Page 37 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

“I’m not going to melt just because you decide to not be an uber dick for once.” Livvie flips her hair over her shoulder. “But… thanks.”

A tall, lanky guy walks over and stares at Livvie for a second too long. I knock on the table to get his attention. “You wanna leave here tonight blind? I can make that happen, friend. Take your eyes off my wife and bring us two glasses of Macallan 25.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Livvie bite back a smile. “Asshole,” she murmurs.

“You don’t drool over another man’s date. It’s fucking rude and disrespectful.” I pause. “Even if she is fucking stunning.”

Livvie’s lips part, her eyebrows flying up. “You really…” She pauses and shakes her head.

“I really what?”

A pink tint colors her cheeks. “You surprise me. I mean, most of the time, I’m surprised by how insufferable you are, but every once in a while… I see that there’s a shred of decency inthere. Way down deep.”

I chuckle. “Just a shred.”

The server walks back to our table and without a single glance at either me or Livvie, he sets down the glasses and hightails it away from the table.

We pick up our glasses and clink them before each taking a sip of the amber-colored liquid.

Livvie downs the drink without making a face.

“You’re a whiskey girl,” I say.

She shrugs and taps her nails against the side of the crystal glass. “I’m Irish. Kind of have to be.”

“You know, you surprise me too,” I say, placing my glass on the table and moving toward her.

I catch a whiff of her perfume. It teases my senses, so sultry and seductive. Her green eyes darken as I close the space between us, the floating candle in the center of the table casting a glow over her face.

She doesn’t pull away. She just watches me, her stony expression melting into one of curiosity. The soulful notes of the song being performed curl in the air, the melody winding around us like invisible chains, beckoning us toward something borderline intimate.

“How?” she finally asks in a low voice.

“You could have run,” I say. “A few times. Gotten the hell out of the city and away from this shitstorm. But you didn’t.”

Her eyes drop for half a second, and then she raises them toward mine. “I hate being out of control of my life. But I’d always sacrifice my happiness to protect my family. Me leaving would destroy them in so many ways. I couldn’t live with myself if I caused harm to any of them.”

“That’s honorable.” I down the rest of my drink.

“You’re doing the same thing,” she says. “In a little more of a control freaky kind of way.”

“Can’t argue with the freaky part,” I say.

A small laugh escapes her lips.

I’ve heard plenty of fake ones, just not the real thing.

“You have a nice laugh.”

Her smile widens. “See? There you go again. Surprising me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She twists slightly toward me. “I’m not some stupid naïve girl who believes in fairy tales and white knights, Kingston. We all have layers, and beneath all of yours is a black fucking soul.”

“The blackest,” I say, moving closer still.

Our gazes tangle and tussle, the air between us crackling with the kind of electrical current that could easily fizzle out all of the reasons why I should keep away from Livvie, the reasons why it would be too dangerous to give in to every sensation coursing through me right now.