Holy hell, Mass is built. His thighs are like iron studded with veins. His biceps bulge and his chest heaves. I want to bite each one of his ten dozen abs.
I clutch Rosie to my chest and get out of there.
This is insanity. I’m barely holding it together. At least I find a highchair and plenty of good things for Rosie in the kitchen. Satya must have brought it for her. There’s also a note left under six ripe bananas.The guest room is set up for the little one with a very comfortable crib and plenty of plushies. If she has anypreferences, please tell me. Dial 0 on the phone to reach me at any time. Satya.
“You don’t need a guest room, little girl,” I grumble as I get Rosie set up and start cutting a banana into little pieces. She happily shoves them into her mouth.
“I’d prefer not to sleep with a toddler in my bed.” Mass appears behind me. He’s in a black t-shirt and a pair of tight joggers. It’s only slightly better than the boxer-briefs.
“Like you get a choice. Give me my own room and there won’t be any issues.”
He stares at me flatly. His gaze sends shivers down my spine, and I busy myself cutting more bananas.
“We might need to discuss rules.”
“Oh, really? You have rules for your prisoner too?”
He ignores that comment and starts making coffee. “I prefer cleanliness in my space. I don’t like bringing staff in here if at all possible, which means?—”
Rosie throws a banana piece on the floor and cackles to herself. I consider picking it up, but I smile sweetly at my new husband instead. “What were you saying?”
I expect him to be angry. But instead, he simply walks over, cleans up the mess, and places a new piece down for my daughter. The gesture is surprisingly gentle and not at all what I assumed would be a nasty meltdown.
“Neatness. Order. Your place is in my bed. Our daughter’s place?—”
“Mydaughter’s place.”
“Do we need to have this discussion again? That girl is mine.”
“You don’t know that.”
He rubs his temple and glares at me. “I had her tested months ago.”
That strikes me in the gut. I step back and gape at him. “You didwhat?”
“I didn’t kidnap and marry you on a whim.” He continues making his coffee as if this conversation were normal. “I knew she was mine. I decided you would make an acceptable wife. We spent a good night together?—”
“Define good.”
“Good. Adjective. It means I made you come so hard your knees nearly gave out and you lost your voice from screaming.”
My cheeks turn pink, and Rosie babbles happily as she keeps eating. “Okay, we had one acceptable night together. Not exactly a solid foundation for an actual relationship.”
“This wasn’t the whim of some foolish horny idiot. I know your family. I know your background. I know everything about you, Allesandra Russo.” He finishes his coffee and takes a long sip. “You are my wife. That child is my daughter. The sooner you accept it, the better your life will be.”
I meet his stare with defiance while inwardly I feel like I’m falling apart. Everything is happening so fast. I’m trying to think of a way to survive this without bowing to his every whim and desire and coming up with nothing. Now that I understand who and what Mass really is, it’s like there’s a noose around my neck.
He’s one of the five most powerful criminals in the entire world.
Men like him only gain that level of power through ruthlessness and viciousness.
If he gets sick of me—worse, if he gets sick of Rosie—I doubt he’d think twice about cutting our throats and tossing our bodies in some godforsaken river.
But I also never asked for this. I don’t want him, and I definitely don’t want to be here.
This is one of those crossroads moments. I can give in to what he wants and make Rosie sleep in the other room, or I can take a stand and let him know that I won’t be a pushover.
The problem is I have no idea how he’ll react.
