Brian huffed a short laugh. “Is this the whose bitch do you want to be conversation?”
Dom stared down at his hands. “Brian,” he said, and couldn’t keep going. He wanted to start talking the kind of bullshit Roman would’ve been selling right now: it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for show, it won’t be that bad, when what he meant was don’t fucking make me watch you die. He’d done a great job not thinking about it before now, but he knew what was going to happen if Brian said no, if he tried to fight it out.
Brian looked away. “I’ve put a lot of guys into prison, Dom. I know the score.” He blew out a breath. “Do you mind?”
“No,” Dom said, forcing it past his closed throat. He minded enough to gut himself, but that wasn’t the answer Brian was going to get from him, some chickenshit how about Roman, as if that could even have worked, as if he could’ve let that happen and not killed Roman himself with his bare hands.
Utterly captivating canon-divergence.