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She looks around the nearly barren room with its small writing desk and table. “So, you’re going to behave here while I have a meeting, and then we’re going to prepare for our wedding.”
“Wedding? We’re not really going to get married, are we?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes, we are.”
“We don’t have to get married.” I check the windows, and she isn’t jumping unless she wants to fall onto shrubs below, breaking some bones and getting caught anyway because security has tripled since the attack.
Turning my attention back to her, I answer without saying too much. She doesn’t need to know what effect she truly has on me. “Yes, we do. Don’t fucking argue about it because it’s not going to happen.”
She tips her chin like it’s going to intimidate me, staring into my eyes with a toughness that doesn’t hold up. Still, there’s a vulnerability in her face that is so damn easy to read. “Why?”
“Because it would serve a great purpose. Now sit your sweet-smelling ass down, and I’ll be back.” I wink and head toward the door.
“Take your time,” she adds for spite.
“Keep it up, Cupcake, and I’ll make sure I’m back in a flash.” I stride out of the room with a smirk on my face. Closing the door, I lock it and address my guards. “Don’t let her go, and don’t enter the room, either. She’s going to be my wife.”
I take the stairs quickly and ask the next guard, Rio, who usually works at the warehouse, “Where is Matteo?”
“In his office.”
I nod and make my way there. Knocking, my father opens the door. “Come in, Son.”
“You’re here already. I was hoping you could bring me some clothes from the house.”
“I’ll pick them up tonight,” he answers. When I step inside, Dario, Alessio, and Matteo are all sitting around waiting for me.
“Good. Thanks.”
“It’s good to see you’re in one piece,” Dario says.
“She might be a Moreno, but she’s as sweet as she smells.”
“Don’t let that innocent face fool you, Godson. She’s a Moreno,” Alessio says.
“Thank you, but I’m sure of it. Patricia still doesn’t want to marry me and wants to get out of here.”
“She’s better off marrying you than who they wanted her to marry,” Matteo says.
“They wanted her to marry someone else?”
“Today. That’s why we needed to speak. Moreno had his daughter scheduled to wed one of the Russians.”
“Who?” I clench my teeth, a new rage more violent than I’ve ever felt before filling my veins. Is this what they feel when they hunt their enemies? I wonder, staring at my family.
“The devil, Morozov,” Dario answers. He’d let his son, Matteo, take the reins, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t have a watchful eye on things.
“The hell, motherfucking no. He’s the head of the bratva that we’ve been funneling money to.”
“Aren’t you the one who made the deal with Landon in the first place?”
“Yes, but he worked with them.”
“So there’s no direct link between him and us.”
“No.” I don’t like the fact that they’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want his head on a platter for wanting my woman.
“Shouldn’t the money be reverted already?” Alessio asks.
