The silk dress I had put on her clung to her skin.
I hated that I noticed.
I wanted her.
Not because she was beautiful, though she was but because every time those furious eyes cut toward me, something in me pushed back harder.
She looked at me like she wanted me dead, and the part of me that should have been annoyed only found it useful.
Dangerous.
Interesting.
“Take a picture,” she said, voice flat with disgust.
“It’ll last longer.
Don’t mistake this for forgiveness.
I will never forget what you did.” I almost smiled.
Most women who ended up near me already knew the price of the seat.
This one still thought she could spit in my face and walk away clean.
Last night had been entertaining in its own way.
The priest I pulled from some online listing had nearly lost his nerve when she told him exactly where he could put the cross.
She refused the vows the first two times.
I told him to finish the papers or join the bodies we had already left behind.
He finished them.
We were married.
Legal.
Binding.
She had glared at the man the entire time like she was memorizing his face for later.
“Stop staring,” she snapped.
“Stop giving me a reason,” I said, and turned my eyes back to the road.
Silence held for a while.
Then she asked, quiet, “Did my father have any last words?” The question landed sharper than she probably intended.
“I told him to burn in hell,” I said.
“He answered that when I got there, he would already have a deal in place to handle my torture personally.” A short, harsh sound left her throat.
“He was right.
You’ll join him sooner than you think.” I barely had time to register the shift in her posture before she lunged.
Her hands locked on the wheel and wrenched it hard.
The car jerked.
Tires screamed.
I fought the spin, teeth clenched, and brought us back under control a few meters short of a truck’s front bumper.
We clipped a streetlight hard enough to shatter glass.
She had a cut on her forehead.
Small.
Bleeding.
“Are you trying to get us both killed?” My voice came out low.
Controlled.
“Look at what you did to yourself.” I opened the glove compartment, took out the gun first so she could see it clearly, then the cotton and antiseptic I kept there.
I pointed the barrel at her while I cleaned the cut.
She didn’t flinch from the gun.
She flinched from the sting of the antiseptic.
“If you try that again,” I said, still calm, “I will kill you.” The threat was real.
So was the care.
She could figure out which one mattered more.
Her scent had started to fade under the blood and the road dust.
I made a note to have Dragon find whatever she used before.
Small things kept people manageable.
She exhaled hard.
After a long stretch of silence she asked, “Are we driving to Italy?” “So now you want conversation?” She rolled her eyes.
“You want to know what I actually want?
It isn’t sitting in this car with you.” I almost laughed.
“Your mouth says one thing.
Your eyes say something else.” “What do you know about my eyes?
If you can’t see how much they want to open your throat, you’re the one who’s blind.” Her nails dug into her palm.
Good.
She still had the sense to be afraid.
Fear kept people alive longer than pride.
“Out of curiosity,” I said, “how do you plan to kill me?
I’d like the warning.” “You won’t see it coming.” “I have eyes in the back of my head.
And stabbing a man in the back is cowardly.” “Says the man who wiped out my entire family like a coward.” The fire was back in her voice.
Beautiful, in its way.
“Family,” I repeated.
The word always sounded like someone else’s religion.
People spoke of it like it was sacred.
I had never found an honest definition that matched the blood I had seen.
I took the next turn.
She could believe whatever she needed to believe.
I owed her nothing.
When the car stopped I got out, walked around, and opened her door.
I held out a hand.
She looked at it like it was contaminated and pushed past me.
I watched her walk toward Dragon.
He was already waiting—my underboss, the man who learned to shoot before he learned to speak full sentences.
He cooked better than most restaurants I had paid for.
Useful in more ways than one.
The way she moved still carried the posture of someone who had never learned to make herself smaller.
That would change, or it wouldn’t.
Either way, I would have her.
The alternative was starting to feel like an inconvenience I no longer wanted.
We boarded the jet.
She sat as far from me as the cabin allowed.
I let her.
It gave me time to decide what I would tell the family.
Lust was the simplest explanation.
They would hate it, but they would understand it.
Anything more complicated would only give them room to argue.
By the time I opened my eyes again, the jet had landed.
Dragon was already guiding her toward the exit.
She walked past me.
I shrugged out of my coat and settled it over her shoulders before she could step into the cooler air.
She stopped and turned.
Shock, confusion, and that stubborn pride all mixed together in her face.
“You didn’t have to do that.
I’m fine.” “You are fine now.
You won’t be once the temperature drops.” “Thank you,” she muttered, already turning away so I couldn’t answer.
I let the quiet laugh stay in my chest.
A car waited.
This time she had no choice but to sit beside me.
Her warmth pressed against my side whether she liked it or not.
Night had fully settled when she finally spoke again.
“What’s your family like?” I looked at her.
For a second the question made her look younger than the anger she carried.
“If I brought a man home and called him my husband,” she said, “my brothers would have broken his neck before he finished introducing himself.” I smirked.
“You want to know what to expect.” I thought about it.
Immediate family or the wider structure—either way, they would have to adjust to her presence.
“Think of the Italian version of your family,” I said.
“Worse.” She looked down at her hands.
Her fingers curled into her palms again.
Nervous.
Or scared.
Or both.
I did something that went against every instinct I trusted.
I slid my hand over hers and brought it to my lap.
“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away.
“We’re here,” I said.
“Act normal.
You are my muse.
That is the only way you survive my family—and me.” The car stopped.
She lifted her head and the sound that left her was almost a gasp.
“What the hell is this?” I followed her line of sight even though I already knew what waited.
They had lined up along the approach the way they always did when they wanted to make a point.
I had sent the message.
They had answered it with presence.
“They’re here to welcome you,” I said.
The door opened.
She stepped out.
I followed and laced my fingers through hers again, deliberate this time.
We had taken only a few steps when the sound of a cane striking stone cut through the murmurs.
She started forward.
I drew her back.
“Wait,” I mouthed.
Don Matteo came into view—the oldest patriarch of the Crete family, the one man whose opinion still carried weight even when I chose to ignore it.
The look on his face said everything.
He was not pleased.
Good.
I had finally managed to push him far enough.
“Dragon.
Take my wife to our rooms.
I will speak with my father.” I released her hand without looking at her face.
Confusion was written all over her; she would learn quickly that weakness had no place here.
That was the clearest difference between the family she had lost and the one she had just entered.
We did not hesitate.
We did not soften.
We did not forgive easily.
The muttering started almost at once.
How does a man erase an entire bloodline and then take the daughter for himself?
A sure way to get killed, they would say—never to my face.
Don Matteo stopped when I reached him.
He gave me a short once-over, then turned without a word.
I felt the rage coming off him.
It only fed the part of me that refused to bend.
“Maledizione, Makros!” The cane struck the ground hard.
“Seguimi!” I followed without hesitation.
Whatever speech he had prepared, I was ready for it.
They all knew I did not change my mind once it was set.
Apparently they still needed the reminder.