Page 62 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

“Don’t you fucking dare.” My voice cracks.

The words rip out of me before I can stop them. Sharper than I mean. Louder than I want.

His eyes flutter open again, and they find mine. The smirk from earlier is gone, replaced by something softer.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice just a breath now. “Look at me.”

I already am. I haven’t stopped. I can’t.

“I’m not going anywhere, Livvie.” His gaze holds mine. “We’re in this fucking mess together. We’ll figure it out as husband and wife, okay?”

I huff a shaky breath and nod. “Yeah? Well, you’re doing a shit job of trying to stick it out.”

“I’ll be available to fuck your hot little cunt tomorrow,” he mutters. “I promise.”

The word shouldn't hit the way it does. But it does. Heavy and possessive and… warm. And I hate that it makes my chest ache.

I press both hands down harder on his wound, still trying to stop his blood from hemorrhaging all over the place, trying to hold him together with willpower, rage, and a weird pang that could be mistaken for devotion.

“You’re so pale,” I whisper. “You’re bleeding through two layers, and you smell like sweat and cologne and copper.”

He laughs under his breath. “Still turned on?”

I don’t smile this time, leaning closer instead, my forehead brushing his as everything inside me cracks open.

“I might hate you a little less than before, Kingston. And trusting you is definitely a challenge, but I don’t want you to die. Not like this.”

His eyes close for a beat. Then they open, glassy and intense.

And for one suspended breath, we justare. No threats. No games. Just heat and honesty and everything we’re not ready to admit.

He swallowshard. “You’d miss me, yeah?”

“No—” I lie. “I just don’t think Hell is ready for my husband yet.”

A smile ghosts across his bloodstained lips. It’s crooked. Tired. Still manages to cut me open.

“Cold, Livvie,” he rasps. “Sexy… and fucking cold.”

“You married me.” I press harder on the wound like I can force the truth back inside me with the blood. “That’s on you.”

He laughs, just a flicker of a rumble, but it catches in his throat like pain.

His lips twitch into something that might’ve been a grin if he weren’t actively bleeding to death. “Remind me to thank you for the heartfelt concern.”

“Bleed quieter,” I mutter, but it’s too soft to bite. I’m shaking now. Internally. Everywhere.

His hand brushes over mine again, weak but affectionate. He looks up at me through half-lidded eyes, and his voice drops an octave, all raspy and mumbled.

“I owe you.”

I blink. “What?”

He exhales a small sigh. “For this. For… giving a fuck about me.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d do the same for anyone.”

“Liar.” A ghost of a smile touches his mouth again. “What do I owe you, Livvie?”