Page 1 of Malicious Marriage (Mafia Lords of Sin #9)

CLOVER

B reathe, Clover. Just keep breathing .

It plays like a mantra in my head. In and out. In and out.

Below my feet, the floor vibrates with the intense pounding beat of the music carrying through the party. Each time the music lulls and the playlist switches songs, the drunken voices of tipsy people churn together into a wordless noise that’s very quickly swallowed by the next song.

And then the next.

Maybe coming here was a mistake. It was a terrible idea. A stupid, reckless idea that has no chance in hell of actually working out the way I need it to.

Three nights ago when I was planning on how to sneak into this party, it felt like the greatest idea I’d ever had.

Rely on the rapid way people always get drunk at a party like this to sneak in through the kitchens and act like I belong here.

What could go wrong? Nothing makes people blinder than a celebration, and the majority of the guests downstairs hardly need a reason to pick up a bottle.

But now I’m here and my heart won’t stop racing.

Walking through the crowd felt like everyone could tell that I didn’t belong here, as if even my perfume betrayed that I was the only penniless one in the room.

I tried to keep my head held high while looking for my target, but after one too many alcohol-laced questions shoved in my face by drunken party-goers, I needed a break.

This office is exactly the quiet space I need, and I’ve been in here, nestled into a thick leather chair that likely cost more than my entire year’s rent, trying to catch my breath.

“In and out, Clover,” I whisper to myself, testing to see if the sound of my own voice makes me feel less alone. It doesn’t. It sounds strained and alien to my own ears, which only makes my anxiety worse.

This was such a stupid idea.

I need to call Bobby. He needs to get me out of here.

As I reach into my purse for my phone, anxious tears quickly flood my eyes and blur the location of the bag’s zipper. I fumble for it, blinking quickly, but just as I locate it, the handle on the door behind me clicks and the door swings wide open.

Golden light floods into the dark office, illuminating the ceiling-high bookshelves that rest against the wall across from me, framing a gigantic rectangular window draped in black curtains that become deep red in the light.

Outside, a nearby tree sways in the gentle May breeze with its golden leaves kissing the window pane.

My breath catches in my throat. It’s one thing to sneak away from a party I’m not supposed to be at and hide in a room that I’m definitely not supposed to be in. It’s another thing to be caught.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move.

I don’t even blink.

A deep, tired sigh escapes the tall, bulky man who steps into the room and seemingly doesn’t see me.

The light from the hallway illuminates him as he trudges past me and walks deeper into the office with his head down.

One hand rises and drags his fingers through the thick, neatly arranged curls covering his head.

He makes it to the large oak desk at the far end of the room just as the door closes, and the office once again returns to its calming darkness.

Although it’s no longer calm.

There’s now a stranger in here with me and the longer this drags out without me voicing my presence, the more awkward this is going to be.

I blink and two fat tears finally escape my eyelashes.

My lips part and a trembling word rises in my throat, but before I can urge it past my lips, the man turns on the floral desk lamp and trudges around the desk until he’s aligned with the large, comfortable-looking leather chair.

As he turns, his face finally catches the light and all thought of talking vanishes from my mind.

Holy fucking shit .

It’s Dean Savoy!

The very man I came here to see.

There’s no way he’s here. There’s no way that’s really him!

But it is.

His unmistakable rugged handsomeness is unmatched by anyone else I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

A trimmed, well-oiled brown beard with several dashing streaks of silver hugs his golden olive jaw.

He yawns briefly as he sits, enhancing the deep laughter lines around the corner of his mouth and twinkling blue eyes.

He might be one of the only Mafia kings in the entire city who deserves to be on the cover of GQ, attached to an article on how to age gracefully and still remain as hot as he was in his twenties.

The pictures were legendary when I was at school.

The Savoys are basically Mafia royalty with how long they’ve controlled major parts of the city… and how good their genes are.

Which makes why I’m here even worse. The chances of this going the way I need it to are slim to none.

I should have drunk more before I came up here.

I didn’t plan on catching Dean in his office, though.

On the drive here, I entertained all the casual ways I could bump into him with a drink or an hors d’oeuvre.

I rehearsed how to make the conversation seem natural and how to get him alone when every other soul at this party is vying for his attention.

Getting him alone in his office never even crossed my mind.

Dean drags his hand through his hair once more with a deeper sigh escaping him.

This time, his hand lingers, pulling on the strands while his other hand grabs the green silk tie around his neck and drags the knot a few inches down.

