Page 37 of Wicked Sinner

brIDGET

Iwake up in Caesar's bed.

Not with Caesar—he's nowhere to be seen—but in his massive king-sized bed with its ridiculous thread count sheets and view of the Miami skyline. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and for a moment I'm disoriented, wondering why everything feels so soft and expensive.

Then it all comes rushing back. The gas station. The men with guns. Marco and Bryce, dead because they tried to protect me.

My hand flies to my stomach instinctively, and I'm relieved when I don't feel any cramping or pain. Dr. Ackley said everything was fine, but after yesterday, I'm not taking any chances.

I sit up, slowly, trying to get my bearings.

Last night feels like a blur. I stayed in the bath far too long, until the water cooled and my fingers were pruny, before drying off and hobbling back to the bed.

Caesar retrieved my suitcase from the wrecked SUV, and I dug out some soft, comfortable lounge pants and a tank top while I waited for him to come back.

He did come back eventually, with ‘Chinese takeout’ that tasted way more expensive than anything I ever used to get delivered.

For once, I didn’t bother with trying not to act like I wanted to eat.

I devoured all of it and then passed out maybe fifteen minutes later, completely exhausted from the day.

Now, from the sunlight coming in, it looks like I slept until mid-morning. Maybe later. The door clicks open before I can glance at the clock, and I look up sharply to see Caesar walking in carrying a plate with a sandwich and chips on it.

Afternoon, then.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a soft-looking, short-sleeved forest green Henley T-shirt that shows off his muscular, tattooed arms in a way that makes my mouth go dry despite myself.

I can’t help staring at him a little—he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, despite our more-than-complicated past.

"You're awake." His voice is gentler than I've heard it before, almost careful. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." I squeeze the edge of the mattress with both hands, trying to ground myself. “What time is it?”

“A little after noon.” Caesar’s mouth twitches at the beginning of a smile. “You slept for a long time.”

“I needed it.” I run my hand through my tangled hair. I slept on it wet, so it’s a mess now. I must look like a mess, but Caesar is still watching me with a flicker of that heat in his eyes, an ember that only grows as he takes in the sight of me sitting in his bed. “Where did you sleep?”

“Sofa downstairs.” He sets the plate down.

“Did you make that?” I gesture at the sandwich, and he laughs.

“No. I do know how to make a few things, but one of the privileges of money is not having to. It’s from a café down the street.”

I lick my dry lips, and I see his gaze instantly fall to my mouth. “Any leads on who tried to kill me?”

His jaw clenches. "I'm working on it."

“I want to know what’s going on.” I stare at him from across the room. “Why someone attacked me on my way home and killed Marco and Bryce.”

Caesar regards me for a long moment. “There could be a few reasons,” he says finally.

“My father had plenty of enemies when he was alive. It’s possible I’ve inherited those, and that they’ve decided to strike while I’m weakest, while I’m still establishing myself.

It’s possible that someone found out about you, and wanted to eliminate the possibility that I might marry you and make a child my heir who has no connections to the families.

It’s possible that someone simply wanted to draw me into a situation where I was likely to get killed, knowing I’d come for you.

” He pauses. “There’s no shortage of danger in my world, Bridget. ”

“And yet you dragged me into it.” I glare at him, and I see him tense, expecting another argument.

“Not on purpose.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t get you pregnant on purpose, Bridget. I wanted to keep you out of all of this, if I had you at all. What’s happened… all of it has been because of an accident. But now that it’s happened, I need to keep you safe.”

I look down at my hands. For once, I can’t argue with him. It’s clear that he wasn’t lying when he said there were people who would want to hurt me. I tried to leave him, tried to go home, to get away from all of this, and I was immediately targeted.

Like it or not, I need him. At least for now.

“So what happens now?” I look up at him, and I can see the tight set of his jaw.

“I’m going to find out who’s responsible and put an end to them.”

The casual way he talks about murder makes my stomach twist. "This is insane. This is completely fucking insane."

