The Syndicater (Dark Verse #6)

22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Lyla, Tenebrae City

She missed him.

After a week of being at the Maroni compound, of feeling so many emotions she couldn't even explain them properly to Dr. Manson each morning that she talked to him while having her tea, Lyla missed Dainn so profoundly it left an ache in her chest. In one week, she had slowly seen everyone relax more around her, felt their trust in her climb as they got to know her better. She had meals with them all, spent time with her brother every evening after that, learning what his life had been like and sharing a bit about hers. It wasn't something she did easily, words as halting for her as they were for him, but they had begun to understand each other.

And though she could feel the biggest looming question in all their minds remained about the Shadow Man, they hadn't pushed her into giving any answers yet.

But they would. She could feel the slight impatience as their need to give her space warred with their need for answers. And she had no idea what she would tell them. While the idea of being honest and telling them the truth was appealing, after a week, she had learned one thing—they didn't like the Shadow Man. Especially her brother. The one time Morana had mentioned him in conversation, much to the increased blood rush to her brain, Tristan had made a face so hard she realized how gentle and open he had been with her in contrast.

That in particular did not encourage her to admit to the truth. The very Shadow Man they didn't like was the same man she loved, the same man who had saved her time and again, the same man who had made sure she remained alive and healed enough for them to find her.

Lyla looked around the party, her eyes seeking out every shadowed corner that he always claimed and blended with, hoping he was there but knowing he wasn't. For a week, he had been completely out of contact. All she had were seven notes, one that was dispersed each morning from the box, something she looked forward to each day.

Notes that went from the sweet 'Cook for me again soon' to the steamy 'My cock has withdrawals from your pussy' to reminders like 'I'll be very displeased if you're not taking care of yourself.'

They were literally one of the high points of her day.

People were milling about, champagne glasses in hands, dressed to the nines. Waiters walked around the massive lawns of the property, circulating with different foods and beverages for the guests. The guest of honor sat on broad shoulders, wearing a fluffy pink gown with a tutu and a tiara, grinning at everyone with a smile that was so disarming Lyla could feel herself melting. Tempest Maroni had turned one and it seemed like the entire world was there to celebrate it—people she had never seen or met before, coming up to her and introducing themselves suddenly. Her heart gave a little pang looking at her, wondering at the first birthday she never witnessed for the child she'd birthed.

Speaking of, her eyes sought out Xander, finding him sitting in a corner with Tempest's grandmother, looking bored.

She had met him, actually met him, over the last week.

Lyla had come down for dinner and there he had been, sitting on a seat very far from her, reading a book on a tablet, his glasses almost falling off his nose.

"Xander, say hi to Luna," Morana had told the boy.

Lyla had sat down, gripping the edge of the table, her heart thundering out of her chest, seeing as the young boy didn't even look up from his book but just waved at her. "Hello."

Lyla had managed to croak out a 'hi', before clearing her throat and focusing on her plate, watching him from the corner of her eye throughout dinner.

And for a week, it had been the same, just watching him around the compound, near the lake, at the table, playing with Tempest, sitting with Morana or even Zephyr, walking around with Tristan, doing his homework since he was attending school virtually for a bit. Lyla had just watched him, taking in her fill, learning his personality through observation, letting it seep into her heart, coming to a realization that made everything she had done worthwhile.

Her child, her special beautiful child, was so loved, so taken care of of, had such a good life.

And that was all that mattered.

Lyla took in a deep breath, keeping a hold of her wine glass just to have something to do but didn't sip from it. She didn't drink. Trauma associated with seeing girls get trashed and used after being drugged one too many times had completely turned her off of it. Moreover, even though it was a party hosted by her brother's friends, people she knew she could trust, old habits died hard.

"Trust me still?"

The words came to her, whispered in her mind as though carried by the wind, memory of them imprinted on her being. It was there, standing at a party of people she would trust eventually maybe, that she realized her trust was important, that she didn't give it to anyone. It was rare. Maybe, that was why he valued it so much.

"Oh my god, you're stunning! "

Zephyr came into her frame of vision, dressed in a dark green velvety gown that fell to the ground, a raunchy split on one side letting her walk freely, her curves on display, so much curvier than Lyla's petite frame but looking tiny next to her husband, the one-eyed gentle giant. Alpha had been so kind to her, it had almost made her cry imagining how different life could have been if she'd had someone like him in her corner to scare people away during her younger years. Zephyr, with a heart that matched his, maybe even more compassionate, had styled Lyla's new hair and done her light makeup with gentle hands. Things like grooming and styling had been such terrible events for her, things that had been done to get her the highest bid, primp and prepare her to be sold for her beauty.

