Page 89 of Cruel Deception
That word rolled off his tongue like a blade.
The man’s smirk faltered. “You’re married? You never said anything.”
Cassian shrugged, unbothered, stripping off his shirt and revealing the black race gear beneath. His torso was all carved muscle and silent warnings.
Another guy laughed. “Well, let’s make it interesting then. If I win tonight, you give me your girl for the night.”
Cassian froze mid-motion, his boot halfway on. He stood up slowly—dangerously—belt in hand.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t smile.
He just said, “Disrespect my wife again and I’ll send your body back to your father in pieces.”
Dead silence.
The man held his hands up in surrender, eyes wide. “It was a joke, bro. Relax.”
“Then don’t joke like a dead man,” Cassian muttered, lacing his boots.
The guy muttered something under his breath and walked off, helmet under arm.
“He’s your opponent?” I asked, stunned.
“Yeah.” Cassian didn’t even glance up. “My uncle’s spoiled son.”
Blood relatives. Of course. Because mafia drama ran deeper than DNA.
Once Cassian finished gearing up, he stood tall and nodded toward me. “Wish me luck.”
“Is it time?” I asked, following him.
“In ten. I have to report to the player zone.”
I reached up, grabbed the collar of his suit, and kissed him. Just a soft press of lips. A small rebellion.
“Good luck.”
He didn’t kiss back. But he didn’t pull away either.
“Any man approaches you, tell them who you are,” he said.
“Who am I?”
“Cassian Moretti’s wife.” His tone held no pride. Only truth.
“Just like that?”
“They fear me.”
He walked away.
And I stood there, heart pounding.
They fear me.
He wasn’t bluffing.
