Page 41 of Wicked Sinner
"When you start making smart choices," I reply, immediately regretting the words when her face darkens.
"Smart choices?" She stands up abruptly, the silk pajama shorts stoppingfartoo high up on her thighs. My cock reacts instantly, swelling in the confines of my boxer briefs uncomfortably. "You mean choices that benefit you. Choices that make your life easier."
"I mean choices that keep you and our child safe," I reply tightly, trying to keep my voice level.
"Safe from what, exactly?" She crosses her arms over her chest, and I have to force myself not to stare at the way the movement accentuates her breasts. "From the big bad world that somehow managed not to kill me for twenty-seven years before you showed up?"
"From people who would use you to get to me," I explain, though I can hear how worn the argument sounds even to my own ears. "From enemies who?—"
"What enemies?" she interrupts. "You keep talking about these mysterious threats, but I don't see anyone breaking down the door. The only person who's hurt me, who's taken everything away from me, is you."
The accusation hits harder than it should. "I haven't hurt you."
"Haven't you?" She steps closer, and I can see the tears building in her eyes. "Caesar, I haven't been outside in a week. I haven't breathed fresh air or felt grass under my feet. I don't know if my friend Jenny is worried sick about me, or if my garage is falling apart without me there to run it. I don't know if the bills are piling up, if the bank is going to foreclose, if everything my father worked for is being destroyed while I sit here in your ivory tower."
Each word is like a knife twist, and I find myself taking a step back. "I told you already that I have your financial obligations?—"
"I don't want you to handle them," she says fiercely. "I want to handle them myself. I want my life back, Caesar. My choices, my responsibilities, my freedom."
“If you would just—” I take a deep breath. “Listen to me, Bridget. It’s not just about danger. You’re carrying my heir. Once word gets out, there are expectations, and if I were to marry someone else, our child?—”
"Then maybe we shouldn't let word get out," she interrupts. "Maybe I should just go home, raise this child in peace, and you can go find yourself a nice mafia princess to marry."
The words feel like a slap. It’s all but exactly what Konstantin told me to offer her. To pay her off, have her and the child disappear. But the difference is that even paid off, she’d be expected to leave. To walk away from everything that she’s clamoring so loudly to go back to.
“Even if I let you go,” I say quietly, “you can’t just go back home. Even if I gave you money and sent you away, you’d have to leave Miami.”
Bridget goes still. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because you’re carrying my child. A threat to any other child I have, and everything they stand to inherit.”
Bridget’s jaw tightens. “I don’t give a fuck about your hierarchy or your archaic rules, Caesar. I want to go home.”
I remember what Danny told me. What Konstantin wants. I could protect her, probably, even if she went home. I could make her continued safety here part of my conditions if I agree to what Konstantin wants. But that would mean letting her go.
Letting mychildgo.
"No," I say quietly. “You're mine. You and the child you're carrying."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her processing the raw possessiveness in my voice—a sound that startled even me, as it came from my lips. "I'm not a possession, Caesar."
"Aren't you?" I move closer, drawn by some force I can't control.Shedraws me, every time, like a magnet to iron. "From the moment you told me you were pregnant, from the moment I realized you were carrying my blood, you became mine. Whether you like it or not."
"That's not how it works," she whispers, but I can hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"It's exactly how it works," I correct, reaching out to cup her cheek. She doesn't pull away this time, though I can feel her trembling. "In my world, at least."
"Your world is fucked up," she says quietly, but she doesn't move away from my touch.
"Maybe," I agree. "But it's the world that will allow me to give you and our child a life that will ensure you never want for anything. The life our child will be raised in?—"
"It doesn't have to be."
"Yes, it does." I stroke my thumb across her cheekbone, and I can see, for a brief second, her struggling not to react. For a moment, her eyes go hooded, as if she’s struggling not to react, a tremor running through her at my touch, as I slide my fingers up to brush her hair behind her ear. "This is who I am, Bridget. This is who our child will be. You can fight it all you want, but it won't change the truth."
When she opens her eyes again fully, locking them on mine, there's something new there—not acceptance, exactly, but a kind of weary resignation. "You really believe this is the only way, don't you?"
"I know it is."
