Page 26 of Malicious Marriage (Mafia Lords of Sin #9)

CLOVER

D ean insists on driving me home before we talk.

I can’t tell if he knows what I have to say is important or if he thinks I’m going to tell him something about the crash.

Either way, he whisks me out of the hospital within half an hour and before I know it, I’m seated in his kitchen under low light while he stands on the other side of the counter and slowly stirs a warming pot of milk.

How do I tell him?

How do I just blurt out that the baby he’s looking forward to might not actually be his?

After such a terrifying night, anything that risks Dean walking away from me doesn’t feel like the best plan.

I want him here with me. I want his arms around me and his warm chest soothing every tremor that jolts through me.

I want him to look at me with those gorgeous eyes and tell me he won’t ever leave me.

A complicated desire given the planned divorce in our future. Is the crash making me feel this way? Am I just aching for comfort because for the first time in my life, something traumatic happened and he was actually here for me?

No one was there for me when my father died or when my sister went missing.

Bobby did his best but after my father’s death, my uncle was firing so many of the security teams and replacing them with people of his own that Bobby got fired twice and sent away just before my sister vanished.

He welcomed me with open arms when my uncle kicked me out, but it wasn’t the same kind of comfort that Dean is giving me.

I didn’t know just how much I craved to be held and soothed until Dean’s arms were around me in the hospital, and now I’m about to break his heart.

“I have something to ask you,” I say softly, unable to stop my voice from wavering.

Dean’s attention is mostly down on the spoon as he stirs to ensure the milk doesn’t skin. “Ask me.”

“It’s about Bobby.”

Dean’s eyes flick up and he holds my gaze. “You’re worried about his medical bills, aren’t you?”

Oh. “Yes.”

“But not your own?”

My lips remain parted as my tired mind runs through excuses, but I find none and shake my head. “I’m worried about my own, but Bobby has a family and he’s hurt because he was saving me. I know I’ve already asked you for a lot?—”

“Clover. It’s taken care of. For both of you.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. We’re about to be married. Did you really think I would let you and those you care about suffer until there’s a ring on your finger?”

My hands twist together in my lap and I finally look away to the milk in the pan. “Honestly, everything about this is so new to me that I didn’t really know what the rules were.”

“There aren’t rules, so to speak. But I reasoned that with your uncle’s gambling problem creating such a hole in your finances, unexpected medical bills aren’t accounted for.”

My uncle’s gambling? What is he talking about?

I suddenly remember the brief conversation we had at the gala where my uncle’s reputation was brought to light.

Has Dean assumed that’s the reason for my financial troubles?

He’s never asked me for details, presumably to not offend me, so I don’t correct his assumption.

If it works for now, then that’s all that matters.

After all, even one tidbit of the truth will cause this whole thing to unravel for both of us.

“Does anyone account for unexpected medical bills?” I chuckle softly but lack any real amusement.

“My mother did.” Dean pauses his stirring and moves to the microwave, removing a small bowl of melted chocolate.

Returning to the pan, he tips the bowl and slowly lets it pour in.

“She had a medical-only fund because my brother and I were always getting ourselves into trouble. Scraped knees, dislocated fingers, broken arms. I’m surprised she didn’t just have a doctor live with us. ”

“A family of rough-housers, huh?”

Dean smiles slightly. “Back then, it was all the rage.”

“I’m sure.” My attention settles on the swirling chocolate pattern as it adds to the milk and slowly combines with Dean’s stirring.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about that was so important? Bobby’s medical bills?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t.”

“Is it about the charges Bobby might face?”

My stomach knots further. “Is he going to get into trouble?”

“No. I’m sorting it.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean smiles sweetly. “It means I’m sorting it. So, if it wasn’t that, then was it about your sister?”

My eyes snap back up but Dean’s gaze is down on the pot as he stirs. In the warm, low light of his kitchen, his beard almost looks gold and it’s very flattering against his jaw while being momentarily distracting. “My sister…”

“You should know that I have people working on it. From the information you gave me, I’m looking into the Russians to see if I can find out who she was seeing.

To my knowledge, no one on their end has gone missing, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a connection.

My contacts in the police are also helping me and we’re tracking down all airplane manifests from the past three months. ”

My eyes widen. “That’s… that’s got to be a lot of manifests.”

“It is, but since her passport hasn’t been in use, then it’s the easiest way to go about it. If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone on one of those manifests who doesn’t really exist.”

He’s doing so much for me already and hearing him talk makes my pulse quicken.

Finally, some real effort is being put into tracking down Hailey.

Granted, the past three months’ worth of manifests will be useless since she’s been missing for four years, but it’s a start.

Once I’m Dean’s wife, I can expand the search to match the truth.

“That’s so kind, thank you so, so much.”

“Of course.” He flashes me a warm smile. “I told you I would help you and I meant it.”

He did. Which only worsens the guilt stirring in my gut. “My sister… isn’t exactly what I wanted to talk about, either.”

