Convenient Mafia Vows (Ruthless Billionaire Mafia Kings)

11. Victoria

11

VICTORIA

There’s so much to take in.

You don’t think about other people’s lives until you’re thrown into the middle of them. Sure, I was aware that Caleb Murray was wealthy—I mean, you only have to walk past the Wraith at night and see the prestige vehicles being parked up by the valets, and the guests in their expensive suits and diamonds to understand the kind of wealth associated with the Murrays—but I never considered what that meant in everyday terms.

Until Moira filled me in over several cups of coffee—rich and chocolatey, not the cheap granules I usually pick up from the grocery store—and some wafer-thin biscuits covered in thick dark chocolate.

She spoke about actors, socialites, and celebrities the way Sienna and I would speak about our mobile hairdresser and the woman at the cash register in the grocery store. She dropped names like Meg Ryan and Lady Gaga into the conversation without even realizing. I found out which celebrities were dating—information that wasn’t readily available on social media—who was having an affair with whose husband or wife, and Moira’s predictions for celebrity marriages and babies for the coming twelve months.

By the end of the conversation, my head was spinning.

“You’ll be fine, Victoria.” Moira smiled. “Look, I know that you must have your reasons for agreeing to help Caleb, and I’m not going to pry,” she quickly added when I opened my mouth to speak, “but I want you to know that you can trust my son.”

Tears pricked my eyes. Perhaps it was the overwhelming amount of information she’d offloaded onto me and the fear that, within twenty-four hours, I would be stepping into my role as Caleb’s wife in public. But my emotions had been swinging violently between emotional wreck and sugar-rush excitement ever since.

This morning, Abigail and I went up to the rooftop where we found inflatables in the pool, and our own chef who prepared snacks and cocktails—mocktails for Abigail—behind the bar. The sun came out, and for a couple hours, I forgot about the impending dinner at the Michelin-star restaurant Cesar with Caleb’s acquaintances. I forgot about Olivia Dragonetti, and our fake marriage contract, and the heavy emerald-and-diamond-ring on my finger.

I almost forgot that it had been two days since I’d heard from Mason.

Moira collects Abigail from Caleb’s apartment shortly after lunchtime. She offered to babysit, and although I was uncertain about leaving Abigail with a stranger and didn’t want to impose on Moira’s time, Abigail is excited to go to Moira’s house. She slips her hand into the older woman’s palm with a fluffy unicorn tucked under her other arm and kisses me goodbye like Moira is her favorite grandma.

Standing in the middle of Caleb’s apartment, I suddenly feel lost. I’ve practically raised Mason and Abigail singlehandedly, and now, I realize with a sharp pang of disappointment, that I don’t know what to do when I’m alone.

After my one-night stand with Danny five years ago, my monthly cycle was late. I’m never late. I experienced twenty-four hours of sheer, hair-pulling, ugly-crying panic. Abigail was a few months old, and it was already obvious that her mom was going to hand her over to Mason, which meant that the responsibility would fall onto my shoulders.

But once the panic subsided, I realized that being a mom was all I’d ever wanted. A child of my own—Danny’s child—filled me with such immense joy that I already knew what maternal love was.

Then, when my cycle regulated itself a week later, I went from a floating sense of euphoria to crushing grief. It was almost as if I’d held our baby in my arms and had it snatched away again. A baby would’ve been a reminder of what happened that night. A tiny piece of Danny to keep close to my heart forever, as difficult as it would’ve been struggling on my own with a young child.

Maybe that pregnancy scare is the reason why I still feel scarred by that night of passion. I needed to know that there was a reason why Danny came into my life. But I’m still searching for it, because I refuse to believe that it was a one-night-only thing.

Anyway, I have six hours to kill before Caleb and I are going out.

It usually takes me thirty minutes max to get ready for a night out, but I’m in the penthouse apartment of the Wraith, I remind myself, and Caleb is still working.

What’s the point of a fake marriage if I don’t take advantage of my husband’s assets?

Chuckling to myself at the image of Caleb Murray straddling a sleek black Harley, I wander into the main bathroom. I fill the tub with steaming hot water and expensive coconut-and-lime-scented bubbles from the selection provided on the glass shelf, undress, and slide in. I sit back and close my eyes.

