Page 11 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

This was it —the moment I had to lay my cards on the table, praying they wouldn’t blow up in my face.

Maybe embarrassing her over something we’d both enjoyed—a lot—wasn’t the best idea.

Now that I thought about it, it was a total dick move.

I wasn’t proud of it. But it got the point across.

Or at least, I thought it had—until she threw that curveball.

Isabelle was nothing like anyone I’d ever threatened before and I didn’t know whether to be pissed or impressed.

Hell, in a twisted way, her joking about fucking me on the witness stand was the best outcome.

And if I wanted any chance of making this messed-up marriage work, I’d have to keep her in this weird, semi-sarcastic mood with just enough pressure to push her toward the right choice.

What the hell was wrong with me? This was supposed to be intimidation. Not… whatever the fuck this was.

Instead, I was sitting here like an idiot, trying to figure out how the hell to get through to her.

I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully.

“I’m asking for your help to take down Parker. After that, you can divorce me.”

She stared at me, disbelief written all over her face. “Is this some kinda joke?”

Yeah. Sounded crazy as hell. Even to me.

In all my years, I’d never imagined I’d refuse my father’s order and marry the target instead.

I’ve done some wild shit, but this? This took the cake.

Somehow, I’d walked myself right into this disaster.

And instead of just fixing it the old-fashioned way—with a bullet—I was asking for her help.

“No, it’s not a joke. The ring and the marriage are real.”

Saying it out loud, the weight of it hit me.

Hell, I’m married now. What a trip.

She flinched at my words.

Welcome to the club, I thought, and pressed on.

“That,” I gestured toward her finger, “is a symbol. A symbol of power and control. It means you’re mine, and no one can touch you without facing the consequences.”

“Yours? I belong to no one, especially not you. And if you want me to do anything about Parker, make this marriage disappear.”

She adjusted her cap and tightened her ponytail with a stubborn tilt of her chin. But this wasn’t up for debate. It was the only way to keep her safe and make sure my son didn’t lose his mother, even if she couldn’t see that yet.

“No, we stick with this marriage until it’s done,” I said firmly.

“In case your brain’s on vacation, let me spell out the consequences for you.

You’ve ruined everything. A member of the District Attorney’s office engaging in a romantic relationship with a criminal could undermine the public’s trust in the justice system and compromise the integrity of the office. ”

She quoted her office’s ethics like a lifeline, clinging to the rules that gave her life structure. It was almost impressive, how she could recite that crap under pressure.

I knew those guidelines well; I’d read them over and over, looking for a loophole to make sure this plan was airtight.

“Technically, I’m not a criminal. I have no criminal record.

Sam’s aware of the situation and is already handling the appointment of the new DA.

Procedures are in place to avoid any ethical conflicts, so you won’t be prosecuting the case.

You’ll act as an adviser—to make sure my family stays out of the line of fire. ”

Her eyes widened. “Wait—you’re on a first-name basis with the governor?”

“Officially? No… But yes. He’s a good friend.”

“No way.”

I shrugged, let the smirk break free. “They don’t make it up there without people like me clearing the road.”

“You’re saying the governor’s bending the rules for you?”

“Sam understands loyalty. Besides, this isn’t about bending rules—it’s about making sure certain… complications don’t arise,” I said with an innocent expression.

Connections like these weren’t just useful—they were essential to running the family. They didn’t solve every problem, as my father’s prison sentence proved, but they sure as hell made it easier to keep the right people out of bars.

She scoffed and shook her head. “Complications. Right. You know, most people have friends they play golf with. You have friends who can manipulate the entire judicial system.”

“There’s a major difference between me and them. Their worst outcome is a bad swing. Mine is a cell or a bullet in the head.”

“What makes you think I’d ever help you?”

I gave her a wry smile and swallowed the real answer—“you don’t have a choice”—and kept my voice easy.

“Because I asked nicely. And, Siren, you really don’t wanna see the other side of me.”

I kept my eyes locked on hers. Violence wasn’t my first instinct, but sometimes it was the only language that got results. I’d learned that the hard way, and I was damn good at it. But with Isabelle? It was different. I wouldn’t have hurt her. But she didn’t need to know that .

“And if I say no?”

“Let’s just say the last person who tried it? Changed their mind real fast.”

Her only reaction was an eye roll.

What the actual fuck?

One subtle threat from me, and most people would be in tears, desperate to please. But her? She didn’t break the way they usually did. Didn’t flinch, didn’t back down.

It messed with me, knocked me sideways. And staring at her, all anger and fire, a thought slipped through that had no business being there.

I knew exactly how I’d like to fuck some sense into her.

Slowly. Thoroughly. Until she was too wrecked to argue.

But I wasn’t in the position to act on it—not yet.

Still, the way she looked at me, like she was daring me to do something about it, made it impossible not to picture her bent over my desk, ass up, taking every inch of the lesson I had for her.