Zephyr hadn't done it like that. She'd done it like she'd wanted Lyla to feel beautiful rather than look it. And she was feeling it.

Her hair, which she had chopped off roughly and had grown out the same way, was now in a sleek mid-back length—a bob-type cut as Zephyr told her it was called—that framed her face. It made her look pretty but more importantly, it made her feel more powerful. She looked like someone who had control over her life, not someone who was lost. And her dress added to that.

For the party, Morana had barged into her room with multiple dresses, all new and still having their tags.

"Your brother wanted me to go shopping, so who was I to say no?" Morana had told her with a wink.

Lyla had picked a strapless one with a built-in bodice and an elegant, fishtail style fall, giving her legs room to move. The design was amazing but that wasn't the reason she had picked it.

She picked it because it was black.

His color.

The color of home.

And she didn't know if it was her longing that was making her hope he was there, making her imagine his eyes, or if it was real, but she stood straight, reveling in the idea that maybe he was watching her like he'd told her he would. How, she didn't know, since the party was exclusively invite-only and the guest list was curated, security was all around, and the grounds were being patrolled. She didn't know how, didn't question why, not this time. It felt familiar, the weight of his eyes on her, watching from a corner she could not find. She had felt this weight, craved this weight, sought this weight every day for years, her heart like an erratic bird in the cage of her ribs every time she had waited. And then, feeling it, the bird had broken free, pounding with heavy wings, escaping into her bloodstream.

Though there were many eyes on her as there had been many-a-times, the weight of his had always been different. Darker. More possessive.

She was most likely imagining it. It had been days and he hadn't contacted her.

"Thanks to you," Lyla told Zephyr sincerely. "I appreciate everything."

Zephyr waved it off. "Don't mention it." She turned to her husband, who was standing next to her but looking around.

"Honeybuns?" Zephyr tugged his arm, and Lyla raised her eyebrow at the fact that Alpha actually responded to the ridiculous nickname. She had seen him respond to all the ridiculous nicknames.

"Yes, rainbow?"

It made her wonder if this was how couples were supposed to behave. Was this an unsaid relationship rule she hadn't known about? God, they were cute, but Lyla wondered if she needed to think of a nickname too. She already had one he called her, but she'd never given him one. Shit. Had she messed up? Had he felt neglected because of it?

He doesn't feel like everyone else does, she reminded herself. Being around other people, surrounded by couples who were clearly head over heels in love with each other, had somehow made her humanize him more in her mind. But he wasn't like everyone else. His brain didn't work like everyone else. She had to remind herself of that.

All the lovey-dovey stuff was firing her faculties.

Tristan and Morana joined them. Her brother—it was still surreal to call him that—was dressed in a navy suit with with a silver tie that brought out his eyes, and his girl was dressed in a sequined short strappy silver dress. They were matching. Adorable. Though, from the little she knew of her brother, he would kill anyone who called him that except maybe Morana. Her lips twitched and her eyes locked with his.

God, she still couldn't believe he was related to her, that she had actual blood, and now extended, family.

He watched her smile, something shifting over his face. His mouth relaxed, giving her a matching smile, albeit much smaller. And a hint of dimple popped out on his cheek, taking him to another level of handsome. Lyla wanted to see what it would look like when he smiled fully, how deep it would go.

It was so tentative, nothing like she could have imagined. They were both learning their way back to each other, understanding who they had become and working around it. But one thing was for certain—he loved her, no matter who she had become. She could feel it in her bones, calling to the love inside her, deepening it when she saw the way he was with her son. Her silent brother had such deep love for the people around him even though he never said it. He showed it. And Lyla had learned how to understand actions of love, no matter what kind it was.

"So, met anyone interesting?" Zephyr asked, and Lyla watched the smile drop off her brother's face.

Oh boy, they had no idea.

Morana gave her a long look, one she couldn't decipher. Huh. Maybe she did. Lyla remembered what Dainn had told her—that Morana would be stupid not to figure out whatever clue he'd dropped.

"A few people have introduced themselves," Lyla answered Zephyr's question instead. "Now that the lost sister has returned, people are curious." She got it. It was big news, Tristan Caine's long lost sister coming back from—what everyone had assumed to be—dead.