Then he unclasps the top few buttons of his shirt and breathes deeply as if the collar has been smothering him the entire night.

I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t.

He doesn’t know I’m here and it’s so terribly inappropriate, but I can’t resist. Several inches of dark, golden skin are exposed now along with a few teasing curls of silver and brown chest hair.

The well-dressed, picture-perfect Dean Savoy is suddenly looking a little disheveled with his hair ruffled, his shirt open, and his tie a few inches loose from his throat.

He leans forward and sheds his black suit jacket, forcing me to look away.

How do I do this? This is the perfect opportunity, but the thought of making a noise and revealing that I’ve been sitting here in the dark the entire time feels more and more impossible the longer this goes on.

My skin is hot. My heart is pounding so hard my teeth are trembling, and I’m too scared to move in case a sudden spring in the chair decides to alert Dean to my presence.

I shouldn’t say anything. I should stay silent until he leaves, which surely won’t be long since he’s the host. It’s his party, and I can’t imagine he’ll stay away for long when he’s supposed to be celebrating some incredible new deal between the Italians and the Russians that will bring a new era of peace to New York.

Or so they say. I’m not involved in any of the details.

But Dean doesn’t leave.

He sits there with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking slow, deep breaths.

Each second drags past like an eternity, and the fear of being caught does nothing to calm the tears still slowly welling in my eyes.

Each time I blink, they escape down my cheeks, and I don’t dare to lift my hand and wipe them away. I’m frozen like a statue.

This was all so much easier in my head when talking to Dean Savoy was just a plan that I could control and ensure success in my head. Reality is much more daunting.

My nose tickles, and I try to breathe in constantly but slowly through my nose. But it keeps running. Tears well faster as my distress rises, and in the end, there’s nothing I can do to stop myself from sniffling.

Dean’s eyes snap open.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

His hand moves along the desk and a button clicks. A moment later, the desk lamp next to me blooms to life and my safety blanket of darkness melts away, exposing my presence to the room and Dean.

This is it.

It’s over. I’ve been caught.

Dean will surely be furious. Not only did I break into his office—and why did it have to be his office and not just some random office, huh?

—but I’ve remained hidden here like some creepy stalker just watching him.

He’ll kill me for sure. He’ll do away with me, and the only person who will miss me will be Bobby.

It’s over. It’s so over .

Under the golden glow of the lamp, I can’t hold back my sniffles, and the fear of getting caught surges up inside me. My mind goes completely blank of excuses and when I blink, my entire world blurs.

Say something, Clover. Say something .

Anxious tears well, and the entire world goes quiet as the music beneath us fades with the end of a song. My lips part, and suddenly, something soft brushes against my flushed cheek. I blink again, sending a wave of tears rolling down my cheeks.

Dean stands over me with a tissue in one hand that he offers out to me and a box of them in his other.

“Here,” Dean says in a low, soft voice that almost vibrates through the air toward me. “Dry your tears.”

With trembling fingers, I accept the offered tissue and quickly bury my nose into the softness.

I dare not think how expensive these tissues must be.

Sniffling, I wipe at my nose and dab at my eyes, then when Dean offers me the tissue box, I take it and set it in my lap.

It’s a decent distraction to focus on, so I grab a handful of tissues and carefully dab at my eyes and cheeks, though I spot with a heavy heart that my dollar-store mascara is not as waterproof as it claims.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp. My voice shakes with how hard my heart is pounding.

Dean Savoy is standing next to me, offering me tissues rather than yelling at me. The man with the most cold-hearted, dangerous reputation in the city is offering me tissues for my tears rather than slitting my throat for trespassing.

I’m in way over my head. This was such a mistake.

“Don’t apologize for tears,” Dean says. The angle of his voice shifts, so I open my eyes to see him perched on the small table in front of me with his elbows balanced on his knees and the fine lines around his eyes deepening from the worried frown above his eyes.

“I’m sorry ,” escapes me once more because what else am I supposed to say? Sorry for crying. Sorry for sitting in the dark like a weirdo. Sorry for not announcing my presence like some kind of stalker.

Dean hums gently in his throat and watches me intently, barely even blinking. This close, I can see right down the white shirt straining across his pecs, and my cheeks flush hotter at the glimpse of hidden skin under his collar.

Get it together Clover, for fuck’s sake. This is what you wanted .

“Would you believe me if I said this happens all the time?” I hurriedly wipe at my eyes once more and wrestle down the urge to give in to the tears and sob.

“Depends,” Dean replies. “Tell me why you’re crying and I will tell you if I believe you.”