Page 51 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

I reach for the envelope and barely have it between my fingers before Arturo closes his window.

Clutching it, my throat tightens. Is this the name? The person I’m supposed to kill in order to claim my empire?

Arturo’s car disappears around a corner before I jumpinto the Escalade. I swallow hard, staring at the envelope like the information I’m waiting for will just bleed through the white card stock.

Whoever it is, I need to carry out the order or else I have to give up everything I’ve worked and sacrificed for. I grind my back teeth, blood bubbling in my veins. I don’t like being told what to do. I’m the one who gives the orders, not the other way around. And fuck Dad for making me a goddamn peon in the eyes of the Tribunal.

I tear open the envelope and pull out the card.

One name glares back at me and my stomach drops to my fucking knees.

I stuff the card back into the envelope. My pulse spikes, punching a hole in the back of my throat as I press my foot on the gas and speed to Bronx’s apartment. He’s only about a twenty-minute drive but Manhattan traffic and the fact that my throat feels like it’s been lassoed by a boa constrictor make it feel like a lifetime before the tires screech to a halt in front of his building.

I turn off the ignition and grab the envelope before pushing open the driver’s side door. I run to the front of the building, clear security, and stab the Up button next to the elevator. A thin drizzle of sweat trickles down my spine. The elevator doors slide open and a cold rush of air ices my damp skin.

Using my key, I twist the lock and push open his door. He straightens up once I barge inside, Pearson furiously typing on a laptop keyboard at the desk next to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the skyline.

There’s a half-eaten bag of Twizzlers cherrybites next to him and every few seconds, he pops a handful in his mouth before continuing his search.

“King, you need to see this,” Bronx says, his voice grave. He points at the laptop screen. “Pearson just found something on the drive while he was encrypting shit. There's an invisible watermark that says Blood Vault on every piece of documentation scanned. Do you know what that is?”

My jaw tightens. “I have an idea of what it might be. And there’s something else you need to see. In private.”

Bronx claps a hand on Pearson’s shoulder. “Good work, kid. See what else you can find.”

He sweeps a hand through his hair as we walk down the hallway to his office. “If someone put that information on a USB, then they have access to the master files. And those files are the key to the whole fucking kingdom, King.Ourkingdom. But it isn’t us who’s controlling any of it.”

“That’s bad, but things are about to get worse.” I close the office door behind me and thrust the envelope at him. “One of the Red Tribunal thugs showed up outside my place a little while ago and gave me this.” I lean closer, my voice dropping. “My target.”

Bronx tears open the envelope. “Fuck me,” he mutters. “You need to kill…?”

I fold my arms over my chest and nod. “Cormac fucking O’Callaghan.”

17

LIVVIE

It’s late afternoon.

Sunlight streams across the music room floor and warms the varnished wood of my violin as I draw the bow across the strings.

The melody is almost mournful, a challenging piece I’m creating as I go. Aside from composing to match my moods, playing keeps my mind and hands busy.

Otherwise, I’d be thinking about Kingston.

So when the door opens without a knock, and I hear footsteps, the tune falters for a few semi quavers.

I refuse to stop playing, though. This is my time and my space. Instead, I let the notes flow and ignore the fact he’s probably pissed that I’m ignoring him.

Unlucky, big guy.

However, his presence has struck a match and my concentration has turned to cinders.

Doing a one-eighty, I findhim standing behind me, arms crossed. His shirtsleeves are rolled to the elbows and he’s holding a long black garment bag.

He hangs it on the back of the armchair across from me, then folds his arms and stares right at me.

“Who’s that for?” I ask, lowering my bow.