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Damn it, she’s right.
As more weeks go by, other men merely eyeing her for too long ignites a primal rage inside me. In the past, Falynn danced at gentleman’s clubs. From here on out, so long as I’m alive and breathing, another man will never lay a finger on her, much less get lucky enough to see her naked form.
I pull her deeper into my side as we walk, squeezing her waist.
This woman—this sexy little minx—is mine and mine only.
“What are you thinking about?”
The question rolls off Falynn’s tongue as she scoots closer. She lies on her side, curls a scattered mess, warm eyes on me. The sheet hangs off the nexus where her curvy hip and small waist meet. Her honey-brown skin is still dewy from our bedroom activities.
I reach out to push curls behind her ear and pretend not to hear her. “Hmmm?”
“When you go quiet,” she murmurs. “You get this look on your face. It’s intense like you’re deep in thought. But you never share what it is.”
“What do you want me to share?”
She gives a half shrug. “Anything.”
“Okay. How about I love it when you get frustrated and do that little growl thing.”
Her brows jump. “You do?”
“It’s cute. And when you pounce like a house cat and then squeeze in close.”
“Like now?” She wiggles closer until our bodies touch.
I sling my arm over the curve of her hip. “Yes. Like now.”
“It’s ‘cause you’re always so warm. Perfect for when I’m cold.”
She buries her face into my neck, and we lay in more comfortable silence. Deep down, I know she was hoping for more. A peek into this mysterious mind of mine. Throughout our months together, I’ve shared little about myself. At times, even how I feel about her.
I’ve told her I love her, which is the truth, but I don’t think she understands how remarkable that is—a man as cold and heartless as I am finally in love with a woman after a lifetime spent vowing I never would. She’s one of a kind.
An anomaly.
A woman I’ve envisioned a lifelong future with.
My wife.
I hold Falynn’s supple body against mine, for once wishing I wasn’t such a closed-off, brooding bastard. That I’d be better able to communicate what’s on my mind, show her the rest of me, the darker parts I’ve done my best to shield her from—the blood and violence of my lifestyle. Would she be able to accept some of the things I’ve done?
If Falynn knew the truth, if I told her the true horror of who I am, would she still be with me? Would she be able to love a man at the top of a dangerous criminal empire? Can she accept the dark things I’ve done to prove myself in this life? The violence I’ve inflicted on others just to stay on top? To keep her safe?
If she knew the grim details of what I’d done to Enzo, would she still give her heart away to me?
I’ve tried separating her from my world—the grittier half with the violence and murder. She’s too bright-eyed for darkness. Too good for a terrible, fucked up man like me.
As we lay now, bodies fit together in the dark bedroom of the Vittoria’s penthouse, she interrupts the silence with a sleepy sigh. My gaze drops to her peaceful face, her long lashes kissing her cheeks. She’s fallen asleep waiting for me to share what I’m thinking.
Since I haven’t had the balls to tell her when she’s awake, I do the next best thing. I press my lips to her brow and mutter, “Marry me, Honey.”
She answers in another sleepy murmur. Miles away dreaming, she has no clue what I’ve said.
But, for now, it’s good enough.
It’s more important to focus on ascending the throne of the Sorrentino empire. Part of being King means there’s always an enemy seeking to dethrone you. Enemies never die. Each time they do, a new one is born and takes their place. I’ll crush each and every one like the others before them.
An enemy is an enemy. Blood makes no difference to me.
Whatever it takes to be King.
