Page 4 of A Wife's Duty

She was strong. No one saw her strength. He did.

“Let me tell you a little secret. It’s not a hard one to understand.” He cleared his throat. “I will not kill you, or harm you, if you do exactly as I say. If you follow me, and you follow my rules.”

“You have rules?”

“Yes, and they are simple.” She turned toward him and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her cleavage. The dress hugged her in all of the right ways, just as he knew it would. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t go behind my back. Don’t run back to your family. I’m the one that will keep you safe. You can see this marriage as a prison, or freedom. I don’t want a slave, nor a doormat. I want a wife who can hold her head high and stay by my side. Do you think you can handle that?”

Her eyes had gotten wider. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure, and we’re here. Think about it.” The car came to a stop, and he didn’t wait for one of his men to open the door. He climbed out, held his hand toward her, and she didn’t hesitate. Sliding her hand in his, he helped her out of the car.

Mitchell and Sandra had done wonders for her. They were the best hair and makeup artists that worked for him. They each had their own salons in the city. The mafia had attempted to close them down, forcing them to pay for protection. That was what they did, forced the building rates up. They had to pay to work within the Italian mafia turf.

They didn’t have to pay him a fucking dime. People had the right to run their own business how they saw fit.

He rose up, took back turf, and stopped people from paying fees they didn’t have to. He provided the protection by being there. His soldiers were told to keep them all safe. It was what he did. He earned money through many different business ventures, most of them legal.

It was kind of hilarious, because he didn’t run girls, push drugs, or even traffic or do anything evil. He killed people who wouldn’t listen to him. He gave them choices, and if they chose wrong, there were consequences.

He had been trained since he was a kid. Nobody knew of his past, and no one would ever know. That was his life. A life that was no more.

Stepping into the nightclub, the music was loud, which was exactly the way he liked it. The dance floor was already full, but he escorted Lucia to the private spot. There were several people who paid a great deal of money for their reserved VIP spots.

One of his waitresses came over, and he ordered them both a drink.

“I don’t drink,” Lucia said.

“I ordered you an orange,” he said.

He was pretty sure she was blushing beneath the makeup.

Lucia nodded her head, and then turned toward the dance floor. Her life with her family had been closed off. There was no way she would have seen the inside of a nightclub. Her father didn’t like her. He kept her locked up, training to be the perfect little wife who would not make waves.

She had deserved better. Boone had seen the fire within her gaze. Lucia was not meant to be kept locked up. It would drive her insane.

The waitress came back with their drinks. Lucia thanked her, picked up her drink, and took a sip.

He had made sure there was no alcohol, but her gaze was completely enraptured by the dance floor. The music was heavy and thick, and it sounded so fucking good. He was about to ask her to dance, when one of his men got his attention with a nod. Something was up.

“Stay here,” he said, getting to his feet.

Ronald had been with him from the start. The man knew how he liked to conduct his business. They didn’t talk as they made their way toward the back of the nightclub and exited toward one of the back alleys. There was a small light on, and Ronald turned toward him. He didn’t say a word, and he looked down to see that Ronald was holding a little bag of white powder.

“Who?”

“There.” He nodded to his left. “He was dealing, but you recognize the logo.”

“Yeah, I do.”

It was the Italian mafia his wife’s family was part of, the Bonaldis. He would recognize this shit anywhere, and it was being dealt within his own club. He was pissed off now.

Handing the bag back to Ronald, he made his way toward the man who had attempted to deal that shit in his club. He couldn’t stand drugs. They were the Devil’s work. He had seen what it did to people, to families, and he wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

“Look, man, I was told this was no big deal.”

“What’s your name?”

“Fuck you.”

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