If I weren’t so furious, I would have asked him. Why me? He could have chosen any woman he wanted, but no, he decided to fuck me over, my life, my heart.
The curiosity gets the better of me, and I pick up my phone, sighing the moment I see his text. I saved him as KoD—fitting because he is a king in the underworld, and his deception game is spot-on, the biggest casualty being me.
One more night and then we’ll unite for life. As if that’s not enough, he left an indelible mark on my soul, and nothing short of death will tear us apart. I huff, giving up on praying for a wonder. For time to still. For him to change his mind. But I am not that naive as to believe my wish will come true.
For better or for worse, wife.
The asshole.
I reply.
You’ll regret it.
I could never regret having you.
I can picture him telling me that matter-of-factly. It’s how his brain works. I was a goal he had to achieve, secondary or primary, it’s irrelevant.
My sister informed me whose godfather he really is. Aris is Calla and Enzo’s son. They rule over the West Coast, and she controls the Council. Formerly known as Luciana, the lethal sniper who almost turned my sister into a widow.
Those few weeks of uncertainty about whether Cato would survive were pure hell for Chiara, and now I will be part of her extended family, including the woman who caused my sister her greatest grief.
Welcome to the Mob, I guess.
Tristan knows that the bad blood between the Syndicate and them won’t disappear, yet he still dragged me into this mess. My marriage will bind me to side with Tristan in a war. Egotistical asshole.
He might believe he can balance holding the West Coast and the East Coast in check, but he doesn’t have that power. No one can.
You should go to sleep.
I read his text, fuming. He can’t possibly know I am not in bed. I feel my brows furrow and then he calls me.
One ring. Two rings. My hurt wavers with my hatred, but something else claims the win. My loneliness.
God, this asshole made me feel like I belonged.
I accept his call, hating myself for my weakness. Hating this love I can’t smother. I just fight it, fight myself, and keep losing. I won’t give up though, continuing to battle him and the entire world if needed to protect myself from another heartbreak.
Only our heavy breathing breaks through the static before anger wins, and I snap. “Quite desperate, aren’t we?”
“Quite belligerent, aren’t we?”
“I’m not in bed. Maybe I am fucking someone else on my last night of freedom,” I snicker.
Antagonizing him gives me incredible satisfaction. I would never actually do that, understanding the repercussions. His darkness, which I’ve felt from the very beginning, is real, not a figment of my imagination. He would end him, and I couldn’t live with that sin. I am also a realist. Nothing would ease the pain of his betrayal.
The silence on the other end makes me stand straighter.
“Mo run, we both know you’re too good to do that,” his deep voice ends on a soft tone.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? Does it make you remember that you belong to me? How I made you mine?” he drawls out, maddening me.
“Poor you, living off memories.” I tsk in a fit of dramatics.
“So we won’t consummate our wedding night?”
“In your fucking dreams,” I spit, hating how level he sounds while I am on the brink of an emotional breakdown.
