Page 55 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

“No.”

“Yes. Because if you cared about this cousin, if you believed down deep for sure it was me, you’d have taken me out before we met the night of the bombing, or at least tried. You’re too violent not to. But I don’t do bar fights. Ever.”

My mind’s fragmenting as he starts to build me back to almost orgasm, and while I think I did believe Paddy when he told me who killed Stan, the fact he pointed to a photo of the wrong brother and called him Seamus means he didn’t carewhich one got the blame. He wanted to take them out and told me he’d help me get that revenge.

Did Paddy have an ulterior motive?

And does it even matter now?

Stan’s death stole my future, and now I have a chance to scrape it back. Even if it’s with a man I can’t stand.

“Paddy…” I trail off, not sure what to say, and a wave of delight passes over me that has everything to do with what Seamus is doing.

“Paddy was ashite. He had a vendetta and you fell for it because of your greed. Did he claim he witnessed it? Showed you a picture of Torin? Decided he was me? See, now I don’t like you. In fact, it’s probably hate. I’ve nothing but disdain for you, Ava.”

“Let me go.” But there’s no conviction in my words.

He starts to pull free, and I whimper as I stop him.

Seamus smiles and it’s utterly deadly.

He didn’t kill Stan. So maybe?—

“Here’s the thing,” he murmurs, pushing me toward that shining orgasm, “I’m going to let you have your bratva—over my dead body.”

“And I’ll take you fucking down,” I say, panting.

“Bring it the fuck on, sweet thing.”

And then he kisses me, and he strokes over my clit again, fucking me with his fingers like the devil that he is, and I come.

Again.

THIRTEEN

seamus

I like rings.I wear them often and today, a few days into my glorious—heavy on the sarcasm—marriage, my bride’s standing next to me while Ishmael, the jeweler, pulls out a few for her to try on.

Today, I’m not picking something fitting for my taste.

Or Ava’s, either, if the look on her face has anything to do with it. And I’m loving every second of her discomfort. Her expression darkens as I pick out wedding rings and the ugliest, flashiest engagement ring I can find.

The jeweler looks at me, doubt on his face. “Are you sure?”

“It’s totally her.” I take her hand and hold it out and slip the engagement ring on. “See? Big, ostentatious, and black, like her heart.”

Before his shock fully blooms, I wink and smile. I have no doubt he’s probably thinking that my bride lacks taste. Or that I’ve lost my mind. I’ve bought rings from him in the past. And he knows I like black and silver, heavy but with minimal embellishments. A twist of the metal into something interesting, but no stones or skulls or anything idiotic.

Apart from this.

“What do you think, sweet thing?”

“I think,” she manages as she gazes at the garish thing next to her wedding band that’s a simple black and platinum band to match mine, “that it’s the kind of taste I’ve come to expect from you, Seamus. One of the reasons why I married you.”

“She says the sweetest things.”

Ish just scratches his beard and shakes his head. “I’ve also got something Callahan ordered. Hold on.”