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Antonio places one hand on the table beside me and the other on the back of my chair as he bends over me, hovering slightly. I tilt my head, my eyes locking with his in an effort not to show any fear, and he smirks down at me. His eyes rake over my face, and I do the same, noting his slightly graying hair, slicked back with pomade; the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth; and the neck skin that overlaps the collar of his pressed white shirt.
He’s only a man,I remind myself.Flesh and blood. Mortal.
“Good luck,” he says, his hot breath washing over me, and I hold myself still, waiting for him to move back.
He stands straight and then strides around to the other side of the table before I let out the air I was holding. I take a sip of the water, lick my lips, and then place my hands in my lap.
I try not to stare at Antonio as he takes a chair across from me, the girl in the shadows rushing to place another water in front of him. I want this to get started already. I feel like I’m in the belly of the beast, and I’m completely unprepared for whatever is about to come my way.
Eighteen months ago, I was a normal girl with far-fetched hopes and dreams. I lived in a run-down apartment, wore thrift shop clothes, and worked multiple jobs to save for school.
Now, I’m sitting across the table from mob bosses, interviewing to marry into their organization in an effort to hunt down the sister they took from me.Allegedly.But I know they had something to do with it. My fingernails dig into my palms, stabilizing me with the pain it inflicts, and I watch as three more men file in.
The first is the man from the funeral—I recognize him as William from my research into the five men—and he gives me worse vibes than Antonio. Then, a large man—Paul—and a tall man—Vincent—follow him, taking the three remaining seats. All is quiet, except for the rustling papers in front of them and the clank of waters being placed on the wood table for each of the three men.
Then, I have four pairs of eyes focused on me, and I paste a demure smile on my face. I won’t let them win. This whole thing depends on me, and I won’t let myself, Connor, or Ruby down.
They sit in silence for a while. I guess to intimidate me—I’m not sure. But it’s working. I can feel my heart beating quicker and quicker, the longer they look at me. I wish Connor were in here, but I’m not really sure why. It’s not like he’s a calming presence for me. But at least I would know that he’s on my side.
“So, Wryn,” Antonio starts, offering me a smile that does nothing to ease my nerves, “we want this to go as smoothly as you do.”
Doubt that.
“We are here to ask some questions and make sure that you are the best fit to be a boss’s wife.”
I almost snort at that. It sounds so odd, almost like the title of one of those reality shows.The Boss Wives of Heywoodor something like that. I imagine the stupidity of it.
I nod, urging him to continue so we can get the hell out of here. Being in their presence is unsettling.
“From what we could find on you, you grew up in a foster home?”
My eyes widen because for them to have that information, it means that they know my real name. I wonder how they found it.
“I did. Lots of them actually. I was orphaned when I was five—both of my parents died in a freak car accident—and I spent the rest of my minor life in the system.”
“I see, and you’ve lived in how many states?”
I fail to see how this has any relevance to the interview but whatever.
“One. Just California.”
“How did you end up in Heywood specifically?” Vincent asks.
“My last foster family before I aged out lived here. So, I stayed once I turned eighteen.”
“I see. And how did you meet Connor?” Vincent asks.
How did we meet?I stalked him at his club, trying to get close to his father, and then met him again when my knife was sticking out of Bertrand’s neck.
I choose to go with something as close to the truth as I can get.
“I’ve known him for almost two years.”
I’ve knownofhim.Same thing.
The look of surprise on most of their faces has me cringing, wanting to backtrack. I thought maybe if I acted like I was Ruby instead of Wryn, it would be a more believable story.
I forge on, trying to cover my tracks. “I met him in a library and fell head over heels. He told me we had to keep it quiet, so I did.”
