Page 41 of Wicked Sinner

“Don’t touch me,” she whispers, sliding off the stool, her tea abandoned. There’s something frightened in her eyes, like she felt the same thing I did and was all too close to giving in to it.

“Why not?” I challenge, before I can stop myself.

It’s the wrong thing to say, and I know it, but there’s not a drop of blood left in the head above my shoulders, it feels like.

My cock is harder than it’s ever been, despite three orgasms in the last twelve hours, and all I want to do is fuck her on every surface of this house until I’ve rubbed myself raw from being inside of her.

“Because I said no!” she snaps, spinning on her heel and making a beeline for the stairs. It takes everything in me not to reach out for her, but I let her go, watching her rush up the stairs with my head spinning and my cock throbbing.

Her door slams, and I know it’s going to be a while before I see her again today.

I finish breakfast, make myself a cup of black coffee, and go upstairs to get dressed. By the time it’s almost one p.m., I’m pulling into Konstantin’s driveway and, just as I’d thought, I haven’t seen Bridget since she stormed off.

Pushing her out of my thoughts as best as I can, I make my way to Konstantin’s office. I find him there, along with Tristan. The sight of the Irishman makes my jaw clench as I walk in, sitting down without invitation, and I ignore him as I look directly at Konstantin.

“Caesar.” He looks at me calmly, but I can see the irritation in his eyes. “Are you going to explain yourself? And give me a clear answer as to which woman we’ll be announcing your engagement to?”

“You don’t need to announce an engagement.

” I look at him evenly. “You can announce a marriage, if you like. I’ve married Bridget Lewis.

Now, Bridget Genovese.” I slap the file with the paperwork down on his desk, pushing it toward him.

“It’s all there. Legal and binding. There’s confirmation from my physician that she’s pregnant, as well. Carrying my heir.”

Konstantin’s jaw tightens as he takes the folder, flipping through it. Next to me, Tristan is motionless, unspeaking. After a few minutes, Konstantin closes the folder and looks at me.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“No, I’ve chosen my wife.” I don’t falter for even a second. “I told you that I’d chosen her. She finally agreed. After I had to rescue her from men who were sent to take her captive and who killed two of my best men.” My jaw tightens. “And I’m going to have answers for who was responsible.”

“This is a mistake.” Konstantin’s voice is flat, cold.

“This could have far-reaching consequences, Caesar. You’ve been courting two women for weeks now.

Vincent Torrino is convinced you’re going to marry his daughter.

Caterina’s father will be less of a problem, but Vincent may distance himself from us.

We could lose shipping deals, could find ourselves facing roadblocks to shipments and trade.

Bribes might be less effective. He could cause all kinds of problems for us, if he’s sufficiently offended. ”

“So find a way to make him take it well.” I stare Konstantin down. “You’re the head of the families. This is your job, to make sure that things like this don’t cause unnecessary waves—”

“And it’s the job of the other bosses to make sure that I don’t have to clean up messes like this!

” Konstantin slaps his hand down on the file.

“I needed one thing from you, Caesar! You come back here, after being disinherited, demanding that you be allowed to pick up your father’s legacy regardless.

To avoid conflict, I agreed, with one condition…

that you marry a woman who will make this transition easier and gain the acceptance of the other bosses.

I asked you to prove yourself, and you have done the exact fucking opposite!

” His teeth grind together as he stares at me.

“You’ve listened to your cock instead of your brain, and it’s going to cost us, Caesar. ”

"I've chosen my wife over your politics," I correct. "And the child she's carrying."

"A bastard child from a nobody!" Konstantin slams his hand against the file again. "This isn't how things are done, Caesar. You don't marry for love or lust—you marry for power, for alliances, for the good of the organization."

My lip curls. “Are you saying you don’t love your wife?”

“The love came after,” Konstantin snaps coldly. “I did my duty even when I didn’t know I’d love her.”

“I’m not you.”

"No, you're not." Tristan cuts in, his green eyes cold. "You're a reckless fool who's going to destabilize what we’ve worked for because you can't keep it in your pants."

