Page 83 of Precious Hazard

Tara’s spine stiffens, and she leans into me. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up, all things considered.

“You know something about my boy’s whereabouts?” the Greek sneers through his teeth.

“I don’t bother with small fish, Katrakis. Perhaps you should look for your spawn in Atlantic City. As I’ve heard, he tends to frequent the casinos there quite regularly. Maybe that’s how he ended up losing the deed to the property that’s now mine?”

“You scumbag,” he hisses. “Always too full of yourself. You think you’re better than everyone else? Well, you’re not! See”—his angry gaze slides to Tara—“you’re screwing my son’s scraps. How does—”

For more than a decade now, one simple rule has been my credo.Do not lose your shit in front of prospective business associates.That means I’ve had to control my temper more often than this fucknut’s shit-for-brains offspring jerked off to his own reflection. Along with biting my tongue, I’ve had to curb every impulse for violence. Any deviation would tarnish the carefully crafted reputation our Family has been trying to maintain. To outside society, I’ve done everything possible to appear as nothing but a savvy businessman. One who would never engage in a physical confrontation with someone amid a crowd of witnesses. Never.

My fist connects with Katrakis’s face before the son of a bitch utters his next syllable. He flies backward, landing on his ass several feet away.

Screams erupt across the room as guests notice the commotion and the blood gushing from Katrakis’s broken nose. He doesn’t try to rise, just keeps lying between two tall tables and moaning like the fucking sissy he is.

“This is the one and only time you will disrespect my wife,” I growl. “Say another word about her, and I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it up your ass. Mark my words.”

A collective gasp rises from the crowd that have gathered around the Greek. But no one is even trying to help him because everyone is staring at me. I’ve met almost all of them at one time or another, and they probably thought they knew me. I thought I knew myself, too. I was wrong. I didn’t spare a single breath thinking about that credo of mine or the ramifications of my actions. All I thought of was my wife. And how I will never allow anyone to hurt her.

“Let’s head out.” Putting my hand on the small of Tara’s back, I urge her toward the exit, silently telling my guys with a look to stay put and deal with the fallout here instead.

“That was subtle,” Tara murmurs next to me as we walk away. “Whatever happened to that ‘make no scenes’ and ‘cause no scandals’ decree you plastered all over the terms of our agreement?”

“I’m”—cough—“in a bad mood,” I grumble while trying to squelch the scratchy pressure in the back of my throat.

“No shit.”

We’ve picked up our coats and are heading down the hallway that leads to the main doors when the sound of someone calling my wife’s name behind us stops me. I glance over my shoulder and spot a twentysomething man in a form-fitting suit running toward us.

“Tara!” he yells again. “Is that really you?”

My wife turns around, and my hand falls from her back.

“Conrad? Oh my God! When did you get back?!”

Conrad? I search my memory. Did she mentiona Conradto me? The ache in my head is ramping up, and I can’t remember.Fuck.I really need to get some serious sleep.

As the guy reaches us, it hits me. The brat of an oil tycoon. The one whostillcalls her. The one shecould havemarried. And probably wishes she did.

“I can’t believe this! Itisyou,” the guy exclaims and pullsmy wifeinto an embrace.

That’s the final straw. The tipping point. The last drop that sends my brimming jealousy over the edge. I wrap my arm around Tara’s middle from behind, lifting her out of his reach while I fist the front of the idiot’s jacket with my other hand. “Step. Away.”

“The fuck, DeVille?” Tara thrashes in my hold, her feet kicking several inches above the floor. “What’s wrong with you?”

“ArturoDeVille?” The pissant backs up a step. Surprise flashes in his eyes as they dart from me to Tara and back again.

“Correct.” With my glare locked on the handsy little fuck, I dip my head until my stubbly cheek rests against the smooth expanse of Tara’s. “Is that your ex-fiancé?”

“What? No… I mean, yes. No. No! It wasn’t official— Would you let me go already?”

Afiancé. I crush Tara harder to my chest and touch my lips to the shell of her ear. “You should tell the boy to leave.”

“I won’t. We haven’t seen each other in years. Put me down, damn it.” She tries to kick my shin.

The brat must have a couple of working brain cells in his head after all because he appears to have grasped the situation, and he takes another step back. Good. His chances of escaping alive have marginally improved. Considering I’ve already goneoff the deep end tonight, at the moment, I’m close to ripping him limb from limb.

“Put your hands on my wife again, and I’ll fucking end you,” I growl.

His eyes shoot to Tara’s hand, which is wrapped around my wrist. With my palm splayed across her stomach, her right hand and my left are nearly side-by-side. Our matching wedding bands glisten front and center. His gaze lingers on the rings for a brief second before sliding away.

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