And when I got my hands on her? She’d learn fast.

“Being your wife…” She huffed. “What does it mean for me?”

It means you’re screwed , I thought. But then, as if on cue, my mind added: Preferably by me, on every surface in this house.

Not exactly helpful. The dirty path my mind was on was hard to shake, and my body was all too eager to broadcast it.

I forced those thoughts back and shifted, discreetly adjusting myself before it became obvious.

This was about keeping her safe, not losing my head to a fantasy I had no business entertaining.

“You move in with me, and we pretend to be a happy family. Everyone has to believe it’s real. You’ll smile, play the perfect wife, and you’re obviously not allowed to fuck anyone else.”

I couldn’t let anyone find out that the marriage was fake. Not my men, and sure as hell not the people gunning for us.

My men—they trusted me because I made calculated decisions. If they even started to think I was bluffing on this, they’d question everything. Trust cracks, loyalty frays, and that was a disaster I wasn’t willing to let happen.

Then there was the other part, the one that pissed me off more than it should.

If Isabelle wasn’t really mine, if she was out there with someone else, it’d be another kind of mess.

Cheating on me would turn this whole marriage into a joke.

Make me look weak, like I couldn’t even control my own house.

But if I’m being honest, it wasn’t just about perception.

The thought of someone else touching her?

It sent a flash of something hot and ugly through me.

Not the usual kind of anger. This was different.

This wasn’t just rage. It was darker. Possessiveness?

Jealousy? Either way, I hated how it twisted in my gut.

“It only works if you keep your dick in your pants. I won’t be humiliated by you cheating on me.”

“I won’t. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It came out fast. Too fast.

I blinked, surprised at how automatic it was.

Jesus, I meant it.

My smile slipped for half a second, the weight of my words hitting harder than I liked.

It was a double standard, sure, but in my world, women stayed loyal while men had their fun.

There was only one rule, one line you didn’t cross: you didn’t disrespect your wife by making things obvious.

You show up with your mistress somewhere your wife or her friends are known to go, and you’d be called out, otherwise, no one batted an eye.

As long as you kept it out of sight, it didn’t exist. But that wasn’t my plan—not with her.

This wasn’t about keeping things hidden to save face; it was about not wanting to hurt her.

Loyalty and commitment to a woman? Not part of my playbook. My life had been a steady stream of flings and convenient arrangements—each serving its purpose and then fading away. No strings, no complications .

Now, here I was, not just agreeing to the terms but… wanting them? Jesus. Since when did I give a damn about keeping someone happy in a marriage that wasn’t even supposed to be real?

It was a twisted realization, but undeniable. Fuck me, I wanted to be the guy she didn’t have to worry about. And I wasn’t sure what was worse—that I felt that way, or that I liked it.

“What about my son?” Her question broke the silence.

“He’ll be safe, protected, and cared for.”

I tried to sound as sincere as possible. But what I didn’t tell her was that his safety also meant he’d become a target. My enemies would stop at nothing to destroy what mattered to me, and that included going after him.

She sat there, eyes fixed, lost in thought as if she were weighing her options. As if she had any.

“What’s it gonna be, Mrs. Abruzzo? You ready to play the part?”

Shit, this sounds like a bad soap opera. All we’re missing is some idiot barging in, claiming to be my long-lost twin. Fucking ridiculous.

She lifted her chin, stubborn as hell. “Fine. I’ll play along. But I’m only your wife on paper.”

“Oh, come on. At least try to act a little excited about our marriage. I’m quite the catch, you know.”

She didn’t speak, eyes locked on mine, maybe starting to believe me, maybe warming to the idea. Or maybe just imagining ways to choke the life out of me with that damn ring.

“Just remember, this is strictly business. Don’t get any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Siren. But if you ever wanna upgrade from ‘wife on paper’ to ‘wife in practice,’ just say the word.”

The second the words hit the air, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her jaw locked.

I’d fucked up. There it was—my damn mouth running ahead of my brain, again.

If I wanted any chance of making this messed-up situation work, I needed to stop pushing her buttons as if it was a game.

Sure, the idea of her as more than just a ‘wife on paper’ was tempting as hell, but I had to dial it back.

I wasn’t doing myself any favors by being a smartass.

She jabbed a finger at me. “Call me ‘Siren’ again and I’ll… I’ll…”

I held my breath, ready for her to break me in half. Instead, she faltered, and I couldn’t help but take one more poke.

“You’ll what? Throw your shoe at me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

I smirked. “If you do, aim for the head. Best feature, hands down.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And yet, here we are. Partners in crime.”

Isabelle didn’t respond; she just shook her head and turned to walk out.

I wasn’t even pretending to look away. Forget subtle—I was staring. And if those shorts didn’t kill me, the thoughts they stirred up would.

God help me, this is gonna be interesting.