Page 56 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

He shrugs. “It’s new.”

“Okay. Well. Good for you, I think,” I mutter. I eye the bed. If I just tug the sheets back, he won’t be able to see the tear stains…

I go for it.

Quickly, I tuck myself back in, pulling the covers up around my chin. I look at him, then glance at a chair that Stassi tucked up under the window. “You can sit there.”

“I’ve been out in the cold all night,” he growls.

“And you smell like it,” I say. It’s a cheap shot, I know. But I don’t know what I’m going to do if Marco climbs into the bed.

He glowers at me.

Without saying another word, Marco grabs his bag and stomps into the bathroom attached to the guest suite. I hear the shower come on, and I cower under the blankets.

Stop thinking about him naked, Ro. It’s not okay. Just focus on your problems. The fact that you are at risk of losing everything. The fact that you…

The door to the bathroom opens and Marco reappears…

Without a shirt on.

I resist the urge to squeak with shock, and instead roll over. I’m fully ready for Marco to get into the chair, but to my shock, the bed dips.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Sleeping.”

My jaw works. I can’t believe that he just… got into the bed.

“I recommend you do the same.”

I huff. “I was sleeping.”

“No,you weren’t.”

The sound is slightly muffled by the blankets, but I snort again. “How do you know?”

“I heard you crying.”

I stiffen. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I heard you.”

“You heard wrong?—”

Abruptly, the bed shifts. The covers get pulled down, and within a heartbeat, Marco looms over me, his eyes dark as he stares down.

“You were crying. And I’m not doing a childish back and forth with you, Roisin. I heard you crying. You have every fucking right to be scared. We’re here, but it doesn’t sound like your brother or your future sister-in-law is in a position to figure out what happened, or why you’re being blamed. Someone in your brother’s organization is fucking selling you out, and Liam is going to have to trust both of us in order to figure out who the fuck it is. Hell, it could be him,” he grunts.

I look away.

“It’s not looking good. But sitting here and arguing with me isn’t going to fucking help,” Marco mutters.

I don’t answer.

---