Page 3 of The Mob Boss's Bride
I watch her walk away,this blonde baker with her flour-dusted jeans and nervous eyes, and something primal clicks into place inside me.Mine.The thought comes unbidden, a certainty as solid as bullet casings. I haven't felt this instant hunger for a woman since—fuck, maybe ever. There's something about her softness, the way she tried to hide her trembling fingers, the flush that climbed her neck when I looked at her too long. Vanilla and sugar cling to her skin like a promise, but underneath that sweetness is something else. Something that calls to the darkness in me.
Her ancient car disappears down the drive, but I don't move from the doorway until the gates close behind her. Marco approaches from the shadows of the hall, his footsteps deliberately loud. He knows better than to sneak up on me.
"Boss? Donovan's waiting in your office."
I turn, still tasting that petit four on my tongue. Sweet, with a hint of bitter dark chocolate.Like her. Sweet on the surface, but with depths.
"Run a full background on Fern Whitaker. Owner of Sweet Ferns bakery."
Marco doesn't blink, doesn't question. "How deep?"
"Everything. Family, financials, daily habits, exes. I want to know what she eats for breakfast and which side of the bed she sleeps on."
His eyebrow twitches slightly—the most surprise he'll ever show. "That thorough?"
"And put two men on her. Discreet. She shouldn't know they're there."
"She a problem?"
The question grates against my nerves. I pin him with a look that makes him step back. "She's not a problem. She's mine. Make sure nothing happens to her."
"Yes, boss." He retreats, already pulling out his phone.
In my office, Donovan waits with the shipment manifests I requested. Business continues—the movement of goods through my territory, the protection payments from local establishments, the delicate politics of power. But through it all, I'm distracted by thoughts of pale blue eyes and trembling hands.
Innocent. She's so fucking innocent. The word is an aphrodisiac after years of women who know exactly who and what I am, who come to me for the danger or the money or the power. Fern looked at me and saw something that frightened her. And still, she stood her ground. Still, she met my eyes.
I want to consume her. To ruin her, and keep her, and protect her all at once.
Hours later, when business is concluded, I find myself saying: "I have another job tonight. Personal supervision."
Donovan knows better than to ask questions. This is unusual—I don't typically handle street-level exchanges anymore. But something tells me to go, the same instinct that's kept me alive in this business for fifteen years.
Night falls, bringing with it a fine mist that turns the city lights into smeared halos. The warehouse district is empty except for the occasional security guard or homeless person seeking shelter. My car purrs to a stop two blocks from the meeting point, dark and unobtrusive.
"Check the perimeter," I tell Vex, my most trusted lieutenant.
He slips out, a shadow among shadows.
Tonight should be simple. A new supplier wants territory rights. They bring a sample, we negotiate terms, money changes hands. Standard operation, barely worth my time, but I've learned to listen to my gut.
My phone buzzes. A text from Marco:
Subject closed bakery at 7:30. Now making delivery to Marceau Hotel, 2 blocks from your position.
My heart rate kicks up. Fern. Here. Tonight. Near my deal. The coincidence is too neat, feels wrong immediately. I text back:
Eyes on her every second. No one approaches.
Copy.
Vex returns. "All clear, but the supplier brought extra muscle. Four guys, all armed."
I check my watch. Five minutes to the meeting. "Let's make this quick."
We approach the warehouse, senses hyperalert. Two men stand outside, hands inside their jackets—not even trying to hide that they're carrying. I nod to them as we pass. Inside, the supplier waits—Ramon Silva, a new player trying to expand north. He's flanked by two more men, all tension and thinly veiled ambition.
"Vale," he acknowledges me, extending his hand. "Appreciate you coming personally."
