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Not forever, but enough for me to change into someone else. Who will I end up as by the time Bass lets me go? I already feel myself shifting by inches, thinking of my husband more, the knot of anger toward him loosening as I get to know his family and his situation. He means well, he really does, and maybe he’s not so bad—
I coast to a stop at the front gate. An enormous series of iron bars block my path and a bald, angry-looking man sits in a small structure. He frowns when I roll down my window.
“Hey, uh, I was heading out?”
He doesn’t move. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Sorry… about what?”
“I have orders to keep the gate closed.”
“Right… but I was told I could go visit my brother? If you can, I don’t know, call Nico?”
The guard crosses his arms. “I have orders to keep you here, specifically, from Don Serafino. I apologize, ma’am.”
I stare at him. Then I grind my teeth.
Fucking Bass. That asshole. I hate him. And Nico’s even worse because I bet he knew and he sent me down here anyway, probably so I could find out that I’m confined to the grounds in the most humiliating way possible.
I turn the truck around and gun it back to the main house. I find my brother-in-law sitting on the front porch, howling with laughter. “Oh fuck… you should see your face… oh my god, you’re so mad.”
I shove a finger in his face. “I’ll deal with you later.”
That only makes him double over harder, clutching his ribs. “Stop! Please, it hurts! Oh my god!”
“Asshole,” I mutter, storming into the house. I stand, raging, until I remember where to find Bass’s study. It takes a minute to traverse the enormous structure, but I burst through his door, my anger only brightened and sharpened by the delay.
My husband is sitting behind his desk. The top buttons of his shirt are undone. He’s looking at his phone with a frown, eyes tracking a message.
“You never said I was a fucking prisoner.”
He doesn’t look up. “One moment, please.”
“One moment?!” I walk around the desk and bend down. “Hey, asshole, I’m your wife, not your inmate. You can’t—”
He catches my wrist when I try to touch his shoulder. He swivels to face me, tugging me closer, until I stumble and end up between his legs, my arm wrenched behind my back, his mouth inches from mine, a satisfied smile on his face.
“That’s better,” he murmurs.
“Let go of me!”
“Keep struggling and it’ll only hurt more.” His grip is iron and he’s right. The more I try to get free, the worse my shoulder starts to ache. “I prefer to have a conversation when you’re calm.”
“Bastard! Asshole!”
“Hmmm, I prefer my nickname for you, my love.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner here! That wasn’t part of the deal!”
“Actually, it was.” His voice is low now and haunting. The voice I used to play through my head during my darkest fantasies, back when he was still Mr. Bass, the gorgeous stranger who starred in my wet dreams. “You agreed to be my wife for five years. You agreed to play your part perfectly. And in order to do that, you have to follow my rules.”
“I never agreed to be your slave.”
“Listen to me, Marisol.” His tone is sharp suddenly and it makes me pause. “Are you listening now? I am the Don of the Serafino Famiglia. We have been in Austin for generations. Which means generations of struggle, of scores to settle, of petty arguments, of enemies, of haters, of killers, of thieves. There are dozens of men within an easy drive of here who would happily cut your throat and smile as you bled on their shoes. You cannot simply run around alone anymore.”
I go still, heart racing. It pounds into my head. I’m having trouble concentrating, because he’s so close and attractive, and my arm hurts, and I’m pissed about getting turned away at the gate—but part of what he’s saying does manage to penetrate.
He’s powerful. His family is important. And that means he’s got enemies.
