I sit at my desk, watching the steady rise and fall of Sloane’s chest like a child watching the clock for the end of school. It rises and I count to three before she exhales, her chest falling. I count again.
I don’t have to watch her breathing—I’m probably verging on stalking at this point. But I know how strong our pills are and the risks involved. Tony and I have dropped a few overdoses on the steps of Boston General more times than not.
Over and over, I count and wait, repeating the instinct. My men come in to give me their hourly deposits, but I don’t look away, too distracted by the O’Brien woman.
Only when a few of them linger, their eyes taking in her creamy legs and ample chest, do I move, covering her with my suit jacket.
She’s Ace’s sister, and I don’t need a war starting before the wedding. But beyond that, there’s a primal part of me that’s clamped down on my need to shield Sloane, to protect her in any ways possible.
It’s nearly two in the morning when her eyes flutter, those deep green orbs pulling my attention again. Not like I was focused on my work.
She inhales sharply, brows furrowed, doe eyes scanning her surroundings before she swings her legs over the edge, the suit jacket crumpling to the ground.
I swallow, mesmerized by her. I’ve heard rumors about the O’Brien daughters. Whereas most boys are given the sex talk, Nico warned me and his only son Dom away from them.
They were devils, disguised as angels, meant to steal your soul with a singular look. Watching Sloane move, like water, subtle but graceful, I have no doubt that it’s true. She’s a devious saint, meant to temp the most devoted of men.
I knew enough from the tabloids. She had a habit of getting into the spotlight for her wild ways. Rumors abound through the family that Ferguson and she weren’t close, with a few whispers of abuse.
My hands fist at my side, watching her stand, looking out the club windows before turning back to me. The idea a man could hurt his daughter sours my gut, stoking the irritation already coiled there from my failure to find the rat.
With the way her hair flares around her, matching her painted toenails, she reminds me of hellfire and passion, a bundle of nerves just readying to explode.
Ferguson might have tried to tame his youngest daughter, but it clearly never worked.
As my future bride, that would fall to me. I have no intention of doing so. I want her bright, fiery, and passionate because life is terribly dull with a mechanical wife. I just need her loyalty above all else.
As a future De Luca wife, she has a role to play. Spitting off into the wrong face or fucking the wrong person in public wouldn’t look well—for the family or, more importantly, for me.
My mind flashes to that blonde in the stairwell and a bubble of jealousy strikes my belly. I would be damned if she thought she could fuck someone other than me. At least, not without my permission.
As much as marriages should be for love, this is a contract. Not one I will negate.
But I’d be an idiot not to admit that I’m drawn to her. She’s a flame and I’m a moth, readying to be devoured whole by her fire. Something about her, in her orbit that brings me closer, willing to risk a burn from her tongue or her temper.
“Oh. It’s you.” She sighs, scanning the office once more. Her eyes linger on the back bar, and I clear my throat, pointedly staring her down.
“Yes. Me.” Walking from the desk, I grab my jacket, dusting the invisible particles from the shoulders. “You’re lucky it was me who found you in the stairwell. Not many people would help a high party girl. They might have other ideas than letting you sleep on their couch.”
Was this normal for her? Finding herself in unsafe situations? Didn’t she know how valuable she was? As the daughter to Ferguson O’Brien, people could hurt her for retaliation. With his death, she can be used against Ace.
She glares, and those emerald eyes turn into twin pools of liquid fire.
Mio Dio, she’s a sight, the red lights highlighting her body, making her eyes darken. She’s a demon come to collect my soul.
Bright red lips twist, but even under that anger I see something else. Not just a temper, or her irritation, it’s the casual dismissal of my words. She doesn’t care what could have happened to her, that’s obvious. But why?
Sighing, she sits back on my couch, tucking her feet under her warm curves. Her skirt rides high, showing expanses of white leg and I have to physically pull my eyes away. “Maybe I didn’t want to be helped. Where’s Danica?”
I snort, quelling the urge to provoke her. Something to take that dullness from her eyes. “Your girlfriend who abandoned you?” I shake my head. “You have the worst taste in partners, by the way. The minute I gave her a little scare, she left you to save her own ass.”
