Page 14 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

KASI

Today I become a Moretti, and I plan to make them all regret it.

Maria fastens the last button on my black dress, her fingers trembling with excitement. The fabric hugs my body like a second skin, sophisticated and elegant in a way that makes me look older than twenty-two. My hair falls in waves over my shoulders, dark as midnight against the dress.

“You look stunning, miss,” Maria whispers, stepping back to admire her work. “Mr. Moretti won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Red lips. Dark eyes lined. Pale skin that’s finally lost the last traces of bruising. I look like a woman who belongs in this world of money and violence.

“Time to go,” I say, checking my wristwatch. Three o’clock. My wedding is scheduled like a business meeting.

Maria leads me through the hallway, past expensive paintings and marble statues. Everything in this place screams wealth and power.

We stop outside Alaric’s office. Maria squeezes my hand once, then knocks.

“Come in.”

The office is larger than I expected, but no less impressive.

Dark wood paneling covers the walls, broken up by shelves lined with leather-bound books and crystal decanters.

A massive desk dominates the center of the room, its surface polished to mirror brightness.

Behind it, tall windows overlook gardens where I used to walk under guard.

Alaric stands near his desk wearing a black suit. His silver hair is perfectly styled, and his green eyes track my movement as I enter.

David Roth, the family lawyer, waits beside him with an open book in his hands. Benedetto stands near the window, hands clasped behind his back. Lionel takes a position by the door, his face still bearing faint bruises from whatever punishment he received.

“Miss Vale,” David says formally. “Are you ready to begin?”

I walk to the center of the room and face Alaric. “Let’s get this over with.”

David clears his throat and begins reading from what I assume is some kind of legal ceremony. “We are gathered here today to unite Kasimira Vale and Alaric Moretti in marriage, as required by the terms of Dante Moretti’s last will and testament.”

Romantic.

“Do you, Alaric Moretti, take Kasimira Vale to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?”

Alaric’s eyes never leave mine. “I do.”

“Do you, Kasimira Vale, take Alaric Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?”

The words stick in my throat for a moment. This is it. The moment I officially become property of the Moretti family again. But it’s also the moment I gain power. Real power.

“I do.”

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” David closes his book with a snap. “You may kiss the bride.”

Alaric steps closer, his intention clear. But instead of lifting my face for a kiss, I extend my hand toward him.

For a handshake.

The room goes silent. Benedetto’s eyebrows rise slightly.

Alaric stares at my outstretched hand for a long moment, then takes it in his. His grip is firm, businesslike.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I say sweetly.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “Likewise.”

We shake once, twice. Then I pull away and turn toward the door.

“Mrs. Moretti,” David calls after me. “There are papers to sign.”

“Of course there are.”

Twenty minutes later, after signing documents that make me officially rich and officially trapped, we head to dinner.

The dining room has been set for eight people. Crystal glasses catch the light from an elaborate chandelier.

Steve Moretti stands when we enter, a man in his thirties with dark hair and an easy smile. Beside him, a blonde woman in a designer dress beams like she’s won the lottery.

“Congratulations,” Steve says, embracing Alaric. “Though I have to say, you missed one hell of a wedding last weekend.”

“Business kept me occupied,” Alaric replies dryly.

“Business named Kasimira, who decided to take a little vacation.” Steve grins at me. “You nearly drove my cousin insane, you know. He tore apart half the city looking for you.”

“Sorry I missed your party,” I say, not sorry at all.

The older man at the table stands with effort. He must be seventy, with liver spots and shaking hands. The woman beside him can’t be older than twenty-three, with blonde hair and a body that screams expensive surgery.

“Congratulations, Alaric,” the old man wheezes. “Beautiful bride. Reminds me of my Candy here.”

The blonde woman, apparently named Candy, giggles and clings to his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Torrino. You’re so sweet.”

Benedetto takes his seat without ceremony. Lionel positions himself against the wall with the other guards.

I sit in the chair Alaric pulls out for me and immediately reach for the bread basket. The roll is still warm from the oven, and I tear into it like I haven’t eaten in days.

“Hungry?” Steve’s wife asks politely.

“Starving,” I reply through a mouthful of bread. “Prison food isn’t exactly five-star cuisine.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the table.

“Prison?” Candy’s voice pitches higher. “You were in prison?”

“More like house arrest,” I say, reaching for another roll. “Your new family member here has kept me locked up for two weeks.”

Alaric’s expression doesn’t change, but I see his jaw tighten.

The first course arrives. Some kind of fancy soup that probably has a French name. I ignore the multiple spoons and use the biggest one, slurping loudly enough to make Candy wince.

“So tell me about this family,” I say, looking around the table. “What exactly do you all do for a living?”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“We’re in import and export,” Steve says carefully.

“What kind of imports?”

“Various…commodities.”

I laugh, the sound sharp in the elegant room. “You mean guns and drugs and whatever else makes money.”

“Kasimira.” Alaric’s voice carries a warning.

“What? We’re all family now, aren’t we?” I take a large gulp of wine. “Shouldn’t we be honest with each other?”

The main course is a fish dish. I eat it with my hands, ignoring the horrified looks from around the table. The sauce runs down my fingers, and I lick them clean instead of using my napkin.

