Chapter 9: The Anatomy of Hesitation
Cassian looked at her. He really, truly looked at her for the first time without the blinding veil of his own dangerous affection.
He completely stripped away the stinging betrayal and his severely bruised ego. He analyzed the entire, life-or-death situation with the exact same icy calculation that had kept him alive for seven bloody years at the absolute top of the Boston underworld.
He noticed the extremely slight, nervous tremor in her left hand resting on the table.
He noticed exactly how she kept glancing down at his chest, subtly avoiding prolonged, direct eye contact with him.
Most importantly, the mafia boss noticed the massive, glaring flaw in her grand, theatrical finale.
A slow, incredibly dark smile began to spread across Cassian’s scarred face. It was a terrifying, feral expression, completely devoid of all human warmth.
Emma’s confident brow instantly furrowed in deep confusion. “What the hell are you smiling at?”
“You had a crystal-clear shot at me for eight straight months, Emma,” Cassian said softly, leaning his massive frame back against the red vinyl booth.
“I told you, I was waiting for the exact right—”
“You knew my precise, unbending schedule,” Cassian interrupted, his voice rising in power, dominating the small diner. “Tuesday and Thursday. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Like clockwork.”
Emma opened her mouth to argue, but Cassian didn’t let her breathe.
“You could have easily poisoned my burnt cherry pie in October!” he challenged, his dark eyes flashing with dangerous amusement. “You could have effortlessly slipped a serrated blade between my ribs when you leaned over my shoulder to pour my coffee in November!”
“I needed a clean exit strategy!” Emma fired back, her voice raising a fraction of an inch in defensive anger.
“You could have had your boy Donovan shoot me the second I walked out the front door on any sunny Tuesday afternoon!” Cassian counted, his voice sharp and cracking like a physical whip across the table.
Emma’s jaw tightened visibly. “I was waiting for the right moment. This massive storm finally gave us the visual cover we needed to execute the hit cleanly.”
“Bullshit,” Cassian growled, leaning heavily over the poisoned coffee.
