Page 33 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

The words slice clean through me. Realization hits like a shot of adrenaline through my veins.

I’m somebody’swife.

And he’s taking this whole marriage thing seriously. Whereas I'm biding my time until I sign the divorce papers.

“Give me names and we’ll butcher the fuckers,” he adds.

A dozen thoughts crash through my mind—Roman’s warning, the flash drive he gave me, the Red Tribunal’s warning, the bullet that whistled too close to my skin.

We’re both targets now.

As much as I hate Kingston for merely existing in my oxygen supply, we’re in this nightmare together. I guess it could be worse. He could be ugly.

But no, he has to be infuriatingandgodlike with that coarse-haired jawline carved out of Italian marble, voice deep and seductive, and that storm-dark gaze that strips me bare, leaving me breathless.

Pushing past the flicker of attraction I’ll never admit to, I leave him in his den of threats and shadows and head for the kitchen, pretending I didn’t just overhear a murder plan.

I know exactly how the mafia works. I’ve lived and breathed that life and watched it swallow people whole. Which is why I wanted out. Why I flew to New York in the first place, chasing an illusion of freedom before my last name draggedme back to the dark side.

I don’t want a life built on fear and bloodshed. Never did. Even though the blood coursing through my veins is potent. Because my father’s hands are already soaked in enough blood to damn the entire O’Callaghan family tree, past, present, and future.

The blood on him isn’t just symbolic anymore. It’s thick. Sticky. Like tar. And it clings to everything he touches.

The kitchen is far from modest. Ridiculous, in fact. There’s all black onyx and brushed copper fixtures, glowing under recessed lighting and sunshine. The island stretches the length of the room, wide enough to host a war council or a last supper.

It’s a showstopper space designed for a magazine spread, not for actual use. However, that doesn’t stop Bronx Viacava from making himself right at home.

He’s perched on one of the tall leather barstools at the island, shirtless, tattoos sprawled across his muscular chest and arms like chaos captured in ink. His dark hair is a sexy mess, strands falling into his eyes, and there’s a half-eaten bagel on a plate in front of him that looks wildly out of place.

His gaze flicks to me the moment I walk in—zero shame, all amusement. “Morning, Mrs. Viacava. Or do I call you sis?”

“Call me what ya want.” I walk farther into the room, drawn to the Manhattan skyline outside the window. “Except for Mrs. Viacava. That’s a title I’ll never respond to.”

His grin spreads as his rich chestnut-brown eyes drop to my bare legs and the oversized T-shirt swallowing my frame.

“Nice look, Mrs. Viacava,” he adds, full of velvet and mischief. “You always dress for breakfast? My brother likeshis women naked. Means there’s plenty of places to eat his bagel from.”

Bronx winks and I roll my eyes, crossing to the island. “I’ll make you swallow that bagel sideways.”

He chuckles, completely unfazed. “Would you use your tongue for that?”

I shoot him a look. “Wow. So the rumors are true. The Viacavas reallydokeep it all in the family. Tell me, does Kingston take turns with your girlfriends or just steal them outright?”

“Baby, I have plenty of female friends to go around.” He smirks. “Want me to tell you a story about a hot night in Mexico when Kingston and I?—”

I hold my hand up. “Nope. Absolutely not. Whatever came next in that sentence is a crime against my ears.”

He laughs again. “You sure? There were handcuffs involved. A few women… And maybe a hotel chandelier.”

“Bronx,” I deadpan, leveling him with a look. “Can’t you read the room? I have more interest in making coffee than hearing how the Viacavas sharevictims.”

He leans back on the stool, arms spreading across the counter like he owns the world.

“They weren’t complaining, baby,” he says, voice thick and flirty with something darker flickering in his eyes. “Most of them begged for a third round… And a few begged for two Viacavas at the same time.”

I blink. “That’s disgusting.”

He winks. “That’slegendary.”