In the few days Lyla had spent with Zephyr, she had learned one thing about the girl—she was a hopeless romantic. It was such a luxury, a privilege that she'd led a life that had allowed her to be one. Despite her hardships, she had grown up in a loving home, loving her sister and loving her man. To someone who had spent the majority of her life wishing for death, hanging on just to get one answer that had sustained her, it was such a bizarre idea, but not an unwelcome one. It felt almost aspirational. Lyla wanted to be in a place where she would be hopelessly romantic and hopelessly optimistic about love and life.

That was the reason why Zephyr's next question didn't surprise her one bit.

"Anyone hot?"

Lyla shook her head, cating a furtive glance toward her brother who was glaring at Zephyr, in turn causing Alpha to glare at him. As patient and gentle her brother was being with her, he was a completely different person anyone someone even vaguely mentioned anything about her potential love life. Her brother was having a difficult time reconciling his baby sister to the grown adult.

To diffuse any building tension, she immediately answered and reassured everyone. "No one here interests me."

Which was the truth. She doubted anyone could, not after the man she had claimed and been claimed by.

"Let's go dance, caveman," Morana changed the topic, dragging Tristan away with her to the middle of the dance floor where couples were already swaying to the live orchestra playing by the bar. Lyla expelled a sigh of relief. She could understand why her brother, knowing how he was now, would feel protective over her potential romantic overtures so soon, but damn when he found out the truth, it would not bode well. Lyla didn't want a confrontation with him, which was why she had no idea how she was going to tell them.

But also because she was possessive, protective of him. She didn't want to share him with the others, because the moment they found out who her lover was, there would be questions she would have to answer.

Dante dragged Amara to the dance floor, both of them moving gracefully together as Tempest and Xander were escorted inside the mansion by her grandmother. Zephyr, though next to her, swayed pressed into Alpha.

Lyla watched all the couples dance, feeling a pang of loneliness. She stood in the middle of a grand party, the likes of which she had never seen, filled with people, some who truly cared about her, and yet, she felt lonely. She imagined what it would be like if he was there with her, standing behind her like the mountain she called home. She missed him. His voice, his body, his eyes. His everything.

Watching the couples, it was nothing like the dances she'd been forced to do. She had never danced before with a partner. She had never danced with him. Did he even dance? Did she? She didn't know if she could but with the way his body moved during his workouts, during sex, she did think he would be fluid. God, the hunger in her to find out was so acute.

A well-dressed man walked up to her, a man who had introduced himself to her before but she couldn't remember the name of, extending his hand. "Would you do me the honor?"

She didn't want to. She had already politely declined two other invitations before.

But Zephyr gave her an encouraging look, and Alpha, who apparently knew the guy, gave her a nod, letting her know he was okay. Not wanting to create a scene by refusing again, Lyla put her hand in his, immediately recoiling, her body revolting against the touch of another.

She pulled her hand back but they were too close to the dance floor. Walking away now would only cause a scene, and she didn't want anyone asking her questions, asking her if she was okay. She wasn't. There was a gaping void inside her and she could feel herself falling into it, the loneliness so much different, in some ways so much worse this time. Earlier, her loneliness had been a result of being alone. This time, she was surrounded by people, good people she was beginning to care for and who clearly cared for her, and yet, the loneliness persisted. She would need to talk to Dr. Manson about it tomorrow, find out ways to work around it.

The man stopped on the dance floor and put his hands out, intending to put them on her waist, and she stepped back, keeping a distance between them.

And just as his hands almost reached her, a voice came from behind her.

"Mind if I cut in, Rochester?"

Everything inside her froze for a split second before it came alive at that voice, the voice of death, right behind her. Her senses sizzled, every cell in her body electrified, as if touched by a live wire, responding to the sound in ways she completely recognized. heartbeat racing, nipples pebbling, walls clenching. She was so empty, had been so empty for days, and just his voice, knowing he was there, she felt whole.

"You will never be incomplete with me."

He had promised her and he was right.

She had seen enough of genuine love, deep love around her to know when it was meant to be, it was meant to be. And she and him were. She and him, they were written in the stars. Had been since the moment they had met under them.

"You can take the next one, Blackthorne." The man in front of her, Rochester, had the audacity to say. Didn't he know who he was talking to? Of course, he didn't. Blackthorne was the facade people didn't look under, something that served him just fine. Lyla held her breath, knowing the man beneath the facade, knowing his absolute possession of her, knowing he wouldn't let another man touch her as long as he lived.

