Page 8 of The Mob Boss's Bride
"And a bed?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
His expression shifts, darkens. The amusement vanishes, replaced by something hungrier. "Eventually."
That single word, the way he says it—like a promise, like a threat—makes my body respond in ways I don't want to acknowledge. Heat pools low in my belly.
"I don't even know you," I say, the words sounding weak even to my own ears.
"You know enough." He stands in one fluid motion. "You know I can keep you safe. You know I want you. And you know what happens to witnesses in my world."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm telling you the reality." He approaches slowly, like I'm a skittish animal he doesn't want to frighten. "I'm offering protection the only way I can guarantee it. Take it or don't. But don't pretend there are better options."
"There have to be!"
"Name one." He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "One that doesn't end with you looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. One that keeps you alive and lets you keep your bakery."
I open my mouth, then close it. My mind races for alternatives and finds none.
"I don't—" My voice breaks. "I don't want this."
"Want has nothing to do with it." His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. Despite everything, I don't pull away. "This is survival, Fern. For both of us."
"Both?"
Something flickers in his eyes. "I told you. I want you. Have since you walked into my house with those pastry boxes and those big blue eyes. Marrying you solves two problems at once."
My breath catches. The intensity in his gaze makes me feel exposed, like he can see every thought crossing my mind. Every unwanted flicker of attraction I've felt since meeting him.
"What if I say no?" I whisper.
His expression hardens. "Then I'll still protect you as best I can. But I can't guarantee your safety. Not completely. Not like I could if you were mine."
There's that word again. Mine. Like I'm something to be possessed, claimed.
"And if I say yes?"
"Then no one touches you." His voice drops to a growl. "No one hurts you. Ever. You become untouchable."
I close my eyes, feeling trapped in an impossible choice. "I need time to think."
"We don't have time. Silva's already looking. My men intercepted one of his yesterday evening, asking questions about the 'blonde witness.'"
Fear slices through me, sharp and cold. "How did they find me so fast?"
"The hotel delivery. Your car was parked nearby. It wouldn't take much." His hand slides to my neck, warm and strong. "Say yes, Fern. Let me protect you."
I open my eyes, finding his face closer than before. "If I agree to this... marriage... it would be temporary, right? Just until this blows over?"
Something dangerous flashes across his features. "Is that what you want? Temporary?"
No, whispers a treacherous voice inside me. I ignore it. "Yes. A business arrangement."
He studies me for a long moment, then reaches into his pocket. When his hand emerges, he's holding a ring—platinum band, single large diamond, elegant and obviously expensive.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself." He takes my left hand, the diamond catching the sunlight. "But understand this: while you wear my name, you're mine. Completely. I don't share, not even on paper."
"That's not?—"
