Page 43 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“Say the word, Conor,” I say softly, so only he can hear, “and I’ll walk. You can take care of your own mess.”

He can’t and we both know it.

Conor grimaces, letting us through. “If you think marrying Heaven is gonna get you anywhere close to our fortune, you’re more of a dumbass than I thought.”

I turn to look at Roman and laugh. “This Irish idiot thinks we need their money.” The laughter stops as I swing my gaze back to Conor. “So we’re clear, I don’t.”

And he grins. There it is. Big, shining, shit-eating. It’s like sheep herding with this one. “Just our standing. That’s what you want, like I said before.”

“I want what I want. You want your life. I want Heaven. Simple.” I lower my voice, adding the right amount of steel, the right sprinkling of taunt. “But who’s the dumbass? Me? Or you? After all, I’m not the one who sacrificed his whole world because he had to get into a dick-swinging battle with the wrong crew. I’m not the one who came crawling for my help. Which you won’t get unless you shut the fuck up. I’m on your turf, but I’m a bigger bad than you could ever dream of. And, if you keep pissing me off, I’ll let you fail trying to protect your family.”

There’s a light of uncertainty in his eyes, but his ego eats it whole. He knows the truth of the matter, but he’s too fucking egotistical to let it sink in. Which works for me.

He pokes a finger at my chest. “Don’t you fucking mouth off to me. I’m your fucking employer, dickwad. Remember? We hiredyou, not the other way around.”

I glance down at his finger, then up at him before I grab it and twist it back so far, it almost hits the top of his hand. He screams, clutching his finger, murder spewing from his pale eyes. “You motherfucker.”

“I was never into that Oedipal shit,” I say. “Don’t ever lay a finger on me again, Conor, or next time, you won’t be here to beg forgiveness.” I saunter past him and toward an open door at the end of the hall with Roman behind me.

“Way to make inroads with the in-laws,” he says. “Also, remind me never to really piss you off.”

I ignore him and step into Declan’s office.

Declan stands up from his chair, his eyes blazing with anger. “You sonofabitch!” he hisses, face red with rage. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?” I turn to my brother and nod toward the doorway. “Give me a minute.”

As Roman steps back out into the hallway, I close the door and walk toward my soon-to-be father-in-law.

“What do you think?”

My plan took a little longer today because I needed to finely tune details. My people getting creative can be used to my advantage.

“The beatdown?” I raise a brow. “You think I did that?”

“I told you Heaven has a mind of her own and is hard to wrangle. You told me you’d convince my kids of the dangers facing them in such a way to strengthen this union.”

I pull out a chair and sit, leaning back, contemplating him. “I didn’t beat up my future wife. What kind of fucking fool do you take me for? I’ll walk right now and leave you to this.”

“A thug pulled a gun on Heaven. Another broke two of Patrick’s ribs. Jesus?—”

“Declan, I haven’t had time to orchestrate a thing. I’ve got businesses to run, other jobs to manage.”

He laughs, a bitter, harsh sound. “You think I don’t know you want what I have? Conor told me you’re looking to climb?—”

“I am,” I say. “A union with an established mafia family that’s not Italian takes a whole lot of fights among those families off the table. I’m a wanted man. You should be flattered I chose you and found Heaven pleasing enough to make this arrangement. Marrying Heaven fast-tracks me the most peaceful way I know. We both have something we need done. I need that spot in the hierarchy, and you need to keep Conor alive.”

“Yeah? These thugs mentioned Dominguez.”

I don’t immediately answer. Not because I lack one, but because I want him to let that sink in, bone deep.

“And you’re thinking since that happened, I’m not needed. Not true, Declan. You see, I happen to know that Dominguez’s name was splashed around today. Seems he’s asking questions of faction members across the board who were seen in Harlem that night.”

Declan goes white.

“And you still need me to protect you all. I think it’s best if we fast-track our arrangement. Time is of the essence. Right now, Dominguez is punching in the dark. But he’ll zero in on the guilty. Sooner, rather than later.”

There’s a mutinous set to the old man’s mouth. I understand it. He knows I’m manipulating him, sees me as some kind of underdog who wants to move his position in this world to equal footing to him.

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