Page 32 of Groom Gamble

Mayfair folds his arms, sighing. “Just an innocent misunderstanding. Right.”

“My husband thought I didn’t know he was a mafia boss.” Adi smiles and looks up nostalgically. “He accidentally started to say Mafia Syndicate, got halfway through, and ‘Maths Club’ was the best he came up with. Everyone played along. It was hilarious.”

“Don’t be silly, no one would believe that.” Canary Wharf has a glint in his eyes as he pulls his wife in for a kiss.

“You know, it could refer to the precision of the Syndicate’s work and our adherence to balancing the equation of justice,” Westminster says thoughtfully.

There’s a pause when everyone looks at the best-known face of the London mafias.

“That really is ridiculous,” Mayfair drawls, his Russian accent coming out.

“Fine.” Westminster shakes his head. “We’re the Mobsters And Thugs who Hate Spinach though, not spaghetti. Italian food is well loved around here.”

“I wouldn’t have made it through any of my pregnancies without pizza and spaghetti,” agrees Jessa, exchanging nods with Anwyn.

The conversation diverges to babies, and Sophia listens, eyes sparkling, to the other women’s tales of their children’s births.

Soon, I promise her.That will be us, very soon, little one.

“How is Operation Calculus going?” Westminster asks from across the table. “I’m still not sure we can trust Tiptree.”

“We can.” I level a look at the kingpin who thinks he runs London. He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. “Tiptree is not the problem.” I’m still not certain I did the right thing letting them live, but Sophia doesn’t like too much death. Thank god she doesn’t know about the man I dispatched on our wedding day. “I think he’s okay, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t got problems elsewhere.”

Over the next few hours, my body is a combat zone between pride in my wife making friends with the mafia wives and the instinct to take her home and have the relief and agony of her on my cock and under my mouth. Dessert is particularly taxing, as Sophia decadently licks her poached peach and raspberries with whipped cream. Cream. Whole mouthfuls of it. Is my girl trying to kill me from lack of blood supply to any organ other than my cock?

“They seem nice,” Sophia comments as we eventually arrive home. “Not cliquey in the way you suggested. Was it better being married?”

And there’s only one possible answer. I breathe in the fragrant night air and help her out of the car, utterly focused on Sophia. None of my mafia work matters by comparison.

She’s the axis upon which my world spins.

“Yes. It was easier with you.” I draw her to me, and whisper in her ear. “Everything is better now that you’re mine.”

Our gazes meet and confusion shadows her pretty, speckled eyes.

“Because I’m your wife, you mean?”

She’s so much more than that. She’s my obsession, my life, my darling. She’s the only reason I have any internal organs or feelings. She’s the start of everything, and the longing to see her swollen with my baby is an almost unbearable ache in my chest.

My sweet, good girl. I need to get inside her. I drag in a breath, and, her hand in mine, guide her towards Streatham House.

The only way I can truly feel at peace is when she’s coming, that’s the truth.

There’s a glint of silver from the side, and I act on instinct.

I throw myself over Sophia, falling to the ground and not even able to turn us in time so I cushion her fall.

A bullet yanks me aside, away from her, and pain tears through me. Then it’s black.

11

SOPHIA

“Dex!” The cry is out of my throat as panic surges through me. I’m vaguely aware of a screech of tyres, the thud of feet, and a hard smack of something on my thigh, but Dex has been propelled off me. My heart in my mouth.

I throw myself up and a sob rises as I see him. His eyes are closed, he’s on his back.

He can’t be dead, hecan’tbe.