Page 75 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

“Livvie—”

“I’m going back to my husband,” I say, my voice like steel.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re right.” I pause in the doorway, narrowing my eyes at him. “I won’t be anyone's puppet anymore. Not my da’s… yours… or even Kingston’s.”

I don’t glance back as I storm down the hallway. The hotel suite door slams shut behind me, the thud echoing in the quiet corridor.

My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything except the fury simmering beneath my skin.

Truth is, I’m shaken. Furious at Roman and the stupid Tribunal. At myself for craving Kingston like I do. At all of it.

When the elevator doors part with a ding, I step inside, jamming the button for the lobby. As it descends, I clench my fists to stop the tremor building in my hands.

The lobby is quiet, marble floorsshining under the noon sun that streams through the glass. I walk fast, past the concierge, and when I push through the doors and step outside, the summer heat hits me like a wall.

I need to get back to the penthouse. Back to Kingston before he figures out something is wrong. Which means I need to buy some gelato.

And there’s one big problem with that. I have no idea where the hell I am right now.

The pavement shimmers underfoot, yellow cabs blaring horns as they veer down the street. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Mid-stride, a black SUV pulls up and a man dressed all in black jumps out and opens the passenger door wide.

“Mrs. Viacava,” he says coolly, inclining his head. “Boss wants you home. Now.”

I freeze when another man steps around the vehicle to stand beside me, sealing off any escape route.

“Get in,” the first one adds, voice firmer now.

I blow out a breath, then unlock my legs and slide into the SUV without another word. The leather is cool against my thighs and the city closes out behind me as the door slams shut.

Home.

That word lingers in my mind. Is Kingston’s penthouse really my home or my prison?

The SUV glides through Manhattan like a shark in open water. Kingston’s security guys sit like statues, eyes on the road, ears no doubt tuned into every beat of my breathing.

I focus on the city flashing past the tinted windows, on the war raging inside me. Roman’s words echo like poison in the back of my mind.

Puppet. Control. Stupid.

But he doesn’t know a damn thing about being torn in half—about falling for the enemy and having an order to kill him.

The SUV pulls up outside the building. One of the guards opens the door, and I step out onto the curb, the sun already beginning to shift across the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Another guard joins me at the doors, swiping a key card that grants us immediate access. The elevator ride is silent.

My heart, however, is anything but. It slams against my ribs as the floors blink past in steady succession. I hate that I’m nervous.

When I step into the penthouse, he’s already there. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt half-buttoned, and a glass of dark liquor in his hand.

His gaze cuts to me the second the doors close behind me. He doesn’t say a word.

“Let me guess—you’re tracking my every move?”

“So what if I am?” Kingston’s voice rumbles around the high ceiling. “You walked out without telling me. Only cheaters or liars do that.”