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He held it toward me.
I accepted it and studied the image of a robed man I didn’t recognize.
“Saint Columba,” Luca said.
The name clicked immediately.
I looked up. “Lachlan told me about him.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
“I noticed the scar on his palm. He explained the blood oath and said you chose Saint Columba for him.”
Luca gave a small nod. “Good. Saves me from giving you the entire sermon.”
I smiled and looked back down at the card.
“The one he burned became part of his oath,” Luca said. “This one is for you.”
I ran my thumb lightly over the edge.
“Why?”
“Because I chose Columba for Lachlan before I knew where his life was going. But I don’t question the saints.”
I waited.
“Saint Columba was an Irish monk with a notorious temper who learned discipline the hard way and became a leader.” Luca’s mouth curved faintly. “At the time, Irish and bad temper seemed close enough.”
I laughed.
“He thought you did the same thing.”
“I’m sure he did.” Luca nodded toward the card in my hand. “But men sometimes grow into the meaning of these things better than we expect.”
His voice lost the slight humor.
“Lachlan has always had more control than people give him credit for. He knows when to hold the violence back and when to use it. More importantly, he knows what deserves protecting.”
I glanced down at Saint Columba again.
“When a man joins this family, traditions follow him,” Luca continued. “So does the family.”
My eyes lifted to his.
“Am I joining The Syndicate?”
“No.” His answer came with quiet amusement. “You’re doing something considerably more dangerous.”
“Oh?”
“Loving one of its men.”
I curled my fingers carefully around the card and nodded.
Luca stepped closer and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
When he pulled back, his hand briefly covered mine around the card.
