Page 83 of The Mafia's Bride
“That’s not me!” the smelly guy yells, hands up high. “I swear. I come in, Dom checks the crates, and they leave. I swear it!”
“Then you won’t mind answering some questions.” Lex shoves one more time before removing the gun. “We have a man who excels in getting the right information.”
Marco’s eyes dart from Lex, to me, then Killian at my side. His bottom lip trembles in fear.
“I believe you’re familiar with Killian Linwood.” His pale face goes ghost white, fright knocking his knees together like a ringing bell.
“No. No. I’ll do anything. Anything buthim.” I almost feel sorry for him.
Killian just smiles. And it’s then I see the man everyone has been so afraid of. The man Lex thought would hurt me for speaking out of turn.
The captain does something daring. He raises his gun at me.
I take one step back, fear pushing me to run. Another gun in my face in the span of twenty-four hours and everything slows.
Lex reacts instantly. His gun rises once more, three bullets striking the captain. Two in the head and one in the throat.
The body drops with a wet plop, and the rest of the crew freezes, no one daring to strike now. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging into my limbs.
Air rushes out between parted lips as his blood seeps into the floor, trailing toward my Gucci boots.
Lex killed a man.For me. To keep me safe.
I should be frightened, terrified. Instead, I’m grateful my husband chose to protect me than second guess his morals. He chose me, over everything else.
“Killian, grab that one,” Lex dictates to a crew hand to our left. He looks ready to vomit. “Tony, call a crew to come clean this up.”
He steps over the body, grabbing my hand. Carefully, he searches my eyes, smiling as he notices not one trickle of fear mars my face. I’m not afraid of him.
“For your Captain daring to rise his weapon at my wife, I’ll be sure to give Linwood extra time,” he says to the man, Killian grabbing him around the neck to shove him at the exit.
Lex doesn’t take his eyes off of me, leading me back to the car, letting his men take care of the rest.
33
SLOANE
Lex put me to bed last night, but never stayed.
I’m annoyed but given what happened last night, I can’t expect him to remain. He has a business to run and I have a life to make sense of.
This morning, I had a new phone sitting beside my side of the bed, already programed with all my numbers. I noticed Danica’s wasn’t listed and although it’s been a week since we spoke, to be completely silent is unlike her.
I should have heard from her by now. There would have been a text about a party, or asking to borrow a few bracelets for a date. Something to show me she was alive, but it’s quiet.
I don't want to believe Lex would kill her to keep me away, but I saw what happened on the ship. Lex told me my safety comes before everything else. Eliminating Danica, getting rid of the drugs and bad decisions, would certainly fall under that promise.
Now, my gut starts to churn with worry. Gone is the Sloane who didn’t care about others, now I’m worried I might have gotten Danica killed.
I don’t worry about the captain. He made his choice when he pulled a gun on the future capo and then tried to shoot me.
Lex did that to save me. The captain would have shot me, whether it was to keep secrets or to push Lex, he was willing to take me out to serve his purposes. Lex was just doing what he promised—keep me safe.
Sitting at the counter of the chef’s kitchen, I watch Maria flint from the sink, to the stove and back, tapping my phone waiting for a text. We’ve already had breakfast, but the woman never stops moving. She’s either cooking something, preparing something, or cleaning up from something she just made.
The grey in her hair turns silver under the morning light. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen: elegant in age, thin but curvy. Her shoulders curve slightly with arthritis, but she moves quicker than I do.
The golden dress she wears, although expensive, is simple. Clean lines, high neck. She could give a master class on looking good in your golden years.
