This is just another setup for fate to laugh its arse off at you.
I stand rooted to the same spot for five minutes, arguing with myself, until Reyna appears in a window.
Dark hair, red lips, olive skin.
A low-cut dress.
Acres of cleavage.
And eyes that glitter silver in the morning sun like the flash of coins at the bottom of a wishing well.
My pounding heart lets out a primal scream.
The first time I saw her in a window, the day I went to meet Lili in New York and sign the contract, Reyna looked at me with those mermaid eyes like she wanted to slit my throat.
Now she’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every question she’s ever asked herself.
She smiles and crooks a finger. Then she turns away, disappearing from sight.
I almost faint.
Instead, I bolt toward the house, pumping my legs as fast as they’ll take me.
40
Rey
I’m sipping from my champagne flute when Quinn crashes through the front door, hollering my name.
Standing in the kitchen with Sloane and me, Declan smiles. “Ah. The groom has arrived.”
Eyes wild, his color high, Quinn skids around the corner and makes a beeline for me.
Sloane says, “Man, he’s intense.”
“You have no idea. Oh, hi, honey.”
Sloane removes the champagne flute from my hand an instant before Quinn grabs me in a bear hug and crushes me against his chest.
His heart pounds against mine. His big arms tighten around my ribs until I can barely breathe.
I laugh, hugging him back. “Long time no see, Dr. Jekyll. Or is it Mr. Hyde? I can never remember.”
Against my neck, he says gruffly, “Viper.”
I whisper, “It’s Antonia Octavia Flavius to you, gladiator.”
A shudder runs through his chest. He hugs me tighter.
Declan clears his throat. “We’ll give you two a minute.”
When Quinn finally releases me from the bear hug, we’re alone in the kitchen. Leaning against him, I smile at the expression of adoration, hope, and dread on his face.
“You’re an emotional wreck, dear husband.”
He swallows. He licks his lips. He says, “Husband,” as if he’s not sure he heard me correctly.
Stroking his beard, I say, “So there’s this part in all my romance books that’s called the black moment. Heard of it? No, of course you haven’t. Cavemen don’t spend much time reading. The black moment is when all seems lost, like the couple can never work out their problems and it’s the end of the road for them. Are you paying attention? You seem to be spending a lot of time staring at my cleavage.”
“I’m listening,” he says in a thick voice while staring at my cleavage.
I sigh. “Anyway. In real life, people do this thing called communicating. Now, I know you’ve heard of that, because you’ve worn my ears out doing that exact thing. Except for some reason, you decide at a very important juncture in our relationship that you’d rather storm off and break things than talk to me.”
He thunders, “I didn’t storm! And I didn’t break anything!”
I pet his beard and smile at him, my insane Irish mobster with the beautiful hazel eyes.
“There’s no need to rupture my eardrums, dear. As I was saying. The black moment. I don’t want to have one, because this isn’t a romance novel, it’s real life. So if there are any questions you’d like to ask about what happened in Declan’s office or thoughts you’d like to share—in a normal volume—please do so.”
I go up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I have a date with a gladiator later, and I really hope he shows up.”
He exhales and folds himself around me again, burying his face in my hair.
“I take it that’s a no,” I murmur, stroking my hands up his back. “But just so we’re clear, Quinn, whatever happens next, I want you by my side. Marriage license or not, contract or not, head of the Cosa Nostra or not, I want you.”
I laugh softly. “You and your superior gladiator seed with which I’d like to make babies.”
He groans. He hugs me harder. Then he whispers into my ear, “Five of them.”
“You ready for that?”
“I’ve been ready since the first second I laid eyes on you.”
“Good answer. Time to kiss me now, Quinn.”
He pulls away, his eyes shining and his expression one of pure devotion. “Are you going to always be this bossy now that you’re in charge of the Cosa Nostra?”
My smile grows into a grin. “Oh, I’m going to be the worst.”
With a chuckle, Quinn lowers his head and kisses me.
It’s soft, deep, and everything I could ever ask for. It feels like a promise made, a promise stronger than any signature on a legal document or vow spoken in front of four hundred witnesses in a church.
It feels like a field of flowers opening their buds to the sun after a long winter.
It feels like coming home.
That night, I meet with the four heads of the other families.
Aldo, Tomasi, and Alessandro greet me with respectful handshakes and smiles. Massimo greets me the same way, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
I’ll have to be careful with that one. He’s just as selfish as Gianni, but far more clever.
We spend three hours discussing the past, present, and future of the Cosa Nostra in the States. In addition, Alessandro provides me with a digital file of all the evidence they collected about Gianni’s betrayals. Nobody apologizes for his death or offers me condolences on the loss of my brother.
I didn’t expect such pleasantries. All made men know the price of disloyalty.
Made women know, too.
Blood in, blood out. It’s been our way of life for centuries.
There’s a formal swearing-in ceremony. I’m given a gold signet ring bearing the family crest to wear. It’s too large for my pinky, so I wear it on the index finger of my right hand.
It still has Gianni’s blood on it.
I decide on the spot I’ll never clean it off.
At the end of the meeting, when the goodbyes have been said and the others are filing out of the back room of the restaurant, Massimo lingers behind. Twisting his pinky ring around with his thumb, he gazes at me in thoughtful silence.
“Speak your mind, Massimo,” I say, standing on the opposite side of the table.
After a moment, he says, “Enzo and I were close. You know that.”
“I do. I also know you were aware of what he did to me.”
“What’s between a husband and wife is their business.”
“What’s your point?”
He removes his cashmere wool overcoat from the back of his chair and shrugs it on. He takes his time buttoning it. When that’s done, he regards me with a calculating look.
“You’re going to have to choose a side, Reyna. Us or them. The others might think your marriage is an asset to us, but I don’t. I think it’s a weakness.”
“Because?”
“Because a house divided against itself cannot stand.”
A faint smile lifts my lips. “You’re quoting Abraham Lincoln. That’s unexpected.”
“You understand what I’m saying.”
“I do. But there’s no division.”
“No? You’ll be able to keep all our secrets from your Irish husband?”
Holding his challenging stare, I say evenly, “I’ve been keeping secrets my entire life. Including one about you, Massimo. A rather big one.”
His eyes sharpen to slits. “Like what?”
I smile at his sudden shift from merely unpleasant to downright hostile. “Like you did a favor for the head of an enemy family that would get you both killed if his men found out. People don’t like snakes. Especially the Bratva. They’re real sticklers about revenge.”
Massimo’s pupils dilate, but he shows no other outward sign of emotion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s fine, but you really shouldn’t make important phone calls at cocktail parties. Especially on speakerphone. You never know who might be listening at the door.”
I see him working it out, trying to decide if I’m bluffing, trying to recall what party we might have attended together where he made a call that should have been more discreet.
Just so we’re on the same page, I’ll give his memory a helpful jog.
“Murdering Maxim Mogdonovich in return for a marker from the man who took his place could be seen by both the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra as a little underhanded, don’t you think? Feathers would definitely get ruffled on both sides. But I’ll admit, making it look like he died in a prison riot was a small stroke of genius. I couldn’t have done it better myself. I bet Kazimir Portnov appreciated your creativity. Oh, excuse me. You called him Kage. I suppose when you kill someone’s boss for him, you get a little friendly.”
We stare at each other across the table.
I see the exact moment he decides I have to die, and roll my eyes to the ceiling.
Men are so damn predictable.