Page 71 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

I look at Marco, and I utter one word.

“Yes.”

13

MARCO

I haveto keep her safe.

With the horse’s sides heaving between my legs, and my nerves buzzing with adrenaline, the thought keeps presenting itself over and over again.

I don’t give a fuck about Liam right now. I feel a little bad about Stassi, because she’s a pretty cool person and I know my sister and Gia both like her a lot, but I needed to get Roisin out of there, and I needed to do it fast.

Abandoning them was the only option.

Racing away from the manor house, I keep Roisin and her horse in my sights at all times. I have no other thoughts in my head, other than one.

I have to keep her safe.

It’s extremely goddamn frustrating.

I should leave her there. Liam’s business, her business, isclearly not my business. I should take the opportunity to escape, and run back to my family. Where I belong.

Except I don’t fucking belong there.

I don’t belong anywhere.

But I absolutely can’t let her stay here when I know that she’s being fucking hunted.

My mind races as we speed toward the coast.

If we can make it to Donegal, I have a way for us to get the hell out of here.

Roisin isn’t going to like it. But hitting the ocean is the only option. Once we get to the coast, if I can find a boat, we can get the fuck off of this island.

And a head start on whoever is hunting her like this.

I know she has questions. Fuck. I have them too.

But we can’t answer shit if we’re being hunted…

If she’s being hunted.

There it is again. I could walk away. Any time.

But Roisin can’t.

The horses run, and I direct the chestnut gelding to a path through what looks like some kind of nature preserve. While I normally don’t give a shit about nature, I’m grateful now.

The trees provide some cover.

Cover that we desperately need.

The village is probably a half-mile away. If we continue on horseback, we’re more likely to be noticed, so I wrap my hands around the horse’s neck, murmuring slightly and pulling back.

Well-trained creature that he is, he slows, and the gray mare that Roisin is riding slows too.

The horses pant, their nostrils flaring. I slide off of the chestnut’s back, then move to Roisin.

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