Page 35 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

Bronx raises both eyebrows, amused. “She’s not exactly getting updates from you.”

Kingston turns then and locks eyes with his brother. “She gets what she needs. Fromme.”

The room goes still. Kingston’s hand settles on my lower back. It’s not a gentle touch. It’s a message.

I glance up at him, but his eyes are on Bronx who smirks. “Never thought I’d see you getting territorial over a woman.”

Kingston doesn’t respond. He just picks up the folder and flips it shut with finality.

“You always this grumpy in the morning?” I ask. “Or just when your brother makes me wet—laugh. I mean laugh.”

Bronx chuckles in the background but Kingston’s jaw ticks, no sign of amusement on his face. His fingers splay across my back and the pressure turns firmer.

“I’m not in the mood,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t in the mood for a dead-end marriage and a murder file with my morning espresso, but here we are, big guy.”

His eyes flash. “You think this is funny?”

“Nope. Not one bit,” I say. “You need to back up and give me space. Or are you threatened by the fact that Bronx makes me laugh and I have zero enjoyment in your company?”

His gaze drags down the front of my T-shirt, then backup to my face, his eyes dark and dangerous. The silence between us crackles and my veins pulsate.

“Take that T-shirt off, princess,” he murmurs, “and I’ll show you exactly what I do to you. Did you tell my brother how much fun you had at your wedding reception?”

A slow smirk dances on his lips. “If I remember correctly… and I do. My dick was buried inside your wet little cunt on the terrace. That, Livvie, wasyouvery much enjoying my company.”

My breath catches. Not that I’ll give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Really,” I counter. “That was me making the best of a shit situation. However, I have no problem stripping in front of your hot brother… But wouldn’t you throw a tantrum?”

“I don’t throw tantrums, Livvie.” His voice drops an octave. “I make examples. You’d behave better with my dick down your throat and my brother knows you’re off-fucking-limits.”

Bronx chokes on his coffee from the other end of the kitchen and grins like it’s the best soap opera he’s ever seen.

“Well, fuck.” He chuckles, standing with a stretch and absolutely zero shame. “I’ll leave you two to fuck it out—or whatever version of marital foreplay this is.”

He tosses a wink and saunters off, the lazy swagger in his walk designed to get under his brother’s skin.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper.

He smiles.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Livvie.” He thumbs my jaw. “I just want you to be obedient.”

I shake my head and let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Obedient?” I echo, cocking my headlike I misheard. “You really woke up this morning, stared at your reflection in the mirror, and decided to bethatasshole?”

His jaw tightens, but I’m already on a roll.

“What’s next, big guy?” I taunt, bumping my chest into his and loving how his pupils flare. “You gonna pat my head, call me your ‘good girl,’ and cuff me to the stove in nothing but Louboutins and diamonds?”

I tilt my head, smiling sweetly. “News flash: I’ve never been a diamond girlie. I prefer stringed instruments and meaningful conversation.”

He leans in, just enough to make the blood in my veins buzz.

“Not the stove,” he says. “But I could tie you to a piano and watch you squirm while I spread you wide and make you come over the keys.”