"I know." He walks forward, sinking onto the bed next to me as he reaches for my hand, and I'm surprised when I don't pull away. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

I want to believe that he means that. I’m startled by how much I suddenly want to believe it—after everything that happened yesterday, it would be so good to have a soft place to land.

To have someone to rely on who is powerful, strong, and capable of putting an end to whatever we unwittingly started that night.

But I’ve seen what he's capable of when he wants something. I’d be a fool to completely trust him now.

"It doesn't matter," I say finally. "Sorry doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t fix anything. What matters is that I'm in danger, and so is the baby. So what do we do now?”

Caesar draws in a slow breath. “We need to get married.”

I blink at him. "Excuse me?"

“Bridget, please, just listen to me.” He turns to face me fully, grabbing both of my hands, not hard enough to make me pull back, but intensely enough that I can feel how badly he wants me to listen.

“I know you don’t want to marry me. I know you’ve kicked and screamed and made your position on the matter perfectly clear.

But Konstantin expects me to choose a bride now.

I was supposed to agree yesterday. I was in the fucking meeting when you called me. ”

For some irrational reason, the idea that he was in a meeting finalizing his marriage to another woman an hour after I left makes me feel faintly nauseous. Jealous, I realize, and I shove the emotion away, hard. That has no place in this, and it makes no fucking sense.

The best thing that could happen to me would be for Caesar to marry someone else. At least, I realize slowly, until now.

“Marriage to me means you have my name. Officially. Anyone who attacks you or our child then does so at a much higher risk. It might stop any further attacks completely. It makes your child my heir, officially. It will make both you and the baby far less vulnerable, and it means that other bosses, like Konstantin, will be honor-bound to help protect you as well.”

“I thought this penthouse was protected.” I stare at him. “You can’t get enough security to keep me safe here?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on who is behind this. They could have a fucking army. As many men as I have or more. And if we don’t get married as soon as possible, I will have to marry someone else, Bridget.

Soon. I won’t be able to stay here with you.

Everything about protecting you will become more difficult.

Our child will have no standing. It makes you more vulnerable, because they might know I care about you, but they’ll also know that in the eyes of everyone other than me, you and our baby are utterly expendable. ”

Expendable. The word hits me like a blow. I know he’s saying that he doesn’t see me that way, but hearing it out loud still hurts. Fear coils cold and thick in the pit of my belly, and I swallow hard.

I stand up, pacing to the window, the pain in my leg making me grit my teeth as I put weight on it.

The city looks deceptively peaceful from up here, all glass and steel gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Let me guess—I'd live here, in your gorgeous penthouse, wearing expensive clothes and going to charity galas.

I'd be the perfect mafia wife, devoted and obedient and grateful for the privilege.

" I look back at Caesar. “Does that sound about right?”

"You're never going to be obedient," he says dryly. "I think we both know that."

Despite everything, I almost smile. "Well, at least you’ve figured that out.”

He stands too, moving to lean against the wall near the window. "So what do you want?"

"I want my life back." The words come out sharper than I intended. "I want to go home to my shop and work on cars and not worry about whether someone's going to put a bullet in my head because I happened to sleep with the wrong guy."

I see him flinch at those last two words. That struck home. I want it to feel good, that I landed a blow, but it doesn’t. Right now, this all just feels… sad. Like we’ve made so many wrong turns that I don’t even know how to get back to where it started that night.

"You can't go back," Caesar says quietly. "Not after last night. I’m sure they know where you live, where you work. They knew where Marco and Bryce were headed. They'll try again."

The truth of that hits me like a punch to the gut. My shop, my house, the life I've spent years building—it's all gone, at least for now. Because I made one stupid mistake and trusted the wrong man.

Except… he did save me. When I called him, terrified and alone, he came. He killed three men to protect me, and he's offering to do whatever it takes to keep me safe.

He’s my best shot at surviving this. Like it or not—and I don’t—I have a better chance of getting out of this with my baby and me alive with him than without him.

"What would marriage actually change?" I ask finally.