Hands, familiar hands in leather gloves, slid around her waist.

Her body melted into him, thriving in the public display of his possession even though no one was looking, their corner of the dance floor a little darkened under the shadow of the trees.

Rochester glared at him when he didn't say another word. She could just imagine him giving the other man a dead stare, his face unflinching and unmoved by the vitriol coming his way.

"You don't get to steal both my deals and my dances, Blackthorne," Rochester spit out.

Ah, a business rival. Lyla pressed back into his chest unconsciously, her body simmering, vibrating with need. After getting used to taking him for so long and so many times every day, the sudden lack had been causing withdrawal in her body, all of that coming back with a vengeance in her system tenfold. If he pressed her against a tree and flipped her dress up, she wouldn't care. Her state almost reminded her of the time she'd been drugged—mindless, guileless, listless, just waiting for him to relieve the ache throbbing everywhere in her body.

"Can't steal what's already mine," he said to the other man, his tone almost lazy, deliberately provocative. But Lyla heard the sharp edge of possession to it, the underside of a blade that cut into her sternum and exposed her bloody heart.

The man finally left with an angry huff, leaving them both alone in the corner of the dance floor.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her whole body throbbing and messy and burning, sweat pooling between her breasts, moisture pooling between her thighs. She stayed the way she was, watching the couples, realizing no one was looking their way, the shadow and her dark dress hiding them in plain sight.

His hand moved from her waist, up her ribs, cupping her breasts, his large hands covering them, squeezing and temporarily relieving the ache in them.

"Dainn," she whispered, saying his name for the first time in days.

"Shh," he spoke in her ear. "You've been a bad girl, flamma."

A kiss to her ear.

"You let another man touch you."

A kiss to the side of her neck.

"Tell me, what should your punishment be?"

Her brain was muddled for a moment before his words sank in. Punishment? A thrill ran down her spine, making her shiver, her nipples hard points under her dress.

"Anything you want," she told him, her voice so low she didn't know if he heard it.

"Silly little red," he chuckled darkly, "trusting the big bad wolf with the keys to your kingdom? You know what that does to me."

God, she'd missed him so much. Before he could say anything, she saw Morana looking around for her.

She felt the body behind her disappear, leaving her cold and alone on the dance floor. Lyla took a deep breath in, not letting desolation set in, knowing that he was at the party enough to raise her spirits.

She walked to where Dante and Amara were now sitting, a round table filled with the others. Morana spotted her, her whole body relaxing, and joined her on the walk back to the table.

"Listen," Morana began, not missing a step. "I can't keep things from Tristan. I haven't said anything about him yet."

Lyla kept a straight face, looking straight ahead. "About who?"

Morana stopped, taking hold of her arm, her eyes serious. "You know who I am talking about."

Lyla stayed silent, not knowing what to say. She hadn't decided when she would bring up her relationship, but not at the moment. He had been right about things becoming about him once people knew. Right now, she was focusing on her relationships and building them with others. She wanted to keep it that a little longer.

Morana sighed, suddenly looking too weary. "If it's not what I think it is, great," she told Lyla, her tone empathic. "But if it is, I get it. Trust me, I do. But sooner or later, you'll have to make a choice."

"Thank you." Lyla extended her hand, placing it on the other girl's arm, and watched her wince slightly. She immediately pulled back, her brow furrowing. "Are you okay?"

Morana nodded. "Just pulled a muscle. Don't worry about it."

Lyla let it go, not wanting to pry. It could be a sex injury for all she knew. Ew. She did not want to think about what her brother and Morana got up to.

They reached the table and took a seat.

"Where's Tristan?" Dante asked Morana, taking a sip of his scotch. Amara sat by his side, holding a glass of wine.

"He's checking in on Xander."

Lyla's heart stopped. Tristan loved the boy and she was so grateful for it. She gripped her dress under the table, looking straight at the orchestra, trying not to let her nerves show. No one knew who he was, who she was to him. It was going to be fine. She just wanted to look at him up close and not from a distance and see how he was, maybe talk to him and see who he had become in-depth. Dainn had told her he was smart, and she had seen the same, but she wanted to know more. For now, seeing her brother and Morana loving him so deeply settled an instinct that had been turbulent inside her for years. Her baby was loved, he was safe, just as she'd wished upon him that fateful night.

Dante, standing up, broke through her thoughts.

She turned to look at what had caught his attention, and her heart stopped for the second time in as many minutes.