“You know,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “this is the best meal I’ve had in months. Amazing what a little freedom can do for your appetite.”

Candy looks like she might faint. Steve’s wife has stopped eating entirely. Even Benedetto seems amused by my performance.

“Perhaps we should discuss business,” the old man suggests weakly.

“Oh yes, let’s,” I say, leaning forward with interest. “I’d love to know more about my new…inheritance.”

By the time dessert arrives, I’ve managed to appall everyone except Benedetto, who seems to find my behavior entertaining. I eat the chocolate cake with my fingers too, making little moaning sounds of pleasure that make Alaric’s knuckles go white on his wine glass.

“Well,” Steve says when the meal finally ends, “this has been…memorable.”

“Thank you for coming,” Alaric replies stiffly. “Benedetto will see you out.”

The guests file out, Candy whispering urgently to her elderly boyfriend about “standards” and “proper breeding.” Steve claps Alaric on the shoulder and murmurs something about “good luck.”

When the room clears except for the guards, I stand and stretch like a cat.

“That was fun,” I announce. “Lionel, I’m going upstairs to take a long-ass nap.”

Lionel glances at Alaric, who nods curtly.

“Of course, Mrs. Moretti.”

Mrs. Moretti. What a joke.

In my room, I peel off the black dress and let it pool on the floor. The hot shower washes away the evening’s performance, and by the time I crawl into bed, exhaustion hits me like a truck.

I sleep hard and dreamless.

When I wake, the room is dark except for the digital clock glowing at 9:15 PM. My stomach growls. All that theatrical eating at dinner, and I’m still hungry.

“Lionel?” I call through the door.

“Ma’am. Still here.”

I pad to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. In the mirror, my hair is a mess from sleep. I reach for the brush, then stop myself.

What am I doing? Primping for my captor husband?

I adjust the white nightgown I threw on before bed. It’s shorter than I remembered, barely covering my thighs, with thin straps that keep sliding off my shoulders. The soft fabric clings to my body in ways that leave little to the imagination.

I open the door and find Lionel standing at attention. “Let’s walk.”

“Where would you like to go, Mrs. Moretti?”

“Kitchen. I’m starving.”

We walk through hallways lit by soft security lighting. The kitchen is massive with granite counters. I grab an apple from a fruit bowl and bite into it, juice running down my chin.

“Where’s my husband?” I ask around a mouthful of apple.

“Probably in his office, ma’am. Mr. Moretti always works late.”

I swallow and smile. “Let’s go there then.”

Lionel hesitates. “Ma’am, perhaps it would be better to?—”

“Let’s go, Lionel.”

We walk through the quiet house, my bare feet silent against marble floors. Lionel opens the office door for me, then takes position outside like a good guard.

Alaric is inside, pouring himself a drink from one of those crystal decanters. He’s loosened his tie, and the top button of his shirt is undone.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says without looking up.

“Why not?” I step into the room, running my finger along book spines. “Aren’t you my husband?”

“This is my private office.”

“And I’m your wife.” I examine the titles; most of them look untouched. “Do you even read these?”

He turns to face me, drink in hand. “I have a PhD in International Business.”

“You probably bought it with money.”

His jaw tightens. “I earned it.”

I pull a book from the shelf and let it drop to the floor with a loud thud. “Sure you did.”

“What are you doing?” He sets down his drink and walks over, bending to pick up the book. As he places it back on the shelf, I move to his desk area.

“Exploring my new domain.” I pick up a crystal paperweight from his desk and examine it. “Your office is really nice and very…masculine. I forgot to mention it earlier when we got married.”

The paperweight slips from my fingers and shatters against the hardwood floor.

“Oops.”

“Stop.” He’s still standing by the bookshelf.

“Stop what?” I perch on the edge of his desk, swinging my legs. The nightgown rides up dangerously high on my thighs. “I’m just getting comfortable in my new home.”

“Why are you wearing that around the house?”

“Because I can.” I slide back on the desk until I’m sitting fully on top of it, papers crinkling beneath me. “Problem?”

He steps closer, his eyes dark with frustration and desire. “Get off my desk.”

“Make me.”

He walks to his door and opens it wide. “Kasimira, get out.”

I throw my head back and laugh, the sound echoing through the room. “Oh, that’s rich. The big, scary mafia boss can’t handle his wife sitting on his desk?”

I reach for a silver letter opener and let it clatter to the floor.

“You want me to leave? Make me,” I repeat, grinning at him.

His face darkens. He slams the door shut so hard that the sound echoes through the house.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” He turns to face me, his voice low and dangerous. “Tempting me. Pushing my buttons.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” I tilt my head innocently, swinging my legs. “I thought I was just being a good wife. Getting to know my husband’s…workspace.”

“You’re being a brat.”

“I’m being myself.”

He takes a step toward the desk. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“Enlighten me.”

Another step closer. “You think this is a game?”

“Isn’t it?” I lean back on my hands, the nightgown riding higher. “Big, powerful man, helpless little wife. Seems like your kind of game.”

“You’re nothing helpless, Kasimira,” he bites out, his mouth a breath from mine. “You’ve proven that over and over again.”

And then his lips crash against mine.