Page 88 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

Her sharp intake of breath follows me out of the conservatory and through the penthouse.

The woman I married, the woman I fucked against that window while she moaned my name—she's been planning my death for a goddamn week. Every kiss was a countdown. Every night in our bed was her studying her target.

I pour myself three shots of bourbon and drain the glass in one burning swallow. The alcohol does nothing to numb the rage building in my chest.

My phone buzzes with a text from Bronx.

Blood Vault cracked. You need to see this.

Perfect timing. If there was ever evidence of the Tribunal's involvement in the hit on me, now's when I need to find it. The Tribunal obviously has its own plans in the form of a hostile takeover. They just needed to figure out which side was more hostile.

But I’m not going to waste time with Cormac O’Callaghan.

I’m going to crush the Red Tribunal and take over the fucking world.

Then I’ll hold all the cards and fuck anyone who dares call my bluff.

I text him back.

On my way.

The elevator doors slideopen and I step inside, ire shooting into every cell because despite everything I now know—despite the lies and the betrayal and the death sentence hanging over my head—part of me still loves Livvie.

The part that remembers how she looked when she played violin in the moonlight. The part that enjoyed her trembling in my arms after I flooded her perfect little pussy with my cum.

And that part of me is going to get me killed if I'm not careful.

27

LIVVIE

The music room is silent now, except for the loud thrum of my heart beating out of my chest.

I stand barefoot in the middle of the room, Kingston’s oversized T-shirt clinging to my bare thighs, my violin limp in one hand, the bow dangling from the other.

The last note I played is long gone, swallowed by the anger he left behind.

He didn’t want to hear me out or understand the turmoil I’ve gone through.

Instead, my husband just cut me off and walked away. He didn’t fight for us.

I close my eyes tight and press my lips together, trying to trap the heat of our kiss before it fades forever.

It’s already gone, though.

All that’s left is a hollow ache stretching wide inside me.

My body moves before my brain can stop it, carrying me out of the room like I’m sleepwalking. The diamonds in mywedding ring catch a shard of moonlight and glitter like tiny tears.

I stare at it, jaw clenched until it aches. Every instinct tells me to rip it off and hurl it down the hallway.

But something stops me.

Not because I still believe in fairy tales or hope he’ll return and order me not to leave. But because taking it off would make this pain real. And I’m not ready to admit our marriage is over.

Not when his touch still lingers on my skin and he’d fucked me earlier like I was a religion he hated believing in. And certainly not when I remember the beautiful, tender moments we’d shared, the laughter and intimacy.

Inside my bedroom, the curtains aren’t drawn yet so millions of lights illuminate the cityscape.