Dainn was heading to their table, out in the light and out in the open, dressed in an all-black suit that just added to the aura of danger he wore like a cloak around him, a tiny gold box in his hand.

Lyla drank in the sight of him after so many days, that felt more like months of separation than they did days, greedily swallowing him with her eyes, taking him into her veins and getting high off of it. There was something so ridiculously sexy about him, from the dark hair she had run her fingers through countless times to the chiseled jaw she had kissed to the tall frame she had climbed over.

"Ooh," Zephyr whistled opposite her and Alpha groaned. Lyla felt a smile come over her lips, feeling something akin to pride. Even though she wasn't on his arm in public, that man was hers.

"Blackthorne," Dante stepped forward, extending his hand and greeting him warmly.

"Maroni," he replied back in the same tone, so convincing even she would never have doubted how sincere it was if she didn't know him.

Both men shook hands. It was such a bizarre thing for her to witness, her worlds colliding without anyone knowing anything about it. She discretely looked around to see if anyone had noticed anything, but Morana was on her phone, Amara was smiling politely at the new guest, and Alpha and Zephyr were now whispering to each other.

Her entire world was vibrating with a force strong enough to knock the breath out of her and not one person was noticing it.

Dainn didn't look at her, didn't give any indication that he knew her at all. He gave the gift to Amara, a smile on his face that looked warm but she knew was fake. She knew his real smile, the way the corner of his mouth twitched, one higher than the other, defrosting his mismatched eyes just a bit.

He dialed up the charm to a hundred. "For the princess."

Amara's eyes widened slightly, and Lyla felt a slither of jealousy coiling in her stomach. It was completely unfounded. She knew Amara was madly in love with Dante and knew Dainn was not flirting, but just the fact that his undivided attention was on another female reared up something ugly in the lizard part of her brain. She grit her teeth, narrowing her eyes at him, wanting to stand up and bite that infuriating lip, show everyone that he was hers and hers alone, have him kiss her back so it would become clear to every single soul present at the party.

Her hands fisted on her lap with the need to restrain herself from doing just that. It was such a change too. In Bayfjord, she'd been free, free to do anything she wanted, free to be anything she wanted, free to behave in any way she wanted. But she was learning that society wasn't free. Society gave the illusion of freedom while trapping everyone with invisible strings. There was nothing free about being in a social setting, and she could see that clearly, having experienced what true freedom meant.

He had been the one to give her freedom, and then send her back to a cage. She wanted to return, but things were complicated now. She had to see it through or none of it would have been worth it.

But that didn't mean she couldn't silently seethe as he refused to look at her, but only watched Amara as she opened the gift. It was a tiny gold chain with two gold charms, a tree and a wing. The twins.

"This is beautiful," Amara exclaimed, exchanging a look with Dante. "I'm sure she will love it."

"You didn't have to," Dante told him.

Dainn turned to him. "Of course I did. I'm happy for you and everything you have done with the empire."

Dante gave a nod, putting a hand on his shoulder in thanks. Dainn did not like people touching him but the look on his face never faltered. Dante turned him to face the table, introducing everyone.

"Everyone, this is Blackthorne, CEO of the Blackthorne Group. One of my old business associates," Dante announced, finally getting everyone's attention. Lyla wanted to scream that this was her man, but she was curious too, curious to see what he was playing at. Dainn didn't do anything without planning it ten steps ahead. There was a reason he was at the party that night, a reason beyond just a social event. It could be just to see her, but he could've done that any time privately. This public presentation was for a particular reason, and she couldn't wait to ask him when she got the chance, understand the fascinating ways his mind worked.

Morana extended her hand to him first. "Morana Vitalio."

Dainn shook her hand once. "Shadow Port Vitalios, I assume?" he asked, as though he already didn't know everything about her. Lyla wondered why Morana didn't recognize his voice if she'd met him before. Even without her bias and the ways his voice affected her, she could admit he had such a distinct voice and the slight accent, it would be hard for anyone with working ears not to recognize it. Maybe he modulated his voice somehow when he met them as the Shadow Man? Knowing his ways with technology, it wouldn't surprise her to know he used some kind of a modulator, even though he'd never done so with her—not as the Shadow Man, not as Blackthorne, and not as Dainn.

Morana nodded at his question. "The very same."

Dainn kept the charming smile on his face. "You've been doing good work there. I would like to discuss some business ventures later?"

