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“Lucifer.”
“I’m handling Raphael.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. It felt like a distraction, but I couldn’t find it in myself to press for more. I didn’t know how much time we had before duty would steal him from me again, and I didn’t want to waste these precious minutes discussing Raphael if it wasn’t necessary.
I scooted to the edge of the chair, bringing us as close as possible without outright climbing onto his lap. I had a list of questions a mile long that I wanted to ask, but I decided to start small with logistics. “I need a phone. I need a way to reach you when you’re not here ... I know there’s a landline, but I didn’t memorize your number—”
“You don’t have the one I gave you?”
I shook my head. “No . . . Raphael . . . or someone . . . they found it . . .”
His brow drew heavier, and the cut of his jaw sharpened. “You will have a phone today, and anything else you need. I will see to it.” His expression softened, but didn’t quite return to the relaxed, heartened demeanor he’d possessed when introducing me to his uncle.
He hesitated before sitting back, putting what felt like a reluctant distance between us. “Willa, we need to talk.”
His statement and body language should have summoned some sense of apprehension or hurt, but my past had made me a realist. There were limited paths my future could take, and there was only one that my heart desired. I didn’t need to drag this out.
I squeezed my empty hands between my knees to steady them. “You’re the boss now,” I whispered.
“Aye. I am.” His reply lacked emotion.
“And what does that mean for me?”
“The Brennans will honor the terms of the original agreement if we are married. Our union would strengthen our businesses and ensure peace between the families—for now. We will take our time. We’ll be methodical. We’ll plot our revenge, and I will make them pay for what they did to you and your parents.”
“And if we are not ... married?”
“We go to war. My men are ready and willing. As long as I am alive, you will have my protection.”
If Lucifer wanted to sway my decision, he didn’t show it. I understood it was his noble heart that wouldn’t allow him to. He wanted me to know I had a choice. Either way, whether I chose him or not, he intended to risk it all for my freedom.
Lucifer was a man of his word.
Unable to resist the need to touch him any longer, I cupped his strong jaw. “Do you want to marry me, Lucifer?”
The corners of his eyes creased, and then he dropped his forehead to mine. “Aye. Nothing could make me happier or prouder than to make you my wife.”
And with those words, he stole my breath and with it, my heart, and my fate was sealed.
Lucifer
Silas Benowitz rose to his feet, snapping the brass latches of his briefcase shut. He glanced at his cell phone and then tucked it into the interior breast pocket of his jacket.
“My secretary confirmed that the Dublin firm has received and approved the documents.” He lifted his gaze, a congenial expression taking form. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Flynn.”
My uncle cleared his throat and gestured toward the study door. “I’ll see you out, Silas.”
At my request, Niall had agreed to come out of retirement and act as my temporary underboss, giving me time to sort out the new hierarchy. His first task of the day had been to enlighten Willa about the fact that she’d never been forgotten. His second task had been to stand by my side and witness the signing of our marriage contract.
Now he’d ensure I had a much-needed moment alone with Willa—with my wife.
Niall paused in the doorway. He checked his watch. “We should leave in ten, son.”
Our day was far from over, and what came next would be as pivotal in moving the syndicate forward as solidifying our union with Dublin.
And equally as high-risk.
“You’re leaving so soon ...” the sweet voice beside me piped up.
I looked down. Willa stared at me, her eyes misty and her cheeks bright pink. She swiped at the disobedient tendrils that fell from the knot on top of her head. She’d been mortified when she realized our engagement would last approximately seven minutes—give or take—and that she’d be married in her stocking feet.
