Page 83 of Wicked Sinner
“Well.” Isabella looks at her fingernails, inspecting her manicure, before her sharp gaze flicks back up to mine. “I’m sure he’s told you all about his past, then. How he left at seventeen because he wanted no part of all of this? How he tried to come crawling back, but his daddy said no? He had no use for his prodigal son. How he’s an outcast begging Konstantin for his inheritance now, instead of it being handed over to that handsome Irishman who married the Russo girl?”
I try to keep my face blank, but I’m not a good enough actress. Caesar has told me very little about all of that. I know what I read when I Googled him, and I know what he admitted to, but it wasn’t much. The story Isabella is telling sounds much more dramatic, and I’m not sure she’s lying.
I lick my dry lips, facing off with Isabella and knowing I’m losing. She knows this world, knows all the gossip, all the families. She knows more than I ever will, which means, despite the fact that he’s been inside me, that I’m carrying his baby, she knows my husband better than I do.
I feel a stab of pain in my chest at that thought, harsher than it should be. This isn’t real—but the thought of this woman knowing Caesar better than I do hurts, and I don’t know why.
“I didn’t think so.” Isabella smiles coldly at me. “Caesar Genovese isn’t some romantic anti-hero, Bridget. He’s not some sophisticated mafia boss, either. He’s a runaway who did god knows what over in Europe for years, before trying to convince Don Genovese to let him back into the fold. He would have beenluckyto be allowed to marry me. So what I can’t figure out—” She trails her gaze down my body and back up again. “Well, maybe I can figure part of it out. He couldn’t help himself and fucked you, and you got pregnant. So now he thinks he can make a princess out of a peasant. But you’ll never get the smell of grease off, and he’ll eventually regret losing out on what he could have had.” She smiles. “Me.”
I want to slap the expression off of her face. “If he’s such a fuck-up,” I say mildly, “what does it say about you that you wanted to marry him?”
Isabella laughs. “You’re so naive. Caesar is at the bottom of the food chain right now, when it comes to the big dogs of this city. Konstantin and Tristan rule. And my father, who never could quite rise above the names like Genovese and Russo, could make Caesar do whatever he wanted, with me as his wife.Anything, since Caesar would owe him his position. And Caesar issofucking rich.” She smirks. “Filthy rich. He’d have to give me anything I wanted for my whole life so my father wouldn’t abandon him. And all I’d have to give him is a couple of brats. Not that difficult. I mean—look at him. He has that going for him. I’d have fucked him already if he didn’t have some weird loyalty toyou.”
I blow out a breath through my nose. “That’s my husband you’re talking about?—”
“And I should have been his wife.” That cold smile is back on her lips. “That’s a mistake that's going to get him killed."
Despite myself, my heart skips. "What do you mean?"
"Do you think the other families are just going to accept this insult? Do you think they're going to stand by while Caesar thumbs his nose at decades of tradition by marrying some nobody who can't offer him anything but a bastard child?"
“He said?—”
“Forget what he said. He’s a rebellious child trying to make a stand by marrying his whore.” Isabella stands up, and I catch a waft of her expensive perfume as she walks toward me, a contemptuous expression on her face. "What do you bring to this marriage, Bridget? What connections? What power? What protection can you offer him when the Cubans decide he's more trouble than he's worth? When the lesser families refuse to give him his due? When Konstantin himself decides that Caesar has become a liability?"
I stiffen, not knowing what to say. She has the upper hand, and she knows it. I don’t know enough about this world to argue any of her points, and my head is still spinning with what she’s told me about Caesar. I can’t defend him because, for all I know, everything she’s saying is true.
All I have is what he’s told me. That I need to be here, married to him, to keep myself and our child safe until he’s dealtwith the threats to us. But according to Isabella, he’s weak. At a disadvantage. And I’ve made it worse by saying yes, by enabling him to rebel against what the more powerful bosses want him to do.
I swallow hard. "I didn't ask for any of this.”
"No, but you're here anyway. And your presence is making Caesar weak." Isabella stops directly in front of me. "He's so focused on protecting you, on proving that he made the right choice, that he's not seeing the threats closing in around him. Every day he stays married to you is another day his enemies grow bolder."
"That's not my fault."
"Isn't it?" She narrows a sharp look at me, her lips pressed together. "You could leave. Divorce him, disappear, give him the chance to fix this mess before it destroys him. Let me clean it up for you. I’ll be right there to comfort him when he realizes his new wife has abandoned him."
"I can't just?—"
"Why? Because you love him?" Isabella laughs, the sound sharp and mocking. "Please. You've known him for what, a few weeks? You think that's love? That's just good sex and Stockholm syndrome."
Heat floods my cheeks. "I’m not in love with him.”Why do I sound so defensive?I’m telling the truth. I don’t love Caesar. I don’t?—
“So, what? You want his money? His influence? Because he won’t have influence, married to you, and that money will only go so far when—” Her eyes widen. “Wait. Are you hoping he dies, so you get all of it? I might actually respect you then?—”
“Get the fuck out.” I stride toward the door, flinging it open. “I don’t have to listen to this. This isn’t your house, it’s mine and Caesar’s, and he’s my husband, not yours. I might not know anything about your world, and I might not be the best mafiawife, but I trust that he knows what he’s doing. Now fucking get out.”
I realize, as I say that last part, that I believe it. I do trust Caesar, despite everything—at least when it comes to wanting to keep me and the baby safe.
Or at least, I did before Isabella revealed just how little I knew about him.
"I'm trying to help you," Isabella says, her voice taking on a fake sweetness. "I'm trying to save you from the heartbreak that's coming when Caesar realizes he needs to make a choice between you and his empire."
"I said, get out!"
"Fine." Isabella moves toward the door, then pauses to look back at me. "But think about what I've said. Think about whether you really want to be the reason Caesar Genovese loses everything his family built. Think about whether that baby you're carrying deserves to grow up in a world where their father's enemies will always be hunting them."
She's almost to the door when Caesar steps into the doorway, stopping cold at the scene in front of him. His sharp blue gaze takes in what’s happening—Isabella in his living room, me standing there looking shaken—and his expression turns absolutely murderous.
