Page 8 of Heartless Sinner

I sorted the files into five neat, categorized piles, and unwisely interjected my own opinion on the matter. “You can’t ask any of them to marry you. None of them have what it takes to be a capo’s wife.”

He arched a dark, inquisitive brow at my audacious remark. “And why’s that?”

I felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall by his gaze, but I ignored the sensation and pushed onward. “Politically, they’re good choices. All mafia girls, all a part of families aligned with yours, none too below or too above your station. None too friendly that an alliance is useless. You’ll be strengthening political ties and maybe even making some new allies, whichever you pick.”

“But?” Vincent walked over and stood next to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his body and my fingers trembled where they held the files.

I exhaled a deep breath and then pointed to the first pile I’d made. “These prospects are much too insipid for you. You’re a smart man, or so everyone says. I’ve paid attention to your political moves the last few years, and you’re not as callous as most of the brutes out there who use physical force to keep their women in line. Your father would never stand for it. So you marry any of these women…” I tapped the very top file on the first stack. “You’re going to be bored within a few months at the very least, and resentful of the situation at the most.”

I moved on to the second set of dossiers. “I know these girls. They’ll never be fully loyal to you and the Russo family name. You’ll just be a stepping-stone for their own aspirations. You want someone who’s ambitious but sees the two of you as a single unit to rise together, not a tool they can discard when they choose, or when you’re no longer useful to them.”

He studied me thoughtfully as I spoke, and I continued on.

“This pile?” I pointed and shook my head. “Not ambitious at all. They’ll tell you to play it safe and make you question your decisions. And this group, not interested in your type of man, which could lead to issues . . . in the bedroom. What you can’t get at home you’ll get somewhere else, and that’s a weak point. Enemy families, the feds, they can use a mistress to set you up. Nine times out of ten, that’s how a boss goes down.”

“And this pile?” Vincent asked, indicating the fifth and final group.

When had we begun to stand so close? He was only an inch away from me, smelling of warm sandalwood from his cologne. I found I didn’t mind the proximity, even as my breathing began to quicken.

“Undisciplined and self-centered,” I said, glancing up at his gorgeous face. “They’re more concerned with their social lives and frivolously spending your money. If nothing else, they won’t make good mothers, and that’ll be the least of your worries.”

Vincent’s dark gaze was locked onto mine. “If only there was a clever, analytical, loyal, ambitious, beautiful woman out there, who knew the mafia life, who I could marry.”

He arched an eyebrow at me to punctuate the point.

His insinuation had my heart racing wildly in my chest. “Y-your men didn’t put me on the list,” I said in a whisper. “There must be a good reason for that.”

“A regrettable oversight,” Vincent replied meaningfully, and there was suddenly a shrewd edge to his voice, and an equally sharp glint in his gaze. “My help doesn’t come for free, Marla. Nothing in this world does. You know that. You came here wanting something from me, and it’s also clear that you’re an ideal choice for what I need, as well. Think of it as a quid pro quo.”

I drew myself up in a panic, unable to believe I’d unwittingly put myself in his cross-hairs as a potential wife. “You couldn’t afford me,” I blurted out.

Even as I said the idiotic words to ward off Vince’s proposal, I feared I had little to no choice but to accept his offer. How else could I get the help I needed to avenge the death of my brother, and still maintain protection and safety for my family? Marrying Vincent Russo was equivalent of becoming untouchable, regardless of any retribution I took against whoever murdered Dmitri.

But it would cost me the future I’d dreamed of having outside of this world.

I’d never wanted this—marriage to a powerful mafia man. I spent years avoiding the possibility and looking for a way out of this life, but clearly fate had other plans for me—if I wanted to keep my promise to my brother, and make sure his senseless death didn’t go unpunished.

Vincent’s fingers gently brushed my hair back behind my shoulder, then traced down the shell of my ear to catch onto the Cartier earrings I wore. I couldn’t breathe. My knees trembled. He stared at the earrings with a critical gaze and hummed thoughtfully.

“I can more than afford you, Marla,” he said, a confident smile touching the corner of his sensual mouth. “Every…single…inch of you.”

“I don’t mean… that,” I whispered. Why was I whispering? I was stronger than this.

“How about this, then?” Vincent said, his voice that quiet, confident murmur again, and I had to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. “We go for a…test drive.”

His fingers moved away from the earring and trailed down the curve of my jaw. My breath caught in my throat even as my nipples puckered into hard points and heat began to build between my legs. Was he suggesting he take me to bed and fuck me, to see if we were . . . compatible?

My attraction to him was undeniable, and I was torn. Did I want him to do that? No. I shouldn’t. But the dark, seductive look in his eyes promised so many sinful, delicious things that spoke to my deprived body. Things I’d only fantasized about because I’d never found a man who I felt was commanding enough to follow through on those illicit desires of mine.

“I’ll show you all the things I can give you, all the privileges that would come with being my wife.” His fingers trailed down my throat and I almost let a whimper slip free. “You have high standards and I can appreciate that. And if I’ve impressed you, then we agree to the deal, and I’ll help you find your brother’s killer in exchange for you marrying me. If I don’t convince you that we’re a good match, then we go our separate ways and you can try to handle that little problem on your own.”

My body was practically screaming at him to move his hand lower, to touch me firmly instead of teasing, to show me the sexual prowess for which the Russo brothers were so well known.

Vincent stepped back, his fingers falling away. “Sound good?”

I forced myself to take a deep breath. “How do you intend to impress me?” I was proud of how even my voice sounded.

“Let’s start with dinner tomorrow, at six?”

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