He shot you. At least he tried to last night. The man who you hated dearly, the one whom you’ve tried to kill, was now sitting in front of you between his parents while you sat between yours. He looked emotionless, staring blankly at you and not at the papers that held the terms for the arranged marriage.

The only reason you two were doing this was because your parents told you to, saying it would strengthen your control over the gangs if you combined yours with his.

When both of your parents had left the room, he sat up, grabbing the papers. “Doesn’t say anything about prohibiting killing you.” He smirked and shoved the papers back to the middle of the table.

He looked back at you and spoke bluntly. “I rather put a bullet in my head than marry you.”