Page 27 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

I don’t know how we got here.

Well—I mean, I do. I was actually conscious this time.

But it still feels unreal.

A limo. A priest. A signature.

Nico’s firm hand on my ass. His kiss swallowing my breath after I signed my name next to his like I’d been possessed.

And maybe I was.

Maybe I still am.

Because now we’re back at the mansion.

His mansion.

Except he doesn’t call it that anymore.

“It’s our home now,” he says, walking across the sleek floors like some dark king returning to his kingdom.

He tosses his blazer, my purse, and shoes on a nearby chair and lowers me to the ground.

Yeah, he carried me inside. Just picked me up without a word and acted like I’m not a size sixteen.

The limo left.

I never even saw the driver.

And after we’re inside, and I’m standing on my own two feet, he goes to a hidden bar, takes out a bottle of Neat and pours himself a drink like he didn’t just upend my entire world.

I stand there, still barefoot, still wearing his scent on my skin, and I don’t know what the hell to do with myself.

“Drink?”

Nico waits for my answer, and I decline, shaking my head.

He hums and takes another sip, his blue eyes locked on me the entire time.

The silence is heavy.

Too heavy.

It presses against my ribcage like something waiting to break.

He turns to face me, glass in hand, blue eyes burning into mine.

“You’re not sleeping in a separate room, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

I blink. “What?”

“We’re married now. This is your home. You live with me. You sleep in our bed. You wear my ring. You answer my calls.”

“Nico—”

“You belong to me, Leanna. That’s not up for debate. You signed the paper. You said the vows. This is it. This is us.”

He says it like a closing argument.

Like a legal ruling.

His voice is calm, unshakable.

And it leaves no room for argument.

But it also doesn’t say the one thing I need to hear.

Love.

He mentions nothing about love.

Not even a whisper of it.

Just obsession. Claim. Ownership.

And maybe I should be terrified.

But I’m not. I’m just bruised. Inside.

Where that same old hunger lives.

I fold my arms, even though I’m not cold.

“You keep saying I’m yours,” I whisper. “But am I more than that?”

His eyes narrow. “What are you asking me?”

“Do you care about me, Nico? Or am I just some shiny thing you had to win?”

The silence stretches.

He watches me like I’m a riddle he doesn’t want to solve too fast.

Then he sets the glass down. Steps closer.

“I don’t give a shit about shiny things. I care about you more than I know how to explain. I’ve built you gardens. A home. I’ve memorized your coffee order and chased off every man who ever looked at you wrong.”

“What?” I breathe.

“All those fucking wannabes and pretty boys. The businessmen your father brought to the house, parading them in front of you like your own personal buffet of stuffed shirts he could control,” he growls.

“Nico, I?—”

“Every time one of them looked too long. Stared too hard. Thought too much. Who do you think got rid of them? Who told them in explicit detail exactly what would happen if they didn’t get the fuck away from you? Me. That’s who. And do you know why?”

The amber hush of evening spills across the floor in fractured ribbons—molten gold and blood-red shadows slanting through the massive glass wall that overlooks his garden.

My garden , he insists.

Built with a madman’s obsession and a lover’s tenderness.

A hidden kingdom of pine sentinels and black roses blooming defiantly in the heat of summer.

The sun is setting behind them now.

A slow, violent burn in the sky. Everything feels too vivid. Too unreal.

And yet, I’m here.

Barefoot and in my rumpled dress, with no panties, standing in the middle of this mansion that smells and feels like him—cedar and danger and something darker.

But if I’m being honest? It feels like me too.

I tilt my chin, trying to steady myself, and meet his eyes.

“You say these things,” I whisper, “but you still don’t say the one thing I need to hear, Nico.”

He steps closer, brushing his thumb along my jaw like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my bones.

His voice drops, low and wrecked.

A secret pressed to my skin.

“I’ve never said that to anyone. Not like how you want to hear it. Not with the kind of weight you deserve. But I do, Princess.” His forehead touches mine, and his breath is fire. “You own my fucking soul. Don’t you get it yet?”

My throat tightens.

The ache in my chest is a living thing now—sharp, insistent, echoing through every part of me that ever dared to hope for more.

“But if you need to hear it— if that’s what it takes to make you feel safe with me —then I’m asking you to stay. To be all in with me. And to teach me, Leanna Fury.” His voice splinters with something unsteady—something real. “Give me time to learn how to say it right.”

The name punches through me like a brand.

Leanna Fury.

I’m already his.

Married.

Wifed up.

God, I’m so his. My body, my heart, my breath all belong to him.

But I need to know I’m not just some pretty thing he caught and caged. Not just an obsession that’ll burn itself out.

I need to know I’m wanted— not just possessed.

“I want to be your choice, Nico,” I say, voice barely steady. “Not just your compulsion. I want to be enough.”

“You are,” he growls, dragging me into him, his hands cupping my neck with reverent violence. “You’ve always been enough. Since day one.”

His lips crash into mine, and the world tilts again— fire and longing and a thousand unspoken things slamming into me like a storm surge.

When he pulls back, I’m gasping, dizzy with him.

“But Nico, my parents?—”

He lifts a brow, smirking like sin itself. “We tell them together. This weekend.”

“At Daddy’s birthday?” My eyebrows lift toward my hairline.

“Why not?” he shrugs, cocky and unrepentant. “A new son-in-law is one hell of a present, Princess.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re married to me.”

I laugh, watery and stunned, and then immediately groan. “Nico, he’s going to kill you.”

“Do you love me?” he asks suddenly, gaze burning into mine.

It’s too much. Too soon. Too perfect.

But I’ve already given him my body. My name. My damn soul.

What do I have left to lose?

“Yes,” I whisper.

His eyes darken. “How long?”

I hesitate.

Then, I let the truth spill out, soft and ragged.

“Since I was a kid.”

He exhales as if I’ve just handed him the fucking universe.

“Then he won’t be mad, Princess. He’s gonna be proud. Because your father knows exactly who I am. And he’ll know—no one will ever love his little girl like the man who’s loved her forever.”

And standing there, wrapped in shadows and silk and a summer sunset that feels like it’s bleeding just for us—he says it. In a roundabout way. But still, he says it.

And I believe him.

Even if it terrifies me.