Page 12 of Ruthless Lord

Stefano

A narrow little man with a skinny mustache presents me with a folder packed with papers.

“You’ll find everything in order,” he says, placing them down on the table in front of me, along with a golden pen.

“I’ve already marked where you must initial, date, and sign.

You’ll see that Ms. Westbrook’s already taken the liberty of filling out her sections. ”

I scowl at him and slowly place my glass of whiskey down on the middle of the packet. Water seeps around the edges, getting the paper damp. “What is this?”

The lawyer squirms. He’s probably not used to men like me. This man’s war room is the law office, while mine is a blood-soaked ring.

“The prenup. Surely you discussed it with your, ah—” He looks around as if he might find help. But Enzo and Luca aren’t exactly jumping to his aid. Both stare back, seeming amused. “Your associates.”

“Hear that, Stefano? He thinks we’re your associates,” Enzo cracks, sounding amused. “I wonder what he thinks we associate for?”

“Leave the poor lawyer alone,” Luca says, grinning. “You’re going to make him piss himself.”

I lean forward and stare into the small man’s face. He visibly swallows like in some old cartoon. It’d be funny, except nobody told me about a prenup, and right now I’m not in the laughing mood.

“I’m supposed to say my vows in two hours.” I speak very slowly so he understands that I am not fucking around right now. “Sum this whole thing up to me as simply as possible.”

“And use small words,” Enzo adds. “He’s not very patient.”

I flip him off, but I keep glaring at the lawyer.

“Well, ah, it’s a standard prenup. Ms. Westbrook will retain her own money, and you will keep your own. If the pair of you, uh, divorce, Ms. Westbrook’s current assets will remain her own. There are provisions for child support?—”

“You think I need a contract to take care of my own fucking children?” I lean into his face, gritting my teeth. “You think I’m that much of an animal?”

The man pales. I’m just fucking with him now, and it’s probably not nice, but I am genuinely annoyed. “No, no, nothing like that. This is all standard, I promise you, Mr. Bianchi, all very standard. If you like, you can speak with your own representation?—”

“He means we can summon our own mob lawyer,” Enzo supplies.

“Just sign the papers and get on with it,” Luca says tiredly. “We’re not getting any lawyers involved.”

I lift my glass and take a long drink before snatching the folder up into my hand. The bastard Westbrooks waited until the last second to drop this prenup bomb on purpose. They want to back me into a corner. Make me sign without reading. They probably have lots of very good provisions in here.

“I need to have a conversation with my wife,” I say grimly, stomping to the door.

“You’re not married to her yet!” Enzo calls after me, but I’m already shoving my way from the bachelor suite and into the hallway.

Damned Charlie. Damned bastard Westbrooks. I thought taking on a pretty wife would be fun, but this is already frustrating.

I hate signing documents. Contracts drive me insane. Nothing makes me itch more than knowing there’s some piece of fucking paper that thinks it can tell me what to do. If it weren’t for my Don’s direct orders, I might say to hell with this whole wedding.

Instead, I push my way up to the bridal section of the venue. Nobody’s standing guard outside her door, and nobody tries to stop me when I knock twice before barging inside.

The room smells like hairspray and perfume.

It’s actually kind of nice.

“What are you doing in here?!” A young girl screeches in my face as she hurries over, waving her hands around in the air, trying to distract me. The room’s simply furnished with some couches on the right, a bed at the far end, and a dressing area to the left.

A woman’s sitting in front of a brightly lit mirror. An incredible woman. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life.

Except some little gnat’s getting in my face.

“You can’t be here!” the gnat says, her big blue eyes wide with horror. She buzzes around me, hands fluttering in the air. “Please, Mr. Bianchi, it’s bad luck?—”

“Leave him be, Emily,” the goddess at the mirror says.

The gnat looks horrified. “But Charlie, it’s bad luck?—”

“I have a feeling I know what this is about.”

The woman rises from the chair. Two more annoying girl-gnats flutter around her holding various hair-face-makeup-whatever objects. Charlie ignores them as she walks over to me, poised, gorgeous, perfect.

Holy fucking shit.

She’s in a pair of pink fuzzy slippers and a thin, silky slip. Her hair’s half done and up in some complicated braid. Her makeup was clearly just started.

And she looks incredible.

I’m flattened. Fuck, I’m bowled over. She’s not even in her dress yet and she already looks magnificent. The way the slip clings to her curves, to the swell of her breasts, to the soft turn of her hip, it’s heaven. My dick’s half hard at the memory of her body against mine. Of her moans in my ear.

For a second, I forget why I’m here.

Charlie crosses her arms, which pushes her breasts together, and purses her lips. She arches one lovely eyebrow. The whole pose fucks me up even worse. It’s like she knows what she does to me, and she doesn’t give a damn.

“Well, Stefano? I assume you’re here to discuss our paperwork?”

Right. That reminds me. I grip the prenup in one hand. Some anger comes rushing back, flushing into me like battle lust. Except it’s not battle lust, is it?

This is just regular lust.

Fucking kind of lust.

