It would be the merciful thing to do if she realizes the extent of my deception. But I prefer to see this evolution as our second beginning, a clean slate.
I slam my mouth onto hers to memorize the delight enveloping my insides, tasting like her—sweet, euphoric, blinding.
“How can it not hurt?” she asks after I kiss her senseless, tracing the wound around my wrists. Angry red lines mar my skin from tearing the ties, then she moves to my chest as if wanting to make sure there are no blemishes she missed.
I don’t know if it’s worry or if she just loves to touch me, but she has palmed my six-pack three times already.
“Extensive training. My father made sure I got extraordinary survival and fighting skills. He had professional fighters come and teach me until I could defeat them.”
“That sounds harsh.” She frowns, confused, as he is the same man I rave about.
Occasionally, the older version of her seeps through, the one that wishes to ignore the world we rule.
My father said she was the right one when I returned from three brutal days of surviving in Greenland with freezing temperatures and killers at my back, to find her threatening him if something happened to me.
I knew long before then that she was it, but having my father not only approve of my future wife but respect her felt even better.
“I’ll do the same with our child.”
“Even if it’s a girl?”
“I didn’t specify the sex for a reason.”
My parents tried but couldn’t get pregnant after me. I always desired a sibling, and so did she.
After I change, we board the jet, and she takes the seat next to me. It’s a minimal improvement, but it feeds my hope that we’re moving in the right direction.
Halfway turned to me, she rests her hand on her cheek. “I want to know everything. From the start. Leave nothing out.”
“We might need more than a one-hour flight.”
She gestures between us. “You said date. Well, make it several.”
I want to ask her why the sudden change, but knowing her, she needs time to accept things for herself first. So instead, I recount my story for the second time.
She seeks my eyes, riveted, and I catch the older version of her gazing back at me as if I could do no wrong, pouring icy water over my head and causing a shiver. With her, I have no fucking idea what I am doing—no guide to lead me, just pure need for her. Two universal truths dictate my life: I would die for her, and I live for her.
After we land, the driver takes her to the penthouse, and I head to the meeting place. Inside the conference room, my uncle, followed by the leaders of the other four families, sit around the table.
“What are you going to do with the gang encroaching our territory?” the eldest says.
Lew and I have a long-lasting partnership. Over decades, the Bratva-versus-Mafia war between us ensured losses that weren’tfeasible. So, we cohabitate, so to speak, but any other players are game.
I would have taken care of the problem by now, but my wife shifted my priorities.
I cast him an intent stare, not showing a sign of weakness. “Tonight.”
He nods my way, the anger sliding off his face.
“How is Zara Monroe?” Paolo snickers.
The only reason he made it to the table is his father’s untimely death, leaving me to deal with him. He’s nothing more than an arrogant, worthless prick, and courtesy of his father, he knows more than he should.
Staring him down, I grab my knife from inside my suit pocket and throw it at him in one fluid move. The blade slices his earlobe, and the bloody tip embeds itself in the chair behind him. Everything happens so fast, the shock morphing into a wail as he realizes what happened, the color draining from his face.
“It’s your first and last warning.”
Pure hatred stares back at me as he plucks the handkerchief from his suit pocket with jerky movements. He cradles his injured ear, the blood seeping through the fabric and dripping onto his suit.
