Page 48 of Mafia Captor

This is really, truly, not fucking good.

I run a hand over the back of my heated neck, watching her as she slips the ring from her finger. My heart rests in my throat.

She hands me the ring. It’s as cold as ice against my skin. I cringe as she tries to offer her apologies.

“Boston, I’m sorry. I just… I mean… I love being here with you. I love spending time with you. I want to keep getting to know you, but to marry someone? I have to be in love to marry someone.”

Love…

The word hangs in the air between us. Spinning. Slipping. Falling away. She’s pure goodness and light. Is she even capable of loving someone like me?

My throat goes tight. I swallow down the torrid wave of emotion that threatens to consume me. What was I thinking?

I slip the ring back in my pocket. I glance around. Thank God no one noticed us here in this dark corner to witness my humiliating display.

“If you won’t say yes yet...” I stand, grabbing her in my arms and lifting her off the ground. “I’ll have to kill every unmarried man here.”

Her nose wrinkles with confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say.

If she won’t marry me, at least I can kiss her.

Fuck the lipstick. I don’t mind if I end up wearing it. I’ve missed her, I’ve missed this kind of us, so much. I need her lips against mine.

I’m not giving up. Not yet.

One day she will wear my ring—and everyone will know howmineshe is.

ChapterFifteen

Ashely

I needto find my brother, to make sure he’s safe. To ensure Boston hasn’t eaten him alive yet. Who knows what that man is capable of. I do… I’ve seen him in action. The man has eaten me alive.

The sun fills my eyes as I step out onto the pebbled path. I hold my hand up to get some shade. A stream of sun hits my sparkling bracelet, making me think of that gorgeous blue diamond. It was stunning. I would probably prefer yellow gold for the setting, but nevertheless, the ring was gorgeous, the kind of ring I’d let myself dream about as I sat behind my desk at Bryant’s company on my lunch break, perusing wedding websites as I nibbled at lettuce leaves, having a salad to lose those extra pounds. Not that I had a wedding dress to fit into.

And just like that, I turned him down, I gave up wearing a piece of Sullivan history.

It’s just all too crazy. I love how he’s taken me outside my comfort zone, but it just wouldn’t be me to do something so foolish as to say yes to an almost-stranger asking for my hand in marriage. No matter how gorgeous he is or how he makes my panties melt.

Or how darn cute he is with those dogs of his.

Or how well he takes care of my every need. My nails are manicured, by order of him, my skin exfoliated and moisturized by the gentle hands of his spa team, a glowing tan seeping into my skin from my many hours of free time spent roaming around the gardens.

Even my shoes, calfskin ballet flats that feel like cushions of air as I walk down the path, were paid for by him.

I’m a kept woman. Boston said the white SUV drama is taken care of. I’m safe. But I’m going nowhere. This estate is my slice of heaven on earth and I’m hoping to be buried here after I live a full life.

Now, where are they?

Needing shade, I dip behind one of his exquisite topiaries, a tall, dark green, lushy tree trimmed to look liked the head and torso of a tiger in mid-pounce. A work of living art meant to capture the very moment before the predator devours his prey. So very Boston.

I hear grunting coming from the grassy field in the center of the garden. There’s a loud shout and another grunt. Images of Boston as the tiger come to my mind, his sharp white teeth tearing my baby brother’s limbs from his body. My heart leaps to my throat and I break into a run. Well, a run for me, a jog for others. I’m scanning the breaks between the bushes for a glimpse of Beckett as I make my way around the curving paths.

Why did I leave them alone?

“Beckett? Where are you?”

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