Page 23 of Precious Hazard

My heart thunders against my rib cage as I futilely struggle to escape Satan’s hold. Even with all my kicking and screaming, he just casually strides to the couch. His viselike grip doesn’t waver, even as he sits down and leans back. The way he’s positioned me, quickly securing my limbs with his body, doesn’t allow me any wiggle room to even attempt to punch him in the face.

“Alexa,” he says. “Put on the ambience playlist.”

A moment later, the room is filled with a combination of a classical piano melody and the soothing sound of rain.

“Are you for real?” I gape at him. Our faces are so close that I can see droplets of water clinging to his eyebrows and beard.

“I’ve said it. But I’ll say it again.” He leans in even closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just… snapped… a little.”

“Because I wounded your male pride?”

“Maybe?”

“That’s fucking pathetic.”

Something akin to a smirk plays on his lips. They look kind of nice. His lips. Not overly full, but with a well-defined cupid’s bow, adding to his striking appearance.

“I know. Can we please have a civil conversation now?”

“Let me go, and I’ll think about it.”

His hold on me loosens. I immediately scramble off his lap and take several steps back.

“There’s no point in fighting a battle you can’t win, Tara. We’re getting married, regardless of how you feel about it. Why won’t you just accept the situation for what it is?”

Because I can’t! My life has been a revolving door of self-made disasters. Constant screwups and gross mistakes. Even when I tried to do the right thing, I couldn’t stick with it.

My relationships haven’t gone any better because I just keep choosing to date one loser after another. I’m like a magnet for every fuckwit and cheater around. If they’re lucky, they just stomp on my heart and split. If they aren’t, they end up dead. Dating me seems to be hazardous to a guy’s health. Exhibit A: Stavros. Exhibit B: Petar, who died in a confrontation with Cosa Nostra nearly three years ago.

That kind of track record doesn’t bode well for finding the love of my life. The one man who’d love me despite my faults. Whose love for me would rival the greatest romance stories ever told. And we would spend our days and nights being happy.

That’s what I want. What I dream of. But now, that dream is being crushed by some asinine idea the New York Cosa Nostra don cooked up. And then further ground down by this bullheaded Satan hiding in gorgeous flesh. For whatever reason, the two figured they had the right to dictate my life. To stomp out every possibility of me finding my own happiness, all for their heartless whims.

I can’t let that happen! Can’t give up the fight. I want my “happily ever after!” And Arturo DeVille is definitely not it!

“Go ahead and turn in that gun with my prints,” I whisper. “I’d rather rot in prison than marry you.”

“You sure? Because time behind bars wouldn’t be the worst of your problems. Word on the street is that old Katrakis is going apeshit, looking for his son all over the tristate area. Maybe I should send him a tip about your ex’s whereabouts?”

“Be my guest.”

DeVille leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and propping his chin up with his clasped hands. His dark depths sear me from beneath his pinched brows.

“One year,” he says after a while.

“One year… what?”

“We’ll stay married for one year. Then, I’ll give you a divorce.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “And what would your beloved don say to that?”

“Ajello believes that the marriage between us will fix my relationship with your brother. And… some other things. When his gambit doesn’t pan out, and when he realizes that you and I will likely kill each other, he won’t oppose it.”

“Really? I had no idea your don is such a reasonable man.”

“He’s not, but he is pragmatic. With nothing to gain, he will yield.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Two months,” I counter.