Like if there weren’t still gnats fluttering around, I’d bend my future wife over my knee—no, I’d get on my knees and eat her like a feast—no, no, I’d fuck her savage until that slip tears in half?—

God damn, my skull is pounding. What was I doing again?

“I don’t give a shit about your money,” I finally manage to say, my voice a low rumble.

Charlie looks surprised. “Then why are you here?”

I step toward her. The gnats disappear from my mind. There’s only my wife, looking like an angel. Looking so fuckable it’s obscene. Only the desire to make her mine remains.

“This is a way out,” I whisper, staring into her face, looking at her plump lips. Her mouth opens ever so slightly. I remember my big dick stretching those cheeks. God, I’m a broken man. “And when you marry me, there is nothing else.”

Her cheeks turn pink. What a beautiful girl. My blushing bride. Except she’s pissed. Which is probably not ideal two hours before a wedding.

“It’s just a prenup. Totally standard in my world.”

“Your little lawyer already told me that.”

“Then sign it.”

“And let you think you can walk away from me without consequences?” I cock my head, jaw tense. “You need skin in the game, Ms. Westbrook.”

“Like you do?” She doesn’t back down, and I like that about her. Instead, she surges forward, one finger jabbing me in the chest. “What’s going to stop you from fucking me over? That prenup is there to protect both of us. You know, since we’re strangers?”

I catch her wrist. “Not that strange to each other.”

She sucks in a breath. Dimly, I can tell the gnats are outraged. “Let go of me.”

“Tell you what.” I pull her closer, not really caring about the audience. My lips move forward, brushing the perfect curve of her neck, getting just the slightest bit of her skin on my tongue. “I want skin. You have plenty to offer.”

“Stefano,” she says, sounding terrified, angry, and a little bit aroused, all at once.

“I’ll sign your papers if you give me something in return.”

“Stop it.” She’s whispering and trembling slightly.

“You look incredible, Charlie. In that little slip of yours. Just the thinnest silk between me and what I really need.”

“People are in the room,” she hisses, but I swear, she’s on the edge of moaning.

“They can watch.” My eyes focus on the gnats. They’re standing together in a little group now, looking variously horrified and actually kind of into this. “You don’t mind if I fuck my wife in front of you girls, do you?”

“That’s enough.” Charlie pulls away, panting hard. She looks pissed. I guess I pushed a little too far. “Sign the papers, you asshole.”

“Say pretty please.”

“How about I tell you to go fuck yourself? How about you go explain to your precious Don that you couldn’t obey his orders because you’re too much of a prick?”

Cheeky fucking girl. I grin, genuinely loving this. “I’ll sign.” I slap the papers down on a table. The gnat called Emily lets out a yelp and covers her mouth in surprise. “But tonight, after you’re all mine, I’m going to take it out on your pretty fucking ass.”

Charlie snorts and backs away. “You touch me and you’re dead.”

“I don’t mean I’ll hurt you.” I grab a venue-branded pen from a stack of stationery and start scrawling my initials, all while staring at my wife. My mouth’s still watering and my dick’s hard. “I’m going to spank you, Charlie.”

Her eyes widen a touch. “Like hell you will.”

“Over and over. My palm flat on your lovely little backside. You’ll squeal and whine. You might even try to fight. But in the end, you’ll writhe and moan as my fingers make you come.” I sign the final page with a flourish and throw the pen toward the gnats. Emily screams and covers her mouth.

The other two are looking at me like they wish they were the ones about to be my wife.

“If you think tonight is going to be about anything more than business, you’re even more delusional than I thought.” Charlie stays completely composed, looking at me like I’m a piece of worn shoe leather. “Your hands won’t come anywhere near my admittedly very nice ass.”

I grin at her, heart hammering. I love her defiance. The way she’s standing up to me with her chin held high.

But I meant what I said. I don’t give a shit about the money—only I want to make sure she can’t just waltz out of this marriage whenever she damn well pleases.

Because when I put a ring on her finger, that means she’s mine forever.

And I don’t give up what I own. Not ever, not for anything.

Even if she pisses me off and acts like she’s the greatest shit God ever squeezed out of his magic asshole.

She will be mine.

“Don’t worry, wife. You can stand there and look at me like I’m a monster, but you’ll be covered in sweat and begging me to keep going before the sun comes up.”

I leave the suite, the signed prenup under my arm.

Something crashes against the door behind me. Sounds a lot like a glass shattering.

I’m smiling all the way back to my rooms. Enzo and Luca are still there, both casually drinking and playing cards, while the lawyer sits across the room pale as death. I drop the papers in front of him. “You may go now.”

He snatches them up, makes sure they’re signed, and runs off like his life depends on it.

Luca leans back in his chair. “All good?”

“About as expected.”

“That bad then?”

I sit next to him and pour myself another drink. “My wife is a pain in my ass.”

“You’re not married yet,” Enzo murmurs.

“She’ll grow on you.” Luca hesitates, head tilting to the side, and shrugs. “Or maybe she won’t. Either way, want to play?”

I consider telling him she already has.

But that’s my secret for now.

“Deal me in.”