When my best friend calls, I stare at his name flashing on the screen. Guilt assaults me, sucker punching me straight in the gut.
Of all the women, it had to be her. Must be fucking karma for leading the life I do.
“Any issues?” Enzo asks.
“I can take care of business. Just enjoy your fucking honeymoon and stop bugging me,” I groan, rubbing a palm down my face.
“Someone is in a mood. I know what will help. Getting laid.”
If he only knew.
My cock is still hard thinking of her softness. I wanted to unzip myself and shove myself inside her tight and wet core, sheathing myself in heaven. I guess I preserve a sham of control after all. But not for long. That’s for sure.
The fucker is with my sister, so it’s not like he stands on moral ground, but their situation and ours cannot be compared.
“You would know,” I grumble.
The sound he emits rings of a proud idiot in love. “Nothing compares to fucking the woman you love.”
I have a slight idea how it is, but I keep my mouth shut, glaring at my desk. Work will help. Because I can’t go to her in my weakened state, or she’ll take advantage.
“Have to go. One of us has to run the empire.”
“Fuck you.”
At my desk, I track shipments, confirming goods sent nationally and internationally arrive without issues. I run the leading global shipping company. Ensuring it stays that way demands full commitment and a firm grip. There are no mistakes allowed. I expect excellence from my employees, and I apply the same rigorous approach. I reward hard work, cutting loose anyone who can’t keep up with the demands and challenges.
By the time I am done supervising the various operations, it’s almost morning, so I grab my jacket and slip into my car.
As the city slowly awakens, I head to the compound, needing a few hours of sleep. I’ve always been a night owl.
Days bore me with the effort of keeping up the façade of following the rules. Nights have always excited me, enticing me to test how far I could go without being caught.
Sinners thrive in the dark, but the charlatans hide in the day. This world has no place for saints.
Marcella comes down the stairs, and when she sees me, she smiles brightly. Her smile always has a touch of concern and sympathy, making it obvious she knew what her husband did. I pretend I don’t notice that, enjoying her motherly care.
She walks toward me. Cupping my cheek, her brows furrow. “You should take better care of yourself. You need a wife.”
The only one I want as a wife, I refuse to make into one.
I wave the notion away, offering her a grin. “What woman could tame me?”
It was supposed to be a joke, but she pins me with a serious stare. “The one you’ve always watched over.”
For the first time, someone leaves me speechless.
“Come join me for breakfast.”
Reluctantly, I follow her into the dining room.
On the table, a breakfast spread waits for us—from scrambled eggs to boiled eggs, cheese and salami, a plate ofpancakes, a fruit assortment, yogurts and jams. I prefer the savory, but Dahlia has a sweet tooth.
She tilts her head, eyeing me intently. “I know you love my daughter.”
I feel my brows furrow as I plate some scrambled eggs. “I don’t make a secret of that.”
“But can you love her the way she wants you to love her?”