“Oh?” Dean lifts one brow and his attention splits between me and the warm milk. “Is there something else?”

“Yes. But I… I don’t quite know how to say it.”

“Honesty is always the best option. Why don’t you tell me straight and we’ll start from there and work backward?”

Honesty feels like a blade to the heart and I twist my fingers so tightly together, it’s a wonder they don’t break. Honesty is important. And I’m the worst liar out of all of them.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and press my shoulders back. “I don’t think Trisha’s baby is yours.” That’s as direct as I can manage.

Dean’s hand freezes his stirring and he very slowly lifts his face to me. “That… is straight to the point,” he says tightly while his grip increases on the wooden spoon. “Why?”

“Uhm…” My fingernails dig into the indents between my fingers as my knee starts to bounce.

“Last night, I was with Bobby and we were having dinner at his place with his family until he got a call from a friend asking him to pick him up. He agreed and he was picking him up while on a detour to take me back to the—back home. The guy we picked up moves in the same security circles as him, and I believe Bobby said he is friends with Jack, which is how he even got Bobby’s number. ”

The words pour out in a rush and the kitchen is painfully silent afterward.

Dean doesn’t speak but he slowly resumes stirring the milk. It’s different this time. Before, he was stirring lazily as if caressing the milk and encouraging it to mix with the chocolate. Now he stirs stiffly, almost robotically, and his knuckles pale significantly.

“So we picked him up and he was drunk out his face talking about this woman he loved who dumped him. On and on he went.” I grow more breathless while I talk as nerves start to get the better of me.

“Although I suppose that doesn’t matter.

But he… he eventually called her and he was pouring his heart out, all these feelings and promises, and then he said he would be such a good dad to their baby.

And he said her name. Trisha. Because… because of the circles he works in, I had this horrible feeling so I asked him if he meant Trisha Wilcox and he said yes.

He kept saying he would be such a good dad to his baby and I… ”

Dean stops stirring but the spoon trembles faintly with how tight his grip is. “Name.”

“What?”

“What was his name?”

“I—Conor. His name is Conor.”

Dean doesn’t speak. He moves away from the stove and collects two mugs from the cupboard above the sink, then he moves back to his pot and slowly pours the warm hot chocolate into each.

He slides one toward me, a bear mug with lots of colorful flowers and a smiling bear on a swing, then he picks up the pan and takes it to the sink.

As soon as the water starts running, I let out a cautious breath I’d been holding ever since he fell silent.

Is he angry? Why doesn’t he have any questions? Should I tell him more details, like where we dropped Conor off that night, or how he genuinely sounded like he was in love with her?

None of these feel right. Dean’s shoulders bunch together as he washes out the pot rather methodically, so I wrap my hands around the cup and soak up the warmth.

Maybe it was wrong to tell him. I shouldn’t trust my judgment after a night like this.

Telling Dean this only opens up the chance that he’ll pull away from me, but I’m hoping it will also make him trust me.

I’m telling him the truth and if that holds any weight, then maybe Ryan won’t have any sway when he recovers and comes for me again.

My phone buzzes suddenly in my pocket. Since Dean is distracted and processing, I pull it out and open a text from Bobby that makes my heart sink to the pit of my stomach.

Ryan is dead?

My mind surges with a flurry of panicked thoughts. Will Bobby get the blame? Will the police come and arrest him for hitting him with the car? What about Frankie and Thomas?

My stomach ties in knots and I stare at Bobby’s text until my eyes blur. I can’t deal with this right now. My head still spins from the accident, my whole body aches, and now my heart feels like it’s caught in someone’s fist as I dance between Ryan’s death and Dean’s distress.

Dean distracts me, though, by turning back to face me while drying his hands on a tea towel. “I know Conor,” he says quietly, his face pained. “He was Trisha’s bodyguard for years before—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Thank you, Clover, for telling me.”

“It’s no problem,” I reply cautiously, trying to judge his reaction. He doesn’t look angry. If anything, he looks as pained as I expected, and that makes my heart hurt even worse.

“No, I mean it.” He finishes drying his hands and slowly folds the towel. “You’ve no idea what it means to finally have someone in my corner, someone who doesn’t lie and keep secrets or make me jump through a hundred hoops. So thank you for not keeping this from me.”

Fuck.

Fucking fuck .

I need to tell him the truth. Right now. I need to tell him everything so he stops looking at me with those warm, sad eyes filled with trust. He needs to know that I’m just as bad, if not worse.

But I can’t. Because without him, I don’t find Hailey.

The truth curdles like hot milk in my stomach and my throat burns, so I swallow hard and offer the best smile I can. “I… what are you going to do?”

Dean moves past me and clutches my shoulder briefly, then he presses a light kiss to the top of my head that sends tingles down my neck.

“I don’t know,” he says stiffly, “But I know it won’t be pleasant.”