Page 9 of The Mob Boss's Bride
"Wives can't testify." He slides the ring onto my finger, where it sits, heavy and foreign. "You'll be safe. And I'll never let anyone touch you."
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss isn't gentle or questioning—it's possessive, demanding, his hand cupping the back of my head to hold me in place. His lips are firm, insistent, coaxing mine open. And god help me, I respond. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams to push him away.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, something addictive. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming it like he's claimed the rest of me. A small sound escapes my throat—not protest, but surrender.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His eyes have gone nearly black, pupils dilated with desire.
"Mine," he whispers against my lips, the word a brand. "Say it."
"Yours," I breathe, the word bypassing my brain entirely. "God help me. Yours."
His smile is all predator, all satisfaction. The diamond on my finger catches the light again, winking like it knows a secret.
And maybe it does. Maybe some part of me wanted this all along. Maybe that's the most terrifying thing of all.
four
. . .
Atlas
The diamond sitson her finger like it was made for her hand. My mark. My claim. I watch her examine it, the way the sunlight splinters through the stone, casting tiny rainbows across her skin. She hasn't taken it off, which satisfies something primitive in me. She agreed. She's mine. Now I just need to make it official before she changes her mind or someone tries to take her from me.
"Stay here," I tell her, my voice rougher than intended. Her eyes lift to mine—still wary, still uncertain, but with something else now. Something that makes my blood heat. "I need to make arrangements."
"For what?" She tugs the hem of my shirt lower on her thighs, a gesture that only draws my attention to the expanse of bare skin below.
"Our wedding." The word hangs between us, solid and undeniable.
She swallows, the movement visible in her slender throat. "Now? Today?"
"Today." I step closer, unable to resist touching her. My fingers trace the line of her jaw. "The sooner, the better."
In my office, I make three calls. The first to Judge Ormond, who owes me several favors and won't ask questions about expedited licenses. The second to my lawyer, who will handle the paperwork and ensure everything is legally binding. The third to Marco.
"I need the west wing prepared. The formal sitting room. And find something appropriate for a bride to wear." A pause as he absorbs this. "Size four, I'd guess. Nothing flashy. Something white."
"Boss, are you?—"
"Just do it, Marco."
I hang up before he can ask questions I don't want to answer. Yes, this is fast. Yes, it's unexpected. No, I don't care what anyone thinks.
My mind returns to Fern as I sign the papers my lawyer sends over. Her softness. The way she trembled when I kissed her. The taste of her—sweet like her pastries but with an unexpected heat beneath. She's everything I didn't know I wanted. Everything I now refuse to live without.
It's not just desire, though that burns hot enough. It's the need to protect, to possess, to keep. She looked at me with those big blue eyes, fear and attraction warring in them, and something in me broke open. Something I thought I'd killed years ago.
By afternoon, everything is ready. I return to the bedroom to find Fern dressed in the clothes I had delivered—a simple white sundress that makes her look even more innocent than she is. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, still damp from the shower. No makeup. She doesn't need it.
"The officiant is here," I tell her, drinking in the sight of her. "Downstairs."
She nods, fingers twisting together. "This is really happening."
"Second thoughts?" I keep my voice neutral, but something must show in my face because she takes a step toward me rather than away.
"No. I mean, yes, but—" She takes a deep breath. "I understand the necessity. I just never imagined my wedding day would be like this."
"What did you imagine?"
