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Summary
"You,” he says, jabbing a finger into Stede’s sternum, “haven’t got a fucking clue, Bonnet. You just waltzed in here, and expected that because you’re rich and connected everyone would fall on their knees for you.”
And something twists inside Stede’s chest.
Before he really registers what it is he’s doing, he’s got Izzy pinned up against the wall, his forearm pressing against Izzy’s throat.
“Not everyone,” he hears himself say. “Just you.”