Something dark and dangerous unfurls in my chest. "Careful, O'Malley. That's my wife you're talking about."

"Your wife is a liability," he continues, apparently not picking up on the warning in my tone. "Every enemy you have now has a target painted on her back, and by extension, on all of us, because now we’re required to recognize her as the Genovese heir’s wife.

The Cubans, the smaller families who want to see us fail—they're all going to see her as a weakness to exploit.

And if Slakov is back, and causing trouble—"

"Then they'll learn otherwise when I put bullets in their heads."

"You can't protect her every second of every day," Konstantin says. "And when they take her, when they use her against you, what then? How many of our people die because you couldn't think with your head instead of your dick?"

"Enough." I push off from the door, taking a step toward them. "I didn't come here to be lectured like a child. I came here to inform you that I've married Bridget Lewis, and she is now under the full protection of the Genovese family. Anyone who moves against her moves against me."

"And if we don't accept this marriage?" Tristan asks coldly. "If we decide that your personal choices have made you unfit to lead?"

The question hangs in the air between us, a loaded threat. For a moment, the only sound is the rustling breeze outside and the tick of the antique clock on the wall.

"Then you can try to stop me," I say finally. "But you should know that I'm not the same man who left Miami twenty years ago. I've learned and done more than you realize. I’m not about to fucking lose what I came here to claim. And I sure as hell don't lose to men who think they can control me."

Konstantin lets out a heavy breath. “The marriage is legal and binding. But Tristan is right. I need to consider whether or not this proves the exact opposite of what you set out to do. This makes you look like a wild card, Caesar. Like someone who I can’t afford to allow to gain power.”

“Your actions have consequences,” Tristan bites out. “You’ll learn—”

“Like you’ve already tried to mete out?” I snarl, and Konstantin shoots Tristan a look.

“What the fuck is he talking about, O’Malley?”

“He thinks I sent men after his fucking wife.” Tristan shakes his head. “He’s lost his fucking mind—”

“You’re a fucking liar.” I glare at him, tense in my seat, and Konstantin slams his hands down on the desk.

“Enough,” he growls. “Tristan, we’ll discuss what this means between us. Caesar, you’re dismissed. I’ll talk to you later, when I’ve had time to decide—”

I cut him off. It’s a dangerous thing to do, but I’ve had enough of being talked down to, enough of being treated like a child when I’m a grown man—a man who’s fought and shed blood and killed, done things while I was away that they clearly don’t believe I’m capable of.

I push my chair back, standing to my feet. “I want to be very clear. I am claiming my father’s territory, his businesses, and his legacy. I am the new Don Genovese in Miami. I make the decisions for my family, my territory, and my life. And I've chosen Bridget. That's how it's going to be."

Konstantin stands too, his icy eyes hard with anger, but I turn on my heel, striding out of the office. I half-expect him to send his men to drag me back in, but he lets me go, likely because he hasn’t decided yet what exactly he wants to do about this.

I don’t fucking care. In the back of my head, I know giving Konstantin Abramov a reason to declare war on the Genovese name is the most dangerous thing I could do, but I’m tired of being manipulated. I’m tired of the politics.

I didn’t come back to sit in meetings and play their games. I came back to prove that I can take what my father left behind, whether he thought so or not.

His name is mine. His wealth is mine. His empire is mine.

And now Bridget is mine, too—at least for now.

Halfway home, I notice the same pair of headlights has been following me since I left Konstantin's. When I take an unnecessary turn, they follow. When I speed up, they match my pace.

Someone is tailing me.

Again.

I think about the attack on Bridget, my jaw clenching, about how those gunmen at the gas station were clearly professionals. About the fact that Tristan was late to that meeting, and his response when I showed up to his house.

My teeth grind together as I take another turn, then another, leading my tail through the winding streets of downtown Miami. They're good, keeping enough distance that someone else might not notice, switching lanes to try to make me think they’re not following. But I'm better.

