Page 93 of Wounded King

"Don't worry, I'll remove any bodies I might find in the morning," Marcello promises.

"You better," I mumble, ignoring what could be the double entendre of his words.

"Will I be able to get to my apartment tomorrow to get some of my things?" I ask during a quick dinner of leftovers that Zia Rosa, thoughtful as ever, had stocked the fridge with.

Marcello puts his fork down. His expression turns serious. "We need to talk about that."

Uh oh. That doesn't sound good.

"Okay," I fold up my napkin and lean back in my chair.

"There is only one way to make sure you're fully protected, and that is to make you my wife."

That, I didn't see coming. I open my mouth, but no sound leaves my lips. I don't have any words. Too many emotions run through me.Marry? I hardly know this man. I've barely come to terms withdatinga mobster. Do mobsters date?

Of course, marrying me would protect him, too. As his wife, I couldn't be coerced into testifying against him—yes, I know—avidLaw and Orderwatcher here.

My ears rush as a panic attack tries to take me under. I thought I'd come to terms with this whole mafia thing.

"Easy, Violet, breathe." I didn't even notice Marcello getting up from his chair, but he's kneeling by my side, holding my hands and looking concerned at my face.

"I'm okay. I'm good," I assure him, but my voice is quivering.

"You don't look okay." His voice is laced with worry.

I turn my hands in his grip so I can squeeze his. "I'm okay." I reiterate, looking him fully in the eyes. "Really. It was just a bit of a shock."

His head tilts to the side, and his gray eyes pierce mine.

"Stop looking at me like that." I try to laugh. "It's okay. I'm okay."

His eyes keep probing mine, and he must read my determination in them. He nods and rises. "I'll be right back."

My gaze follows him as he walks toward his office, where he disappears for a few seconds before returning to my side. Kneeling back down, he takes one of my hands. "I know we're doing this all ass backward, but… " He presents a small, velvety black box.

"What's this?" I breathe, even though I have a pretty good idea what it is.

"Violet Meade, it would be my honor and privilege to call you my wife. Will you marry me?"

For some unfathomable reason, my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour inside my chest. I'm nervous as fuck. She bolted from me once, and I'll be damned if I'll allow it to happen again.

She's like an injured wild deer. She needs me to protect her, yet she's afraid to come too close. I would have given her more time to come to terms with this situation, but time is a luxury we don't have. Not when I have to puzzle out all the pieces about what is going on with the Vegas family, Edoardo, and Margarita.

I trust my men, they'll keep her safe with their lives if I order them to, but her being my wife will make it more personal. Family is everything to us.

"Yes," she says, and my heart returns to a normal rhythm.

She holds out her hand, and I slide the ring I designed for her onto her finger. It's a perfect fit. She has no idea that this ring has been sitting on my desk since she started working for me. From the moment I opened my eyes and saw her, I knew she would be my wife.

While she took care of me, I had Luciano measure her hands under the guise of ordering custom-fitting gloves. He did well.

"Marcello, it's huge." Her pupils are wide as saucers.

It is. It needs to be. Jewelry is a status symbol inside the women's club of the mafia. They are going to give Violet a hard time anyway, due to her being a civilian outsider, but wearing the right clothes and jewelry will help. It will announce that she's mine, and nobody will dare belittle her. I'm not going to tell her that just yet, though. There are more important things she needs to know right now, things we need to talk about that won't be easy for her to hear.

"You're to always wear this, even in the shower, capiche?"

A hundred questions reflect through her eyes, and I explain. "Inside the diamond is a tracking device, so I can always find you."