Sloane smiles, but it’s sad. Full of remorse and quiet understanding.
I understand the look, one of someone who has been abandoned. Maybe many times prior to now. It’s the same face that stared at me in the hospital mirror when I was told news of my family.
“Unfortunately, Danica is who she is. She doesn’t worry much about anyone except herself.” Her shoulders lower as if it’s a moot point. “Why did you help me?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I lay the jacket against my chair, sitting down. At her annoyed glare, I can’t help but grin. “You think because of what I do, I’d let a defenseless woman get hurt in my club? Have some more faith in the male population than that.”
“I have very little faith in the male population,” she drawls, flipping a few strands of red over her shoulder. They move like silk. “Even less in a man who works in the same business as my father.” She glances away, brow furrowed.
I smile, enjoying the wheels turning behind those expressive eyes. She’s sizing up the room, running different scenarios in that mind, deducing things I don’t see. I’m pleasantly surprised by this side of her. “What do you notice?” I prod, reclining as she scans the rooms again.
“Wealth. A lot of it.”
“Really?” I look around, seemingly confused. “Where?”
She sighs, tiredly. Pointing a red painted nail to the bar, she says, “The bottles of liquor you have there? None of it is well. All top shelf. A couple thousand easily.” She looks at my desk, to the signed baseball at the corner. “A signed baseball? Judging by the age and how it sits behind protected glass, I assume it’s someone famous. Probably dead. Mark McGwire?”
My smirk grows into wonder. “You know baseball?”
She cuts me a scathing look. “Obviously. All of that is money. And I’m not even going to mention the priceless Roman antique vase in the far corner.” She jabs a finger to the left, and I chuckle, impressed. “Wealth. Money. Just like my father.”
It’s full of bitterness, not what a mourning daughter should sound like.
“So you think you know me?”
“You, in particular, no. But you’re a man and I know all men,” she rolls her eyes, sinking into the couch, playing with a few loose threads.
Gesturing the space between us, I can’t help but challenge her. I like seeing how her mind works, like seeing how she works through things. “Then, please. Enlighten me.”
She pouts, replying as if to the sofa. “Sure, why not?”
Sitting upright, she adjusts her legs, now sitting on her knees. “First, the most obvious: you’re not part of my father’s clan. You’re too pretty, too clean. The suit is designer, I’m guessing Armani from the cut. At the funeral, it looked like Prada. No one in Pops’ circle cared enough about clothes to shell out that kind of money. So, you’re probably from one of the other rivals. Right?”
I grin, tapping my fingers. “Point for you. No, I’m not with the clan.”
Sloane likes to appear the spoiled, wild child of the O’Brien clan, but she hides a clever mind behind that mask.
She nods, mostly to herself. “Now, which? I don’t know much about either of the families, just one handles imports and the other exports.” At my raised brow, she shrugs. “But I do know Bruno tends to have businesses in the northern part, while De Luca is closer to the harbor. Since we’re on the edge of my father—my sister’s territory and De Luca, safe to say, you’re part of his crew.”
My body stills though my face doesn’t reveal my unease. For someone so out of touch with this world, she certainly deduced more than anyone else I’ve met. “Anything else to add?”
“The accent gave you away. You’re probably from Tuscany?” At my shock, she smiles. “I spent a month traveling there two years ago. I know from the news that De Luca has relatives in that part of Italy.”
“I’m impressed.” I incline my head, more intrigued about this vixen than I should be.
There’s more to Sloane O’Brien than I thought.
“You’d be the first,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around her middle.
I don’t like the dejected tone or the way her face closes off.
I want her fire back, that fight. It’s as addicting as the pills I push.
“Excited for the wedding?”
That does its intended job, igniting a flame in those large eyes. She glares at me, ruby bottom lip puckering. “Great. You know about it too.”
At the curious statement, I tilt my head. “I do.”
“And I bet your second is just as thrilled as my sister is at the possibility of uniting the families and getting a bride.” Her gaze burns a hole into the couch. “Fantastic.”
Raising my eyebrow, a prickle of confusion hits my gut. She’s talking to me as if I’m not—
Oh. This is too good. She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know that I’m going to be her husband.
