My mystery man. My one perfect night. And now my captor.
My husband.
"I do."
The words weigh heavy on my heart. Surrender and defiance all at once. Surrender to a husband. Defiance of a controlling parent.
His smile is small, private, meant only for me. And when the judge pronounces us married, when Luca cups my face in those dangerous hands and leans in to seal the vow with a kiss, I expect demand. Possession. A claiming that matches the possessive edge in his voice when he called me his.
Instead, his lips brush mine, barely there, a whisper of warmth against my mouth. Soft. Searching. The gentle pressure sends a flush of warmth spreading across my cheeks, down my neck, blooming beneath the silk of my dress. My breath catches in my throat. My fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket without permission, anchoring myself against the sudden weakness in my knees.
He deepens the kiss slowly, his mouth moving against mine with a patience that unravels me. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, a gentle request, and I open for him without thinking. He tastes like mint and something darker, richer, and the familiarity of it drags me back to that first night. Before I knew who he was. Before everything became complicated and cruel.
His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, tilting my head to change the angle. The other palm presses flat against my lower back, drawing me closer until there's no space left between us. He kisses me like we have all the time in the world. Like the courthouse and the witnesses and the paperwork don't exist. Like I'm the only thing that matters.
Reverent. Unhurried.
He makes me feel like I'm something precious he's afraid of breaking. Chills race down my spine even as heat pools low in my belly. My body can't decide if it wants to run from this man or climb him like a tree.
Nothing like a blackmailer.
Everything like the man I've been dreaming about for eight weeks.
My heart pounds so hard I'm certain he can feel it where my chest presses against his. When he finally pulls back, just enough to murmur against my lips, I'm trembling. His breath is warm on my skin, his voice low and rough, words meant only for me.
"This isn't the wedding you deserve." His thumb traces my cheekbone, and the rough pad of his skin catches moisture I didn't realize was there. A tear. When did I start crying? His touch is warm, impossibly gentle, and it sends a shiver racing down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool courthouseair. "But I promise you, jungle flower, when you're ready, when you trust me, I'll give you one worth remembering. Wherever you want. However you want. A real celebration."
My heart stutters. Stops. Restarts in a rhythm I don't recognize. I swear it wants to feel like hope, but I refuse to let his words take root anywhere near my heart.
His dark eyes hold mine, steady and sure. Sincerity burns in them making my chest ache no matter how much I try to control my emotions. The scent of him wraps around me, sandalwood and smoke, so achingly familiar that my throat tightens. I search his face for any signs of lies out of habit, or manipulation. My father has me so twisted in the head, I have a hard time trusting. Yet, I find nothing but a man making a promise he seems desperate for me to believe.
I don't know what to do with this man. He blackmails me one moment and speaks vows like he actually loves me in the next. He traps me and then offers me the key. He breaks me open and then tries to piece me back together with hands that could just as easily destroy.
"I'll hold you to that." The whisper scrapes past the lump in my throat. It's the only response I can manage. The only words that don't betray how violently his promise has shaken the walls I'm trying so hard to keep standing.
His smile softens, just at the edges, and his thumb sweeps one more time across my cheek before his hand falls away.
"I'm counting on it."
An hour later we are back at Redthorne Holdings. The reception takes place at Ember House, a boutique publishing house that occupies one of the lower floors of the tower. I learn fromKatriana that it was Drake's gift to her, a place where her love of books could flourish surrounded by the empire they're building together.
The venue itself takes my breath away. A gorgeous space of exposed brick and towering windows, filled with books and warmth and the kind of intimate lighting that makes everyone look beautiful.
The Syndicate inner circle fills the space with their dangerous presence and their unexpected warmth. Rafael Milano stands near the bar with his wife Persia and their daughter Sofia, the baby babbling happily in her mother's arms. Massimo and Rowan argue playfully near the windows. Kon lurks in a corner like a particularly well-dressed shadow, his dark eyes tracking every movement in the room.
These are the most dangerous men in Chicago. And their wives are fierce, beautiful, and terrifyingly welcoming.
"You're going to fit right in." The voice comes from my left, warm and certain. A second later Katriana appears at my elbow with a glass of sparkling cider for me. Not champagne. Cider. The deliberate choice makes my pulse stutter.
I accept the glass and raise it slightly. "How do you know?" The question comes out a bit sharper than I intend.
Katriana's expression softens, no apology but no pretense either. "Luca told Drake before the ceremony. Drake told me because we don't keep secrets from each other." She holds my gaze, steady and honest.
“Does anyone else know?”
"I don’t think so. It's not my news to share."
Irritation flickers through me, hot and fast. Another decision made about my life without my input. Another man deciding who gets access to my secrets. But the warmth in Katriana's eyes holds no judgment. Just the quiet solidarity of a woman who understands that privacy is a luxury women like us rarely get to keep.
