Page 68 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

The somewhat meaningful glance she throws my way makes me feel like there’s more for her and I to discuss later.

Liam tucks his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. “Why?”

“Well, I’m like a Russian mafia princess, right? Who wouldn’t be after me?”

The deliberate use of the vapid-sounding voice won’t throw Liam off. His gaze sharpens on her. “That’s it, is it?”

“Well yeah,” Stassi tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I can think of like, at least ten different guys who would want to marry me.”

“Can you now?” Liam practically purrs.

Oh. Interesting.

This version of Liam is a little more dangerous, perhaps, and while I’m not concerned for anyone’s safety, I am curious how my future sister-in-law is going to handle this.

Intrigued, I straighten in my chair.

“Obviously. I’m a catch, Liam.”

This is getting dangerously close to flirting.

But Anastasia Novikov has made it very, very clear that she’s not going to be flirting with my brother anytime soon.

Unless, of course, it suits some other purpose of hers.

Liam, bless his soul, hasn’t figured out a damn thing yet. “But who is trying to catch you, Anastasia,” he growls. “They can’t do a fuckin’ thing, because you’re going to be my wife. Mine.”

Ohhhhhh boy.

There it is.

I stand. “Well. I’m off to find Marco, then.”

“Ro—”

“You two enjoy this,” I wave a hand.

I leave my brother and his fiancé, staring at each other, and I give a small laugh as I walk away.

Stassi and Liam have something going on. Whatever it is, it’s theirs to figure out. But from the sound of the possession in his voice? My brother’s falling hard.

For a woman who, under no circumstances, wants to love her husband.

Marco’s in the barn.

I went to the garden first, naturally, but he wasn’t there. Since I didn’t think that Marco had just up and left, I reasoned that he was somewhere. Initially, I had just decided I would simply hear from him later, and walked away.

But I wanted to go to the barn.

Riding, when I was little, was something my mother had made me do. In her head, proper Irish girls, whether they be raised in the city or the country, needed to be able to ride a horse. My father and Kieran hadn’t thought I was a capable rider, so I hadn’t done much riding during that time in my life, but I still loved to be around horses.

And the barn, apparently, is where Marco decided to end up as well.

I freeze in the door when I first walk in. He’s petting one of the horses, a tall hunter with a lovely chestnut coat and a blaze on its forehead. Marco’s lips are curled into a smile, and whileI can’t hear his words, the soothing cadence of them feels like I’m watching an entirely different Marco.

One that I might have called mine…

Once.

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