A good man would let her know. A good man would correct her, allow her the decency to know she’s complaining to her future spouse.
If I’ve learned anything—it’s that I’m not a good man.
“The entire family has been told of the upcoming nuptials.” My hands tighten, pulling the leather taunt and flexing my fingers under the sturdy weight. “It’s a big deal. The Zias are going crazy with wedding planning. We haven’t had a wedding, or a reason to celebrate, in some time.”
“Fuck.” She drops her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Well, you can tell your second that I don’t want to get married. In fact, I’m looking for any chance I can get at breaking this stupid contract.”
“Are you?” I gesture to the club, the flashes of her and another woman in my stairwell.
How far would it have gone, had I not interrupted? I’d rather not think on it. I’ll shoot something if I do. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you bound by clan laws after accepting your Captain’s decree?”
She glowers at me, unused to someone knowing everything of importance.
“Point?”
“You’re not the only one this affects, menace. A lot of people, two families worth of people, are riding on this union. It’s supposed to be important to both sides.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes, picking at the loose threads again. “Important for Maeve. Important for your second. Not so much for me.”
“You don’t think this is important for you?”
Her eyes flash. There’s that fire I’ve begun to crave. “I don’t know what you know about me, mysterious man who likes to ask annoying questions, but I am not someone who can just be given away. I’m a person, with thoughts and feelings, who doesn’t want to be married to a known killer.”
I nod, because I can’t fault her for that. My reputation can be a bit off-putting. Even though, most of it is fabricated. Family propaganda, and all that.
“Besides, what do I get out of this, other than removal from my family and put into some man’s bed to be used as he sees fit?” The words sound rehearsed. “I’m just a liability my sister got rid of the first chance she could, and now, I’m the one paying the price.”
A spike of frustration shoots through my body at the insinuation. Union, contract aside, Sloane is being given a role that holds a place of honor in my family. Zia Maria made it into a place to be revered, a woman who could handle the dark and the light and provide comfort in times of grief.
She gets my name, my family, my protection, my life.
Most men in this life would not offer such loyalty to their spouses, but Nico taught me differently. I chose differently after my father abandoned my mother and sister; I would be different.
How fucking dare she think she wouldn’t be cherished as my wife?
“You forget yourself,” I bite out, voice tight. “You’re marrying the next Capo into one of the most powerful families in the Northeast. You’ll be cared for, respected, with power and influence most people would kill to obtain. You’ll be seen as much a leader as him. You don’t know the honor you’ve just been handed.” I lean forward, breathing the same air as her, both of us hot and angry.
Her glare is lethal, a wicked sort that has my blood pumping and heart racing. Arms crossed, body tight with rage, she’s a flame ready to erupt.
“Of course. How silly for me to think that I had any other value than that of another extension, a wife and womb for his future children.”
I laugh bitterly. “You should be so lucky to carry the future of this family, menace.”
“He’ll be so lucky as to get between my legs.” She scoffs and my vision tinges red at her dismissal.
“You’ll beg him for it.”
She smiles, but it’s not sweet. “Not going to happen.”
“Be lucky your Captain gave to De Luca and not Bruno. You’d be in a worse situation than you currently find yourself in.”
She rolls her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to bend her over my knee and spank the disrespect off her face. “Because Alessio De Luca is a such a saint?”
I swallow, tampering down the flames of irritation. “He’s not. But he won’t hurt you.”
She leans forward, top low. I keep my eyes on her face, watching that fire in her eyes devour all other thoughts. She’s just as incensed as I am.
“I’ve heard his reputation,” she begins, voice low, controlled. “How he killed his previous lovers. How he set fire to a rival’s home. The bodies hanging over the bridge when he was named as heir? I’m used to monsters, sugar. I’ve lived with them my entire life. And trust me, no one is safe from them, no matter who you think they are.”
The smile I give her is edged with dark promise, even as her words ring inside my skull. At the broken smile that seems to fall as if a secret has been imparted. “Then be grateful for still being alive. Because it might not be long before he kills you.”
She smirks. “He’s not the first to try.”
