Page 27 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)
Chapter twenty-two
Blackwell
I ’ve been sitting here silently seething as every moment passes.
To walk in here and demand that I marry their daughter when I already have a fiancée.
I agree that the Ortizs should be erased, their legacy burned to ash.
They’re weak. Corroded. Dangerous in the stupidest, sloppiest ways.
But Sinclair is not them , only in name.
And without the name, the marriage is no longer profitable.
But the idea of replacing her, discarding her like it means nothing, it’s gut-punching, hitting somewhere deep. Somewhere I don’t wish to acknowledge.
It makes it hard to breathe.
I haven’t moved a muscle since the Bozzellis left. My body locked up so tight, I know my muscles will ache tomorrow. But when my father comes back into the room after escorting our guests out, I can’t remain reticent anymore.
“I’m not doing it.”
My father sighs as he lowers himself back down behind his desk. “I don’t see any way around it, Blackwell. Refusing their offer, they would align themselves with someone else, making us their enemy.”
“How so? We could still aid them and take out the Ortizs, but is it necessary to marry his daughter?”
“You know how this works,” he says with a patronizing firmness that makes my fists twitch. “Your engagement to Sinclair was never out of affection. It was a power move.”
“And now we’re going to wipe them out. If they’re so easy to uproot from the circle, why align ourselves to begin with?” I say more vehemently than intended. Trying to come up with every reason possible to refuse it.
His face hardens in disappointment. “She was not your only option. I gave you plenty to choose from, and after dragging your feet for years, you still chose the Ortizs.”
Yes, I chose Sinclair.
Because the Ortizs were bottom of the barrel. Her father is aging out of relevance. Her brothers are arrogant, reckless, and vapid. Destined for an early grave. Their empire was a crumbling fortress I could walk into and claim without bloodshed. Little mess and no effort at all.
It was supposed to be the easiest choice.
But it’s not so simple anymore.
I knew she would be a task, but I didn’t realize she would be the entire complication. Until she became an addiction I refuse to quit.
Now, every time I earn one of those rare, genuine smiles, it feels like a prized victory. Knowing that I’m one of the very few to do so.
And when she truly laughs, the sound reverberates off the walls like a song no one dares to interrupt and miss a note. Out of admiration or fear. It’s all the same to her.
And now, when I touch her, she doesn’t flinch like she used to. That alone feels like something sacred. A privilege that no one else has.
He prattles on, but I’m not hearing anything he has to say. When he finally wraps up with, “I’ll think it over,” I nod once and leave.
Think it over my ass.
I go straight to the surveillance room. No searching her usual spots or asking around. I’m in no mood for a game of hide and seek. “Where is she?” I say as soon as my toes hit the threshold. The demanding desire to find her is torturous.
Whomever is manning the tech spins in surprise, not seeing me coming. “Last I saw, she was heading out to the hedge maze, sir.”
There’s no need to have him double-check or make sure she hasn’t left that area, even though the sun is beginning to set. My girl thrives in the dark. She was born in it.
I move quickly and quietly through the hedge. Even after decades of exploring them, I still have to second-guess every turn I take. And Sinclair could walk it with her eyes closed only after months.
As I’m swiftly approaching the epicenter, I hear her voice. High-pitched and girlish. Not to give away my position, I stop to listen in.
“You’re such a piggy,” she coos. I blink, stunned. “After everything the world has done to you, you decide to trust me , of all people,” she says, switching back to her caustic charm.
She has to be talking to some kind of animal. Most likely trying to coax it in, to slaughter and leave it for someone under their pillow like coins from the tooth fairy.
I strain my hearing in search of any distress I might find telling in her tone. I know she is always listening, and today couldn’t have been a worse time to be eavesdropping on.
“Well,” she sighs. “The sun is going down, meaning they’ll send in a search party if I don’t emerge from here soon.” Her voice is just as dry-humored and impassive as always. “I’ll come back to see you as soon as I can. If I can.”
There’s a cooling in my chest. She couldn’t have heard anything. One thing Sinclair cannot act her way through is her nasty temper. If she thought for a second her life was on the line, that betrayal was afoot, she would be burning this place down in an instant.
I stand rooted with my hands shoved into my pockets, putting myself at enough distance to make it seem like I was just walking up. Her light footsteps over the gravel fall in a rhythm before she comes around some foliage and spots me immediately.
“Your stalking used to be impressively subtle.” Her words are as smooth as honey. Her wit so effortless.
I pull her in around the waist. “I was just coming to find you.” Her scent surrounds me—sharp like smoke, sweet like sugar. “Hungry?”
Her hands move up my chest with a casualness that can match mine. “Starved.” She flashes me a toothy grin, the gold hoop under her top lip peeking out, and the diamonds ingrained in her teeth, blinding in the golden hour.
Nothing in her tone or demeanor resembles anger, putting my paranoia to rest.