looked up at him, eyes sharp now....