Page 16 of The Mafia's Bride
I honor my obligations. Including caring for Ace’s little menace of a sister.
Barbie swallows, holding out her hand to Sloane. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Sloane just giggles, unmoving.
“No, just you.”
She looks as if she’ll protest, then thinks better of it, cursing under her breath.
Glaring at her retreating form, I make it a point to remember her. If she can leave Sloane with a viable stranger, she’s not someone I want around my wife.
“Sloane,” I say, turning just as she falls forward. Her head slams into my chin, clipping her and rattling my teeth. Blood blooms on my tongue.
Palming my hand on her head, I hold her still, rubbing my jaw. Her eyes have closed, the drugs finally taking over her body. Soon, she’ll pass out.
Right on cue, she begins to fall and I grab, swinging her up into my arms. Her weight is a distant thought as her head falls into the crook of my shoulder and neck, like she belongs there.
The soft scent of roses drifts over me and I instinctively inhale.
Glaring down at the prone woman, I shake my head. “You’re a goddamn menace, woman.”
6
LEX
Isit at my desk, watching the steady rise and fall of Sloane’s chest like a child watching the clock for the end of school. It rises and I count to three before she exhales, her chest falling. I count again.
I don’t have to watch her breathing—I’m probably verging on stalking at this point. But I know how strong our pills are and the risks involved. Tony and I have dropped a few overdoses on the steps of Boston General more times than not.
Over and over, I count and wait, repeating the instinct. My men come in to give me their hourly deposits, but I don’t look away, too distracted by the O’Brien woman.
Only when a few of them linger, their eyes taking in her creamy legs and ample chest, do I move, covering her with my suit jacket.
She’s Ace’s sister, and I don’t need a war starting before the wedding. But beyond that, there’s a primal part of me that’s clamped down on my need to shield Sloane, to protect her in any ways possible.
It’s nearly two in the morning when her eyes flutter, those deep green orbs pulling my attention again. Not like I was focused on my work.
She inhales sharply, brows furrowed, doe eyes scanning her surroundings before she swings her legs over the edge, the suit jacket crumpling to the ground.
I swallow, mesmerized by her. I’ve heard rumors about the O’Brien daughters. Whereas most boys are given the sex talk, Nico warned me and his only son Dom away from them.
They were devils, disguised as angels, meant to steal your soul with a singular look. Watching Sloane move, like water, subtle but graceful, I have no doubt that it’s true. She’s a devious saint, meant to temp the most devoted of men.
I knew enough from the tabloids. She had a habit of getting into the spotlight for her wild ways. Rumors abound through the family that Ferguson and she weren’t close, with a few whispers of abuse.
My hands fist at my side, watching her stand, looking out the club windows before turning back to me. The idea a man could hurt his daughter sours my gut, stoking the irritation already coiled there from my failure to find the rat.
With the way her hair flares around her, matching her painted toenails, she reminds me of hellfire and passion, a bundle of nerves just readying to explode.
Ferguson might have tried to tame his youngest daughter, but it clearly never worked.
As my future bride, that would fall to me. I have no intention of doing so. I want her bright, fiery, and passionate because life is terribly dull with a mechanical wife. I just need her loyalty above all else.
As a future De Luca wife, she has a role to play. Spitting off into the wrong face or fucking the wrong person in public wouldn’t look well—for the family or, more importantly, for me.
My mind flashes to that blonde in the stairwell and a bubble of jealousy strikes my belly. I would be damned if she thought she could fuck someone other than me. At least, not without my permission.
As much as marriages should be for love, this is a contract. Not one I will negate.
