Page 22 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

“The roof.”

A minute later, I pull open the door to the roof and helipad. Dad wanted us to make a big entrance to the gala, so he sent a sleek black helicopter to make a statement.

“Fuck,” Livvie cries out, shielding her face and hair from the powerful winds circulating courtesy of our ride. The air whips through my hair as I walk toward the helicopter.

High heels click along the ground behind me, Livvie’s complaints bringing a genuine smile to my lips.

I don’t bother to hold back the chuckle when I turn to help her climb inside.

Her cheeks are bright pink, eyes glittering with rage. And her hair is a complete windblown mess.

She still looks more gorgeous than ever, but I’d never give her the satisfaction of vocalizing that compliment.

“You are such an asshole,” she seethes. “You didn’t even warn me and now my hair looks like a total rat’s nest.”

I furrow my brow. “Not exactly. More like you stuck your wet finger into an electric socket.”

She gasps, her eyes flying open wide. “Fuck you, Kingston.”

I shrug and put on the headset, then hand one to her.

She shakes her head. “I’m not putting it on. My hair is enough of a mess.”

“You know that your ears will hate you if you don’t.”

“Not as much as I hate you,” she sing-songs back.

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Once we’re up in the air, it takes all of thirty seconds before Livvie clamps her hands over her ears and lets out a frustrated cry.

“Goddammit, give them to me,” she shouts, sticking her hand out.

I hand the headphones to her and wait before she clamps them on her head before saying, “Told you. Guess you’re not as tough as you thought.”

“Well, you’re definitely as big of a prick asIthought.” She pulls out all the pins from her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders in glossy waves. Running her fingers through them, she lets out a sigh. “So what’s the deal with this gala, anyway? Why are we even going?”

“It’s a show of power and unity. My family, your family, us taking our rightful place in their world. All part of their show, just like the sham wedding.”

“When I imagined what I wantedto be in life, puppet was never on the list,” she scoffs, twisting her head to stare out at the glittering city lights below.

“You and me both,” I mutter. She looks back at me, a glimmer of surprise in her bright eyes as if what I just confessed connects us in some way. Her lips part as if she wants to say something, but then the pilot’s voice breaks her thought.

“Mr. and Mrs. Viacava, we’ll be landing in about a minute. Someone will be on the rooftop to meet you and escort you into the gala.”

“Thanks,” I respond, straightening my bow tie. I fucking hate black tie but tonight is all about appearances so I put on the fucking tux to appease my father. I bring a hand to the back of my neck, my eyes dropping to the glimpse of leg I get when the slit of her dress separates.

Maybe black tie isn’t so bad after all.

The helicopter touches down on the roof of the Midtown Loft. Livvie pulls off her headset, tosses it on the seat next to her, and flips her hair, the scent of her vanilla and citrus shampoo wafting under my nose. I take in a deep breath, holding it in my lungs until she turns to give me a withering look.

“Are you planning on hanging out here all night? Or do we want to rub elbows with power players of the criminal underworld?” She runs her fingers through her hair, her lips lifting into a smirk. “I mean, I finally got my hair issues resolved. What are we waiting for?”

I chuckle as the door opens and someone appears to help her climb out.

But fuck that.

I thrust out my arm to block herpath and step down first, extending my hand out to her. “If my wife needs a hand, I’ll be the one to give it.”