“A what?” I step closer, backing her against the stone railing. “Say it.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “A fucking mobster who casually orders surveillance on people. Who talks about exposing minors like it’s nothing.”
“I’m protecting those girls, not exploiting them.”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “Don’t try to make this sound noble. You’re using them as pawns in whatever sick game you’re playing with your brother.”
“Stepbrother,” I correct automatically.
“Whatever!” Her voice rises before she catches herself, glancing nervously at the doors. “I can’t do this. I can’t be part of this.”
I close the distance between us, one hand gripping the railing on either side of her body. Caging her in.
“You already are part of this.” My voice drops lower. “You signed the papers. You said the vows. You took my money. You’re mine now.”
Something flashes in her eyes—fear mixed with something else. Something hotter.
“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” she says, but her voice wavers.
“You knew enough.” I bring one hand up to her face, tilting her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You knew I would take care of your problems. Make your family home untouchable. Keep your siblings safe.”
“At what cost?”
“The cost was clearly outlined in our agreement.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, the beads on her bodice catching the light with each breath. The gown hugs every curve, the slit along one leg revealing a flash of thigh when she shifts.
“I can’t breathe,” she whispers now, bringing one hand to her throat. “I need to get out of here.”
“You’re having a panic attack.”
“No shit.” She glares at me, even through her fear. “Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Evil.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh. Even cornered, even terrified, she still has that mouth on her.
“Breathe,” I order, placing my hand flat against her lower back. “Five counts in, seven out.”
To my surprise, she listens, drawing in a shaky breath.
“Again.”
She complies, her body gradually softening against mine.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I murmur, watching her breathing slow. “You’re still my wife. Nothing you saw or heard tonight changes our arrangement.”
“It changes everything,” she whispers. “I married a stranger.”
“No.” I tighten my grip on her. “You married exactly who I am. The rest is just… semantics.”
“Semantics?” She laughs again, that same brittle sound. “God, you’re insane.”
“I’m practical.” I slide my hand up her spine, feeling each vertebra through the thin silk. “And so are you. That’s why we’ll work well together.”
She shivers but doesn’t pull away. “Work well together doing what, exactly? What am I supposed to do as the wife of a—” She stops herself again.
“Say it.”
Her jaw tightens. “As the wife of a mafia boss.”
