Marrying the Mob Prince

Tony

3 oz prosecco

2 oz Aperol

splash of soda

Garnish: orange wedge

I thought about them.

Every night, their faces pressed into the silk fabric of my mind. I relived the things I'd done. Depraved acts that made my heart thump and the blood rush to my cock. I'd escaped that place, but I wasn't free.

I opened my eyes.

It was dark, the sort of pitch-black heaviness that can't be penetrated, invading my lungs and devouring my being like smoke belched from a fire. I was a charred husk, angry and empty. My rage heated the bed as I lay there. No relief could be found in this darkness, only more torture.

I tossed.

I turned.

I lost minutes...hours before my brain paused its war on itself. My head hit the pillow. I drifted, but there was nothing peaceful about my sleep.

Wood creaked.

Heavy boots scraped the floor.

I rolled over, stomach tensing.

A faint glow crawled into the room as the door swung. More footsteps, then a man's strong silhouette stood in the threshold.

My heart skipped a beat.

I froze at the familiar face-round cheeks framed with shaggy blond hair-the face of my enemy.

What was he doing here?

Shock yielded to the pounding in my ears. I shot upright, fists clenched.

His lips curved.

I launched at him.

He flew back, skull cracking into the wall. Plaster splintered. He shoved me. My feet slipped on the wood as he hammered blows into me. I gritted my teeth, holding him back.

Then his fist slammed into my shoulder. Agony plunged into my flesh. The pain jarred me into consciousness.

I bolted upright, blinded. I gasped for air as I groped for the curtains. I yanked them so hard they broke from the rod.

My pulse galloped ahead as light spilled across the bed, illuminating tousled sheets. The compression on my lungs eased. I rubbed the two-inch scar. The comforter poured onto the carpet of a room I didn't recognize. My feet hit a bundle of clothing.

A hotel room.

Right. I got married.

Married. It still seemed unreal.

The digital clock on the nightstand bled with red numbers-six a. m. She was probably asleep. My awareness drifted to an object that pressed into my palm. The metal bit into my skin before a ripple of shock zipped up my spine. A knife. Christ. Get it together.

My breath stalled as the door trembled with a knock. I gripped the knob, hiding the blade behind the door. The lock unlatched, the door swinging open to reveal my cousin. "Morning."

I gritted my teeth. "It's too early for me to deal with you."

Nevertheless, I stepped back. Vinn strolled inside, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie. He frowned at the knife in my hand. His gaze flicked to my face, to the weapon, to me again.

Vinn might've been boss of the Family, but I pulled the strings. Officially, I wasn't involved in the mafia. Dad had kept me out of the mob, but everything had changed when he died. He'd left me the accounts and contacts. The whole empire was mine, locked in trust funds and real estate that made Vinn's position mostly symbolic. I owned it all, except Vinn had wanted me to stop funding the biker wars.

My feud with Legion MC was terrible for Boston. I backed street gangs like Rage Machine financially and bought them weapons. In return, they hammered the shit out of Legion, who then retaliated by bombing Italian businesses, which forced the mayor to summon the National Guard. The mandated curfews and violence killed small businesses throughout Boston, which affected Vinn's bottom line, and the mafia was all about money. After I'd funded a local politician's efforts to pass a heavy-handed drug trafficking law, I suddenly found myself tied up and thrown in a car.

Legion was keen to get me off their ass forever. They were paying hand over fist just for peace. This marriage was supposed to end the feud between the groups, and having a baby with Evie would cement that alliance.

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The injustice clawed at my insides. It demanded reprisal. This match was so ass-backward I couldn't see us lasting more than a few months, during which I'd lose my mind. We would never work. I couldn't accept this-the very idea disgusted

me.

Vinn had done this.

It was his fault.

My throat tightened, and I resisted the urge to lash out-Aperol cocktail recipe. I breathed in deeply. Three ounces of Prosecco.

"You should return to her hotel room," he said in his low, deep voice. "You don't want people to talk."

Two ounces of Aperol. Less, if you prefer a dry cocktail.

I held out my hand. "Give me my fucking phone."

"No."

I could've punched his throat. All last night, I'd endured his smug grins, his glib comments, his pats on my back.

A splash of soda water. Garnished with-

"What more do you want?" I bellowed, blood rushing in my ears. "I married the girl. She's moving into my apartment. She hates me, and I can't stand her, but we are together."

"You both agreed to start a family." He pulled the cell from his pants and slapped it onto my palm. "No more messing with bikers. You will embrace domestic life and focus on her."

I shoved the phone into my pocket, annoyed Vinn hadn't disappeared. "Leave before my hair-trigger temper gets us both killed."

Vinn gave me an unfathomable look before he shook his head and left. As soon as he'd gone, I swiped through my texts. I shot a message to my lawyer friend. I'd headed out the door before I remembered my wife. Damn it.

Heaviness centered in my chest. An odd twinge nagged at me as I changed directions and strolled next door.

Last night was a disaster.

The rage had built in me as she drank Aperol spritzes, which happened to be my favorite summer cocktail. I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in ages, but watching her drink them had triggered me. I could've sucked her tongue dry. God, the way her cunt gripped my fingers. Evie was more tempting than a line of Colombian powder. I'd almost held her down and fucked her. She'd begged me to, but I took it way too far. She'd made me lose control.

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I was off balance.

Fuck.

A clawing sensation gnawed my throat. I shut my eyes, inhaling through my nose. I had to master this crazed impulse.

I slid my keycard in the lock.

The door yawned. Wide-open curtains glowed with the faint light, washing her sleeping silhouette in blue. What I wouldn't give to be that blissfully unaware.

Her cheek pressed into the pillow and her mouth was parted. Her brown mane fanned on the sheets, the perfect bun from the wedding undone. Without the makeup, she looked younger than her twenty-two years. I kicked the bedframe. "Wake up."

She startled horribly, dragging the sheets to her mouth. I braced myself for pleading and begging, but Evie groaned like I woke her up for school.

"Get up. We're leaving."

Evie pulled the comforter over her head. "Too early."

"We need to go."

She didn't move.

I ripped the covers from her body.

She hissed, legs curling under her satin slip. "Fine. Jesus. I'm getting up."

She rolled off the bed and stretched. Light kissed her, illuminating her bewitching face. Dark, mysterious eyes frowned, furrowing slender brows. Her plush pink lips offset the gentle slope of her chin. Her skin complemented the golden room. She seemed of the earth, pure, and desiring her felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Evie's beauty was the devastating kind that hit a man in the chest, and if I didn't pull back, I would lose sight of my goal.

I could never love her.

So I set my heart on hating her.