Page 43 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

And fuck, I want to give it to him.

All of it.

Every broken, furious, desperate piece.

Just when I go to unbuckle his belt, Bronx’s voice rips through the penthouse, loud and urgent, killing the moment. "Yo, King!”

Bronx appears at the doorway. “Clearly, I don't need to babysit your wife anymore. So how about we talk? I want to know what the Red Tribunal had to say."

Kingston stiffens, the breath catching hard in his chest, his forehead pressing against mine as he pants.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Neither of us says a word. We stay locked together, tangled in heat and desire and the crushing knowledge of whatever this is.

A momentary truce, or a moment of madness.

After a few quick breaths,he inches back, his hand lingering in my hair, his thumb brushing once across my cheek like he can't quite help himself.

"This isn’t over, princess."

And then he turns and walks away, his shoulders tight, stride confident, leaving me standing there with my lips swollen, my heart pounding, unanswered questions on my tongue and a hunger for my husband burning in my veins.

14

KINGSTON

“So your little wifey plays the violin, huh?” Bronx says. “That could be hot. Like if she performed naked for you, yeah? In hooker heels? Fuck me.”

He nudges me with a low snicker. “Things were getting pretty steamy in that music room, am I right? I bet there’d have been a lot more singing than just that violin if I didn’t interrupt the two of you.”

I push back my hair as I stalk down the hallway. Then I shove him into my office. “Jesus Christ, Bronx. Forget about the violin.”

The door closes behind us with a click. It’s not until then that I turn to look at my brother.

“That meeting was completely fucked.” I stalk over to the window overlooking the twinkling lights of the Manhattan cityscape, my blood simmering as I recall the conversation… or rather, their cryptic order. “There were three guys there at the estate, three members of the Tribunal waiting to pounce on me. Carlo Rossi, Conor Gallivan, and Giovanni Fiorentino. Senior members who are responsible for carrying out activities of the Tribunal.”

I pace the length of my office, flexing and unflexing my fingers, anger knotting in my chest.

“Cormac and Dad said Livvie and I had to play nice and put on a good front to show unity between the families, that they were indebted to the Tribunal because of their past actions. I figured it was just typical political bullshit. Another fucking business deal gone wrong that they couldn’t pay their way out of, so we had to get married.”

I walk over to the stainless steel bar cart in the corner and pour myself a glass of Macallan 25. I swirl the amber-colored liquid around in the glass before gulping it down, letting the heat singe the sides of my throat.

“You’re going to prove your loyalty to us, Kingston.”

“This marriage isn’t a business deal between families,” I grunt. “It’s an initiation, meant to kill two birds with one stone. And I’m the stone.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Bronx says.

“Bring us a sacrifice. Or die.”

I slowly raise my eyes to his puzzled ones. “This sham marriage was set up as a test, to see if I’m fit to be a member of the Red Tribunal, something required if I’m going to take over for Dad as boss. I can’t run Dad’s organization without being a member. That’s what they told me.”

“So what’s the initiation? You gotta dress in robes and drink mysterious shit from a cup? Or are they gonna brand you and then shave your head?” He smirks, fixing himself a drink.

“No,” I say. “They want me to kill a person of power.”

“Christ, that’s not too evasive.”

“Tell me about it.” Pulling my lips into a tight line, I walk over to my desk and pick up a file that Conor handed me before I left the estate.