“The fuck it’s not. Who texted you?”
She turns her head up, a nasty smirk tugging at her lips.
“Such a dickhead control freak,” she murmurs. “No wonder the bachelor Viacava wasn’t already married.”
I seize her wrist and twist it, yanking her close. “Do you want me to take the phone from you?”
“Oohh,” she says in a mocking voice. “I’m so scared of the big, bad gangster.”
My pulse hammers hard at her nearness. Visions of reaching under her skirt again and sinking into her heat, hit me hard. Flames of desire threaten to consume like they did at our reception.
This woman has my dick in a choke hold.
“Getting a little hot there, hubby?” She presses herself against me. “You look like you want what you can’t have.”
“Who fucking texted you?” I hiss, my lips practically grazing hers.
I shove a hand into her pocket and grab the phone, checking the sender of the message glowing on the screen. Anger bubbles deep in my chest, rushing to the surface. In a temper, I hurl her phone against the wall. It clatters to the floor after leaving a deep dent in the drywall.
Goddammit. That fucking asshole Roman.
I don’t give a fuck how important he is to O’Callaghan, but I’ll personally skin the man alive if he doesn’t back off.
“Don’t hide shit from me, Livvie,” I say, gripping her tighter. “You won’t like the consequences.”
“Take your hands off me,” she says, her voice raspy.
“Oh yeah? Do you reallywant that?” I ask, tearing her skirt up to her waist. My fingers graze her pussy as I flash a malicious smile. “If I remember correctly, my cum is already inside you. So my hands aren’t really an issue, right?”
“You’re a fucking pig.” Her eyes darken.
My cell phone pings, interrupting the X-rated thoughts zapping my mind. I dig it out of my jacket pocket and stare at the text from Ray. We have visitors.
Now that the moment is ruined, I release her. The whisper of fabric falling over her long lean legs meets a sigh that almost sounds like disappointment. Livvie pours herself a straight whiskey and knocks it back, saying nothing after she swallows, even though her cheeks are pink and there’s a noticeable flush spreading across her chest.
My wife isn’t immune to the Viacava charm—and fuck, I can’t lie. I’d love to see her riding my dick again wearing that dress.
Squaring my shoulders, I throw her a glance before texting a response.
Seconds later, there’s a loud knock at the door and one of my guys answers it. I leave Livvie with her drink and cross the foyer.
A tall man dressed all in black faces me, his beady eyes making the hairs on the back of my neck shoot up. My father stands next to him.
I furrow my brow. “Who the hell is this?”
“Arturo Mancini,” my father announces, moving past me.
“And he’s gate-crashing my wedding night because…?” I fold my arms, facing off with the stranger in my doorway.
“You’ll want to invite him in, Kingston,” my father tellsme. “He’s here on official business as an enforcer for the Red Tribunal.”
“The Red Tribunal?” Livvie repeats. “What’s that?”
When my father offers her a blank stare, not giving her question airtime, she rolls her eyes and throws her hands into the air.
“Sorry,Da,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Was the little wifey not supposed to open her mouth?”
My father exhales and shakes his head. I know what it means, what he wants me to do, but I’m not sending her to bed, even if she’d likely challenge me to break it beneath her. Truth is, we’re both in the dark and we were the only targets tonight.
