Page 100 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

That isn’t a thing, but caring is almost as bad. It can be used, manipulated. It can bring people down.

I’ll get her the fuck away from New York. It’ll be better that way, anyway. Fewer weak spots. And I’ll have more clarity.

When we’re finally clear of our families and guests, I head for her.

My brothers and my father have tried to catch my eye. Out of everyone they know me best, and they know something is up. Heaven, too. But what the fuck was I supposed to do? Stop the wedding? Being married to me is still the safest thing. Just like me never letting her know I care is safe.

I’m almost at her side where she stands on the stone steps with her aunt when Dante moves in front of me.

“What the fuck, Matty? You aren’t playing the game. Are you in love with her? Please tell me you aren’t.”

His words shock me. They ricochet, but I push them away. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re way too into her. I can see that because you’re acting out of character. You’re acting like something’s happened. A threat.”

He knows me a little too well.

“What happened?”

I pull at the bow tie. “That obvious?”

“Only to me.” His eyes grow hard. “This Dominguez deal. You’re not being honest, are you?”

“There’s more to it,” I say evenly. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“You have your family here. Don’t shut us out. Dominguez is a nasty piece of work. I can take him out for you. Just say the word.”

I close my eyes and almost sway on my feet. I would love that. But if it were that easy, I’d have gone and done it, and he knows that, too. “It’s better this way.”

“You have feelings for her?—”

“Dante—”

“I see it. But, brother, you don’t need to protect us. Not for a long time. We can help with whatever you’re up to.”

I take a breath but shake my head. “I’m good.”

And then I sidestep him and continue to my bride. She’s looking at me and it steals my breath.

She’s hurt. I see it in her eyes, hurt because I’ve shut down, taken that carefully built closeness from her in an instant, without explanation.

Shit. I go to her and take her hand, making the necessary small talk I need to with her family and other important underworld people, and then I lead her away to the car, gripping her hand so tightly I can feel her delicate bones.

But as we stand at the curb waiting for Gio to get the door and finish a sweep of the surrounding area with others on his earpiece, I can feel her questions mounting. I know she’s not going to take me going back to the cold bastard she first met.

I’m going to have to say something.

The woman is so fucking Irish she could be Italian. She’s packed with passion of all kinds, and she’s not one to let things go. Heaven might be able to do that with her family, bide her time, but I’m different.

We’re different, and it’s not the vows exchanged or the deal.

It’s us.

My blood turns cold.

We’re connected.

Somehow, some way, we’re connected.

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