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I take a deep breath before reaching for it, immediately bringing it to my lips. The liquor burns on its way down my throat, but the familiar warmth allows me to breathe for the first time today.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, taking another small sip. It’s the good shit. The kind I’ve only had when I’ve been hanging out with Bryant at the club, but that also makes it a whole lot easier to drink than the shit I used to sneak from my parents’ alcohol cabinet.
“We should discuss rules.”
“Rules?” I raise a brow. “You’re my husband, not my parent. Rules aren’t in the contract.”
He glares across the counter at me, his knuckles white from the grip he has on his glass. “While you may have been able to sneak out and pull the wool over your parents’ eyes, that will not be the case here. I have organized for your enrollment at the University of Chicago. All your credits have been transferred,and you will start Monday. You will attend all your classes, and when you’re not in class, you will either be at the library on campus or you will be in this apartment.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but I open my mouth anyway, only to be promptly cut off. “There will be no partying, no nights out, no drinking to excess, and any friends you make will go through an extensive background check before you will be allowed to see them outside of school. Do I make myself clear?”
I’m too shocked to respond. Because these rules are worse than any my dad ever enforced, and I thought he was strict. This just solidifies the fact that not only am I stuck in a marriage to a man I don’t like much less love, but to a man who barely sees me as human, let alone an equal.
He raises a brow, waiting for me to argue, but I can’t find my words. There isn’t one part of what he’s said that I can process enough to argue, so I remain silent.
“Good. Now that that’s settled, I’m going out. I have work to do. Feel free to eat whatever you want, watch TV, or snoop if you feel so inclined. Just don’t leave.” He drains his glass and walks toward the front door, his leather jacket thrown over his arm. I was too numb to notice if it was cold outside, but it’s the middle of February, so I can only assume it is.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I finally find my words.
He turns on me, his dark eyes holding mine. “Oh, Isla. I am most definitely not kidding. I saved your life by agreeing to this marriage, so you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure you’re as little of an inconvenience as possible.”
“Or what?” I cross my arms over my chest defiantly. The whiskey flowing through my bloodstream has made me brave, and right now I’m past caring. I already know where he stands when it comes to my presence, so what more can his words hurt me?
“Or I’m sure Spade would still be happy to take you off my hands and I can go back to living my quiet life away from the bullshit in my past.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before he disappears out the door, and my legs buckle beneath me.
I thought I knew what hopelessness felt like, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
I’m a prisoner, and for the first time I wonder if I’m any better off than I would have been with Spade.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DOC
The best thing about my line of work is that there’s always some asshole that needs to be patched up.
Chicago is a shit ton safer than it was a year ago, with the only real powers in the city having joined forces.
I never thought I’d see the day when the Saint James and Russo families weren’t gunning for one another, but after the toxic older generation of Russo men were wiped out and Elijah took their place, some of the bridges could start to mend. And then he kidnapped and married the youngest Saint James daughter, who promptly fell in love with him. Don’t ask, because I honestly have no idea what Snow sees in the asshole, making them one big happy family.
Or at least as close as Mafia families can be.
I walk into The Circle, the sound of another fight night washing over me. I’m tempted to get in the ring, but Tommy always tells me I’m too big and no fucker will want to fight me.
Probably for the best, seeing as I’m the one who would have to patch the asshole up after I beat his ass.
Tommy is nowhere to be seen, which isn’t entirely surprising. I’ve watched as he’s become more and more obsessed with Wynter’s assistant, Clara, and I’m just fucking glad they’retogether so I can stop worrying he’s going to scare the poor girl to death.
Rayne is by the bar, a glass of vodka in his hand as he talks to the bartender, until he spots me, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He taps the bar, and the man behind it quickly fixes me a drink. “I wasn’t sure you’d show tonight.”
I’ve known Rayne a long time, but I’ve never seen the motherfucker as happy as he is now. He was always the tortured one, and because of his position in the family, he never allowed himself to feel. At least until Emerson came along.
“Who else is going to make sure you don’t have to order a clean-up crew for any bodies?” I challenge, meeting his dark eyes.
When I first started working for Frost, I never saw myself becoming friends with any of them. It was a job, a chance to get away from the demons that haunted me no matter where I went. The deaths I witnessed, the ones I was responsible for, the life I was desperate to forget.
But somehow the lot of them crept under my defenses, and even though they drive me fucking mental with their constant calls about the health of their women, I wouldn’t have them any other way.
“Touché.” He chuckles.
