Luka doesn’t care about money. His father is more of the businessman. Luka cares about justice and loyalty, which is why I know he doesn’t care about selling a bunch of guns. His father might, but Luka would throw them in the ocean just to watch them sink. He didn’t steal those guns so he could sell them, but so that the Irish couldn’t. It was payback for attack at our wedding, nothing more.
“You are quiet today,” he says, kneeling down in front of me.
I glare up at him, eyebrows lowered. I hate him. I hate him now more than I ever loved him.
“Something got you down, little girl?” He reaches out to touch my chin, and I swat his hand away.
He pulls his hand back, smiling—though there is a hard edge to it—and stands up. “That command will work on me, but it won’t work on the other guys.