"Of course," Morana gave a polite smile back. "My partner, Tristan, and I would love to arrange a meeting later."

Lyla wanted to chuckle at the subtle way Morana told a strange man that she was with Lyla's brother. Lyla liked that though. She liked that her brother had such a loyal, smart, beautiful girl in his life.

Alpha bent forward to shake his hand next. "Alpha Villanova. This is my wife, Zephyr."

"Nice to meet you," Dainn nodded to them both. "Quite far from Los Fortis."

"We're family," Alpha stated, and Lyla felt a smile on her lips at the gruff way he said it. Out of everyone she had met in the group—Tristan aside—it was the Villanovas and the work they did and the fact that Zenith had loved them both that drew Lyla to them.

Her smile froze on her lips when finally, finally, his gaze came to her.

Electricity ran up and down her skin as their eyes connected—his mismatched to her green—after so long. Fuck, she had missed him, missed the intensity of his gaze, missed the scent of his skin. His mask, the one he'd been wearing flawlessly since he'd come to the table, faltered, a slight crack for a second that only she saw because she knew to look for it. His eyes notched up the intensity, taking her in.

"And you are?"

Oh, fuck.

Him looking at her like that, asking her that question in his voice—when she knew what his piercings felt like pounding into her pussy and his cock knew what her walls felt like weeping around him, when they knew how the other kissed, moaned, clutched the other in the throes of passion—with no one else knowing a thing around them, it turned her the fuck on.

She swallowed, not knowing how to answer.

Your flamma wasn't a response she could give here. She was being called Luna yet she thought of herself as Lyla, both sides of her existing together, the girl she didn't know and the girl she'd thought she was.

"Tristan Caine's sister," she answered with the only truth she could admit to openly in front of everyone.

His eyes flared a bit, before one of his fake charming smiles took over his face. "Well, Tristan Caine's sister—" he took her hand in his, eyes on her "—it's a pleasure."

His lips touched the back of her hand on the word 'pleasure ,' firing an arrow of arousal straight into her core. She kept her breathing normal somehow, the touch of his lips burning the skin of her hand, singeing it in a way she was surprised it wasn't smoking.

He let her hand go, and she immediately tucked it in her lap, preserving the memory of his mouth on her skin, their eyes still connected.

"Why don't you join us?" Amara offered, more warm than polite now.

He broke their eye contact, turning to Amara. "Thank you."

And he sat down right next to her.

Lyla kept her heartbeat regulated, or at least tried to. Her eyes went to Zephyr who mouthed 'hot' while fanning herself, making a chuckle burst out of her.

His hand came to rest on her thigh, his possessive grip burning through the fabric at the sound, strangling it in her throat. She wished she'd picked a dress with a slit so she could have felt the leather on her skin instead.

The catering staff came around and took their orders. Many guests took to the dance floor, the kids all having left the party.

His hand stayed still, not moving, not doing anything as he talked about anything and everything with everyone, motsly asking questions he already knew the answers to—Morana about some codes he'd heard rumors of, Alpha about the underground fighting circuit, Zephyr about her pregnancy, Dante about Lorenzo Maroni's old businesses. Through some feminine intuition, Lyla was suddenly aware of Amara watching her man with focus, a focus she didn't understand and didn't like.

"Have we met before?" Amara asked suddenly, interrupting the conversation he'd been having with Dante. The table stopped, looking at Amara, then collectively at Dainn, who sat with a puzzled expression on his face. Fake puzzlement because Lyla remembered him telling her that he'd met Amara years ago once.

"Have we?" he asked, as any normal person would if they met someone once years ago. God, he was so good at how convincing he was, the reminder of how real he was with Lyla warmed her.

Amara frowned. "I don't know. I feel like we've met before."

Yes, at a conference where he'd asked about coping with child loss for his wife, who hadn't been his wife then but was now legally.

Amara shook her head, trying to place him but failing to. He played along. Everything continued.

And then her brother came back.

At first, he didn't clock the stranger sitting at the table, his focus on Morana as he took the seat next to her. But then his eyes landed on Dainn, his face tightening when he saw him.

"Blackthorne."

"Caine."

Fuck.

Did they know each other?

Lyla's eyes wandered between them, and she realized that Dante's business associate would be known to her brother. In the real world, they knew each other; in the dark world, they didn't.

And sitting next to her lover, whom no one knew, opposite her brother, whom she was just getting to know, Lyla realized that things were getting a whole lot more complicated.