Page 45 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)
Blackwell
I carry the papers as if they’re made of stone.
Every step toward Sinclair feels heavier, as if she can already sense what’s coming. She’s lounging in the shade by the pool with the ocean in the background, toned legs stretched out, sunglasses on, and giving the illusion of not a care in the world.
Her black bikini is simple. Minimal. But she makes it look like sin in the flesh. And her hair is almost as dark, back to its natural shade.
She doesn’t glance up when I come up on her. She’s focused on her phone screen, playing solitaire. She’s addicted to the damn game. Another quirk that doesn’t fit but somehow belongs.
I take the lounge chair beside her, and she ignores me. So, I slap the papers down next to her. She eyes them with uninterest, one eyebrow raised, then takes a short glance up at me before going back to her game.
“What are those?” she asks.
I calmly take her phone away, and she scowls at me. “I need you to sign these,” I say evenly. She stares at me, then I tilt my head towards them in a gesture.
Giving a dramatic sigh and eye roll when she removes her sunglasses, she picks them up, and something in me tightens. The longer her eyes read each line, flicking back and forth like a machine built to detect bullshit, the more anxious I get. It isn’t nerves. It’s readiness.
After skimming through the second paper, her expression hasn’t changed. But I can see it behind her eyes when she looks at me. She’s affected by this.
“A marriage license,” she says flatly. My eyes flick to her engagement ring back on her finger, and I nod once. She squints her eyes in suspicion. “And…you want me to sign it.”
“I’m asking you to.”
Her eyebrows practically hit her hairline. “Asking?” she echoes, like it’s a foreign word in her mouth.
“Yes.” My voice stays steady. I’m giving her a choice. Her first life-altering choice. Though if she refuses, I’ll sign it for her anyway. She’ll eventually get over it. But I want her to make this choice. To choose me. To choose this life.
She holds my gaze, quiet but calculating. Always reading between the lines. Always deciding who she needs to be in any given moment. The rebel. The threat. The untouchable. Her reactions are never careless. They’re crafted for impact. To protect. To provoke. To keep control.
The recklessness of hers still lives strong, itching to rear its head. But beneath it, something else is stirring. Sinclair is still learning who she is without the venom. She’s so used to keeping the world at arm’s length.
Her face drops a little, and I almost hold my breath. “Are you going to give me a pen?” The levity of her tone is armor and somewhat aggravating. But I hand a pen over casually.
I watch, feeling every second tick by. She pauses, the pen hovering over the paper. Then, without any more hesitation, she signs. No flourish. Just that elegant, sharp signature of hers. A slash of ink that feels like a vow.
She hands the papers back to me and reclines like nothing happened. Eyes closed, chin tilted up.
Joon-kharash .
My soul-scraper. The one who grinds me down to my rawest form and makes me grateful for the pain.
Sinclair never wanted a wedding. She may tear through the room like a tornado, wreaking havoc, but she doesn’t enjoy the spotlight.
She would never stand up in front of a crowd, big or intimate, and promise anything.
Not to me. Not to anyone. Hell, even in private, she hardly expresses her feelings for me. Not in words, anyway.
She’s afraid of both permanence and abandonment. Terrified of feeling like she belongs to anything that could break her. Even more terrified of being discarded. Of being told she’s not enough. Not wanted. Not valuable in a world that deals in blood, currency, and leverage.
The doubts always lingering in her mind.
So, I gave her something that doesn’t ask her to perform. Just choose.
And she did.
Setting the papers aside, I join her on her lounger. She looks at me, one eyebrow raised. I manage to contain my elation and push her knees apart.
She’s fighting back a smile. The little she-devil is almost as debauched as I.
The number of nights she has woken me up with her hand or mouth on my cock as if we didn’t just have sex a couple hours ago.
Or like we won’t fuck again in the morning before I get up for work. Plus, however many times in between.
Tugging at the strings tied into bows high up on her hips, they unravel, and the fabric covering her hidden slice of paradise falls slack. My eyes on hers, I peel her bottoms off and lower my head.
I give her sex a sensual kiss and enjoy watching her react instantly. Her head relaxing against the chair, eyes wilting, and lips parting. She reaches down to run her fingers through my hair with one hand and pulls her top to the side to grope her supple breast with the other.
Haroomzāde-ye vasvasashi. Fucking seductress .
I sink two fingers inside of her and eat her fucking pussy. Goddamn, I love this fucking cunt . I tongue her little bud and fuck her with my fingers and her hand pulls at my hair, forcing me closer.
I know what you want, baby. My fucking nasty girl.
Curling my middle and ring finger, creating a hook, I remove my mouth and fuck her harder. Slapping my palm against her, and the more her body reacts, the harder and faster I work.
I sit up and watch her face as it contorts uncontrollably, lost in ecstasy. Fighting it, begging for it, wanting to savor it. I see it all. Painted like a fucking masterpiece.
My lips thin, and my nostrils flare as I put more into it. Her jaw goes unhinged on a raspy cry, her back bowing, head back, and cunt gripping my fingers.
Her back slams down and hollows, and her head snaps up.
Her eyes watching my hand through heavy lids.
She takes in sharp breaths, higher and higher.
Then she fucking snaps. Her entire body steeling, and I pull my fingers out to rub her pussy vigorously as she squirts everywhere.
Her hips rise and fall as she rides it out.
Before I can pull my cock out, she’s already fully recovered and pushing me to lie back. Her diamond-studded teeth and golden hoop peeking from under her upper lip flash with her grin when she mounts me and sinks down. Taking the breath straight from my lungs.
I grab her shapely hips as she undulates on top of me. With a single tug behind her neck, her top falls effortlessly. I sit up and attack her breasts with my mouth.
This is my fucking life now.
There’s another weight hanging in the air. One I’ve been carrying for several months. And it’s time she knew.
Sinclair settles into the window seat of the jet, toned legs crossed, sun-kissed skin from ten days of temporary peace. A soft glow clings to her, a looseness in her that didn’t exist before. And it fills a piece of me that I was unaware of.
Wine in hand, she flashes me a lazy smirk before turning to watch the sky swallow us on takeoff. She’s beautiful in a way that doesn’t try to be.
I take the seat across rather than beside her. I want to study her every tick, every twitch. She’s impossible to read unless you know where to look. And I do. I can read her face, but I still can’t predict her. With Sinclair, knowing the feeling never guarantees the outcome.
I wait until she’s on her second glass of wine to begin. “I have something I want to show you.”
She turns to me, innocently blinking. “A wedding gift?” she teases.
I crack a smile. “Sort of.” Only because I’m still unsure of it.
“Well? Are you going to tell me, or are you just teasing me?”
I let silence wash over us. This will go one of two ways. She could hate me for this, shoving me ten steps back.
Or she’ll think it’s the most romantic gesture, because that’s Sinclair.
“When the Ortiz estate was—”
“Razed?” she says, sharp but playful.
“Yes.” I pause.
She’s never asked what happened. To her family, her home, or her family’s legacy and enterprise. So, I’ve never brought it up. Until now.
“Territories were redistributed, and businesses were liquidated.” I stop again and decide my next words carefully. “But I thought it was only fair you had a say in some of it.”
She snorts bitterly. “You just said they were all handed out.” She looks away, jaw set tight. She’s retreating into herself, walls standing firm.
I need to press on before I lose her completely. “The house is yours.”
She looks up at me, frown lines creasing between her eyebrows. “What the fuck would I want that for?”
Fair question .
I sigh. Now second-guessing the second half of this. Perhaps it would be best to let her see for herself. “It should be you to decide what to do with it.”