Page 64 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

I step forward, until the space between Liam and I is compressed. We’re about evenly matched in height, and I stare into his fucking eyes like I’m about to take down a bear.

“Roisin ismine,” I snarl.

The vehemence rocks me. It’s the truth, and while I’ve been trying to deny it, I can’t anymore.

Roisin is mine.

And I’ll fucking deal with what that means at another time.

But today?

I’ll burn the world down for her.

12

ROISIN

I have to do something,or Marco and Liam are going to fight.

Stepping forward, I grab Marco’s wrist. “Look, it happened. We don’t know why. I’m fucking tired and I want to take a shower and then we can figure out whether it was Stassi or me, okay?”

Marco doesn’t move from looking at Liam. “I’m here to fucking help,” he grunts. “If you don’t want that, that’s your fucking problem. Not mine.”

Lord save me from fucking idiotic men. “I can save myself. I just need to have a gun next time and we’ll be good. And Stassi was there too, Liam. Don’t you want to check in on your fiancé?”

Liam’s eyes dart to her, noticing her pale face and shaken expression for the first time. It’s like a switch flips in his mind, and his face flushes red. He doesn’t say anything to Marco or me, his eyes drifting back over to Stassi, who looks at him with thetype of hurt that makes me question a whole lot about what she said to me earlier.

You might not want to care about your husband, Stassi, but I think you care a whole lot whether he cares about you.

“Let’s go,” Marco says, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.

I follow him.

We don’t speak. Once we’re inside the house, we go straight to the guest room. I leave Marco standing there, and I close the door behind myself as I enter the little bathroom.

I need to clean off the day.

When I was growing up, the one place my brother and my dad wouldn’t bother me was the bathroom. I don’t know if it was just their one thing that they wouldn’t do, or if it was common decency, or what, but I would turn the shower on and immediately have some time to myself.

So now, whenever I’m stressed or anxious, I’m immediately going to take a shower.

Like right now.

I strip the clothes off, trying not to think about the fact that I very well could have died out there. Instead, I focus on the process. Jeans off. Sweater off. Water on.

I’m in the shower, trying to shake the feeling of being hunted by the world’s worst assassin, when I hear the door click open.

For a second I tense, until I hear Marco say softly, “It’s me.”

“I’m in the shower,” I snap.

“I know. I’m not… I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

He hesitates for a second, and all I can hear is the sound of running water.

“About what happened.”

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