Page 27 of Hostile Bond
She nods a little. “I’m glad that old guy is dead, but… I know what this means now.” My eyebrows lift. “Dré and Letterman will go after that banker. What if they never come back? They’re at war now, aren't they?”
“André will send men to New York. There’s too much to plan and figure out here.” I climb onto the same step, getting ready to go back to my room.
“Theywillgo. I know they will.” She sags. “I heard Dré tell Giovanni that he’d personally kill everyone responsible. Dré does his own thing. He always has.”
I stiffen. She’s right. Even though I’m confused and disoriented by the explosion, I still love him. Truly. Honestly. Whole-heartedly.
Deep within the marrow of my bones, I know André cares about me on some level, whether it's true love or an obsessive bond that would burn out quicker than a match.
However, he’s unpredictable and wild. His moods change like the downdraft flowing out of a thunderstorm. A man like him wouldn’t obey the pleading request of a wife who thinks it safer to send a team of hitmen after Acer, rather than take on the role himself.
Because this is all part of the game and this is his most courageous move yet.
“Do you love him?” she whispers.
“Yeah… I do.” I admit, unsure why it feels odd to confess such a thing.
“Then please… make him stay.” She drops her gaze to her toes and launches off the final step. “I—I can’t lose anyone else.”
I watch her stroll across the beige concrete effect tiles and disappear into the central room of the house where the late afternoon sunlight dapples oversized couches. If only it’s easy to make him listen.
Taking the stairs two at a time, heavy masculine footfall sounds from behind me. My heart rate elevates and my skin tingles with awareness.
André.
“Sin…” His rough textured voice electrifies my body, sending it into shock and priming it for his whims. “Wait for me.”
I hate how my pulse is haywire and my skin shivers at his touch. His control. His dominance. Even now, in the wake of so much death, I still can’t control how I react to him. Rather than stop, I keep going. It might seem like a childish thing to do, but I’ve never been one to take orders and I won’t start now.
“Sin…” My spine rains with goosebumps. “Are you pissed at me? Christ… are you upset? Surely not. The guy deserved everything he got out there.”
“I couldn’t care less about Frankie,” I say without looking at him. “Would have been nice to have had a heads up, though. As usual, I was left in the dark about the real reason you brought him here.”
“Look… it wasn’t planned,” André replies, almost catching up with me. “I went against Tommy’s order to keep him alive.”
The sensual scent of him slips over my shoulder, his overbearing presence chasing me along the corridor. Still, I refuse to slow my strides. My mind is a mess. I can’t figure out if I’m a victim in this too, a foolish woman who’s lost herself, her independence and fallen for the bad guy.
“Sin!” He grabs my elbow and swings me around to face him, piercing me with a fierce gaze. He grunts when I shove back at him to create a measure of space.
“Stand fucking still. Mat told me you were at the shore. It's over now. He’s dead. That motherfucker will never touch my wife again. No one threatens you and lives afterward.”
I suck in a breath despite my efforts to play this cool and collected. Bracing myself, I hitch my chin to meet his carbon black eyes. My heart thrums, reminding me how I really feel. How I’ve always adored him. And to make matters worse, when I lock eyes with him, our chemistry crackles. Rogue sparks shoot off like fireworks and my heart thunders.
The confused little girl inside of me remembers the rebellious boy he once was—even back then. I was captivated by him, and decades later, I’m still enthralled by his untamed nature.
However, I can’t help questioning his motives. Would we be married today if it weren’t for my mafia roots? I pull back my shoulders and try my best not to yield to the sexual tension, to stand firm against the broody persona before me.
The expression on his face turns stormy as I quietly stare up at him, mulling over what to say. His throat works as he waits, releasing a barely audible grunt when I sigh.
“What do you want me to say, Dré?” I shrug. “I’m happy he’s gone and grateful that Mammy is finally safe. Ireallyam. But after what your brother Matheus said, I can’t shake the feeling this was all staged from the very beginning—that you finally got what you wanted all along—Sicily.”
He stalks forward, so abruptly that my heart stutters. Ruthless fingers fist my hair before he bends and jerks my face closer to his. “You think I killed him for Sicily?” he snarls, the sonorous melody adding gasoline to my libido. “Fuck Sicily.”
I inhale him deep into my lungs, biting my lower lip as my skin flames with lust. Being this close to him scrambles my brain. He could tell me anything and I’d still be shamefully wet. That’s how pitiful I’ve become.
“My new position automatically makes you an influential mafia godfather now, Hotshot. Our phony marriage set that up and Frankie’s death etched those shallow vows in gold.” I point out, feeling hazily double-crossed.
His spine locks. “I wiped him out because of what he did to you, nothing more, nothing less,” he snarls, his pelvis butting into my belly as his temper strains.
