In movies, a mafia fight can be done with banter, with swagger, with flashbacks that trace old wounds. In real life it’s a burst of gunfire, fists, crashes, chaos—there’s no room to revisit the past or afford the slightest lapse in focus.Parts of the ship’s wall were peppered with bullet marks, and Gold should never have let himself think about the price tag on the tapestry he’d lifted from his own house—twenty thousand dollars.

But Gold was like that. There were always thoughts popping into his head, no matter the situation.

Damn, that tapestry cost twenty grand.

The battery in the wall clock hasn’t been changed—oops, that clock’s been smashed by a bullet from that masked man. Lucifer. Forget it.

Now it’s Onyx’s turn to order pizza for dinner. Hopefully not another cheese-stuffed crust—every once in a while Gold wanted the crust filled with beef—

Oh, look, Caylass’s high-heel prints on the carpet leading to the bathroom.

Gold quickened his step into the restroom area, and the moment he saw a slender hand poking a gun out from behind a stall door, he lunged and clamped down on it.

“You—” Caylass ground her teeth.

“Fast, aren’t you?” Gold finished cheerfully.

“Rude,” Caylass snapped. “I am a woman. And I’m in the bathroom. You should wait outside. Where is your manners!?”

Gold almost laughed. “Sorry miss, my manners died about ten minutes ago.” He pulled the stall door open. Seeing Caylass’s flushed face, he glanced down—at her hands twisting the hem of the gown into tight bundles—and understanding dawned in his eyes. He added, “Ah, maybe my manners can be reset. Special edition—for a future wife.”

Caylass rolled her eyes. “Future wife, Dios!” she cursed. “Let go of my hand!”

Gold released his grip, half out of generosity, half because he was curious what she’d do next. Finish in the bathroom, or resume the war.

Caylass snorted, bent to straighten a tangled lock of hair. Her movements were slow and proud—as if she were arranging herself in a dressing room, not a ship’s bathroom that looked like a battlefield.

Then—whack!—the slap came like a storm in clear weather. Not brutal, but startling enough.

“That’s for kidnapping me and calling me your fiancée without my consent,” she said flatly. “And this is for your dead manners.” She raised the gun again—this time pointed straight at Gold’s chest. “I am not your fiancée!”

Gold looked at her. Then with inhuman speed he grabbed the gun from her—again. “Then,” he said, smiling faintly as he trained the weapon back at its owner, “I won’t have to attend your funeral.”

He didn’t want to shoot Caylass. But in the dark world he’d chosen, the rule was kill now or be killed later.

He pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

For a moment there was only the ship’s engine, the waves, and the rush of breaths.

“Oh, the bullets are empty,” Gold said casually, secretly surprised by the wave of relief that hit his chest.

He tossed the useless pistol aside and reached for his own. But with astonishing speed—deceptive for her appearance—Caylass had already snatched Gold’s gun, forcing him to pin her arms and press her back against the wall to stop her next move.

“You know,” Caylass finally said, voice low, teeth grinding, eyes brimming with furious tears, losing control, “I almost forgot why I didn’t shoot you back then.”

“Because I’m handsome?” Gold guessed.

Caylass gripped the pistol tighter. “No. Because I wanted to torture you first.”

Gold chuckled softly. “How romantic.”

Gold noticed the wetness at the corner of Caylass’s eye—on reflection, it might not be anger; maybe she’d actually needed the bathroom badly all along.

“How long have you been holding that in?” he asked, half teasing, half pity.

“Since you dragged me onto this damn ship, that’s how long,” Caylass snapped, staring at him with whatever pride remained.

Gold stifled a laugh, raised his hands in a sign of surrender, and stepped back half a pace.

“All right then, miss. Our war can wait. Please finish your diplomatic business with the toilet.”

“Get out,” Caylass barked.

“Trust me, I was at the door before you told me to leave.” Gold turned to walk away but added without looking back, “If I hear an explosion in there, I’ll assume you’re done.”

Caylass watched Gold’s retreating back, snorted—half wanting to shoot, half wanting to shout in frustration. She slammed the door shut.

A lock turned from inside.

Outside, Gold leaned his back against the bathroom wall, looked up, and thought about something.

Inside, Caylass fidgeted too, wondering what on earth was happening. “You must enjoy this absurdity,” she accused. “In the middle of a life-or-death fight, you wait for a girl to finish her business in the bathroom.”

“Relax, Caylass. I think it’ll be more absurd in the bridal chamber later—if that happens. But probably it won’t.” He added teasingly, “As usual, there’s a communication problem between us. But I like you, even if you’re hard to talk to.”

Suddenly something slid to the floor. Soap, maybe.

“You okay in there? Need help?” Gold called.

Caylass didn’t answer, and Gold briefly felt he’d said the wrong thing.

After a silence thick enough to kill, Caylass said, “You know, if you proposed to me properly, I might agree.”

Gold didn’t expect that line at all, so he was silent.

“I’ve heard about you. The Twins who built themselves up from the bottom. No problem—we’re not enemies,” Caylass continued. “I think my father might approve of this, somehow.”

For the first time Gold could reply.

“Well, what’s the fun if I don’t propose to you the mafia way?” he joked.

Silence again. Gold’s joke landed flat.

When Caylass spoke again her tone turned serious. “Stop joking like what you’re doing is not wrong. I know what you plan involving me and my father. The war you’re starting with the diamond mafia is stupid, reckless. You’ve never met them in person. They—”

“They burned your mother’s family home?” Gold cut in. “Yeah, I did a little research. You were there when it happened. You were seven then. You were the only survivor. I know.”

Caylass was quiet. Once more, Gold felt he’d misspoken. But before he could fix it, Caylass said, “So you know they’re slippery and vicious, not hesitant to pick off the helpless. That’s how they remove enemies. You don’t want to mess with them unless you want your entire family dead.”

Gold didn’t like discussing his enemies with pretty girls—those he might one day court. Because whenever he spoke of the diamond mafia, a brutal, merciless look that he never showed to women would surface. He hated the diamond mafia that much.

“Don’t worry, lass. My intention is to make them feel small—and then corner them into their graves,” he said, his voice so cold someone might freeze to death.

Caylass opened the bathroom door, fixing the hem of her gown as she stepped out. “If that’s true, our goals align. Let’s continue your ridiculous plan.”

Gold raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re serious? You’ll actually cooperate with this plan?”

“You think I’m joking?” Caylass asked sharply.

“No.” Gold extended his hand toward her. “Let’s see how things go between Onyx and Lucifer.”

“One of them might end up dead,” Caylass said flatly. “I’m betting on Onyx.”

“Oh, I’m betting on your Lucifer—he might already be back in hell.”

“Can you stop joking about his nickname?”

“What’s life without jokes?”

“Your life has no meaning if you don’t joke?”

“Caylass, don’t be cynical about your future husband.”

“You better get used to it.”

They crept out of the bathroom. But when they saw many unfamiliar people in the corridor, they immediately ducked and hid.

Gold noticed tattoos on the backs of hands passing by. A diamond, with blood dripping from it. When Caylass realized whose mark it was, she flinched and covered her mouth.

“Shit... The Diamond Mafia are here,” she hissed.