I make a sudden right into a parking garage, tires squealing against the concrete as I gun it up the spiral ramp.

The car speeds past, and I head further up the garage, reaching for the gun in the passenger seat in case they circle back and follow me.

But there’s no sign of them by the time I reach the top, and as I head back down, I don’t pass a car that looks like the one following me.

They must have given up, for now.

I let out a heavy breath, taking the long way back to the penthouse in case they try to pick up my trail again. By the time I get home, it’s nearly four, and I’m exhausted.

The penthouse is quiet when I walk inside, all the lights dimmed except for the soft glow coming from the kitchen.

I notice that the sliding door to the balcony is open, letting in the pleasantly warm breeze from an October Miami afternoon.

Curious, I step outside and head up the stairs to the rooftop, spying her instantly as soon as I step up onto it.

She's in the hot tub.

The sight of her stops me dead in my tracks. She's leaning against the far edge with her back to me, honey-blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, bare shoulders gleaming wet in the sunlight. The hot tub is built into the corner of the balcony, overlooking the city lights.

I should announce myself, let her know I'm here. Instead, I find myself frozen, drinking in the sight of her.

She must sense my presence because she turns around, and I get a full view of the black bikini that's barely covering her.

The top is simple, just two triangles of fabric held together by thin strings, but it showcases her breasts perfectly.

Water droplets cling to her skin, and her cheeks are flushed from the heat.

I’m instantly hard, my cock stiffening so fast it makes me dizzy. I can’t move. If I do, I’m going to end up in that hot tub with her, and more than that, I’m going to end up inside of her.

I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

"Caesar." Her voice is slightly breathless, whether from surprise or something else. "I didn't hear you come up."

"Sorry." I clear my throat, trying to get my voice under control. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting. This is your place." She settles back against the edge of the tub, but her eyes never leave mine. "Where did you go off to?"

I swallow hard, trying to force myself to look at her eyes and not her breasts. “I had a meeting with Konstantin.” A look of confusion crosses her face, and I quickly explain: “He’s the leader of the Russian faction here.”

“Ah.” She tilts her head back, and I see a droplet of something—water or sweat—slide down her throat. My mouth feels dry with the desire to lick it off her skin. “How did he like the news?”

“He didn’t,” I tell her honestly. “He wanted me to marry someone he chose.”

“The wife you talked about when you asked me to be your mistress.” Her voice sharpens, and I let out a breath.

“We don’t have to keep bringing that up.”

“Oh, I think we do.” She moves toward the edge of the tub, closer to me, leaning against it. “It reminds me that you’re the kind of man who would cheat on his wife.”

My throat tightens. “I would never cheat on you.”

“Oh?” One of her eyebrows rises. “Why am I different?”

Fuck. I feel like I can’t fucking breathe looking at her, let alone speak eloquently. “Because you’re the only one I wanted in the first place.”

From the expression on her face, that answer wasn’t good enough. She slides further down in the water, and my cock throbs, every cell in my body aching to join her.

“I’ll be down in a little while,” Bridget says, in a tone that tells me I’m no longer wanted up here, and that I really never was at all. “What are we doing for dinner?”

The way she says it is so easy, so casual, that for a moment I can imagine this is real.

I can imagine that this isn’t temporary, that she never put conditions on our marriage, and that in a little while I’m going to take this gorgeous woman out to dinner, before bringing her home and having my dessert.

“I’m not sure,” I manage. “I’ll figure something out. Takeout, I guess.”

Bridget snorts. “Your idea of takeout and mine are very different.” She cocks her head. “Do you know how to cook?”

I nod. “I just prefer not to.”

“Hmm.” She smirks. “Must be nice to not have to.”

“It is.”

We stare at each other across the space between us for several long minutes before Bridget swims back to the other side of the hot tub, turning her back on me again. It gives me the opportunity to look at her a little longer, but I can’t stand there staring forever.

In fact, when it comes to Bridget, nothing is forever.

Not even the vows we made.