If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be soaking in Caleb Murray’s bathtub with his mom’s engagement ring on my finger, and a meal planned at Cesar, I’d have thought they were living in la-la-land. But here I am. Is this what the universe planned for me all along?

If so, it’s hard to imagine why.

I change position, and my fingers brush a jet under the water. Caleb said this was a jacuzzi. Opening my eyes, I locate the button and press it, steady streams of bubbles massaging my back. Oh my God, this is bliss.

I remain in the tub until my fingers are pink and wrinkled. Then, I moisturize, wind my damp hair around soft, fat curlers, and wander back to my bedroom with a fluffy, white towel wrapped around me.

What to wear tonight?

Moira warned me that the police commissioner and mayor and their wives would be there, along with various other high-ranking members of the community. I’m assuming that Olivia Dragon-face will be there too, and if our last meeting is anything to go by, she’ll be dressed to impress.

Dressed to impress Caleb, anyway.

I check out the clothes in my dressing room. When I arrived with Abigail yesterday, I felt stung that Caleb had filled an entire room with clothes for me, knowing that my wardrobe wouldn’t contain the kind of outfits his wife would wear. Mainly because I’d never blow six months wages on a dress. But now, the thought of wearing my shabby best dress in Olivia’s company makes my stomach twist with … jealousy?

Why?

Caleb Murray would never have noticed me if I hadn’t been trying to stop Killian from killing my brother. I was his concierge for a whole four hours, during which time he didn’t set eyes on me once, and he certainly wouldn’t pick me out in a restaurant if I spilled red-wine on his pristine silk shirt. So, why do I want him to look at me instead of Olivia Dragonetti?

Is it pride? I’m his wife; we’ve only just gotten married in a fictitious Irish ceremony, so he should theoretically only have eyes for me. Shouldn’t he?

The more I think about Olivia Dragonetti fawning over Caleb in his office the more determined I am to upstage her. But when I enter the dressing room, the sheer volume of clothes hanging neatly on the rails immediately drowns my resolve. It has been so long since I’ve been shopping with enough money in my bank account to buy clothes for myself that I no longer remember what suits me. The lack of price tags, instead of helping, is making it even harder. The choice!

Avoiding the clothes, for now, I do my makeup first, seated in front of a mirror surrounded by theater lamps. Every item is still sealed. Immaculate. A million miles away from the bedraggled brushes and almost empty pots in my own faded makeup bag.

“Get a grip, Victoria.” I peer at my reflection in the mirror. “You’re a female. You know what needs to be done here.”

I stick to neutral colors, keeping it subtle. Dragon-face—yes, I’ve already ditched the Olivia—is bound to go OTT, and no one likes a showoff peacock. At least, that’s what I repeat like a mantra in my head.

Oh man, what a difference expensive makeup makes. When I’m finished, I turn my head this way and that in front of the mirror and a frisson of pleasure rushes through me.

Do I really look like this?

Will Caleb even notice?

Dragging myself away from the mirror, I stand in front of the rail filled with runway-worthy dresses and stare. What color should I wear? Should I stick to the reliable little black dress or be adventurous and wear Barbie pink or lilac or sunflower-yellow?

“No.” I shake my head at the yellow. Not for tonight.

I pull out a pink dress with a plunging neckline and hold it in front of me. Maybe…

But when I try it on, I know it isn’t right. I’m way too nervous to pull it off tonight in front of Caleb and Dragon-face, and the mayor of New York City.

I tug it back over my head, careful not to smudge my makeup and hang it back up, a little askew, but my heart is racing erratically, and my mouth is too dry for me to fuss over it. It feels, irrationally, as if the rest of my life is riding on tonight.

Next, I try on a sparkling gold dress which looks dazzling on the hanger and makes me resemble a Christmas tree angel standing in front of the mirror.

Nope!

Tossing adventure to the wind, I resort to a safe black dress. Too dowdy. The silver dress is only marginally less Christmassy than the gold, the blue is boring, and the green is … not the right shade. The white pantsuit is stunning, but when an image of me spilling red wine on it pops into my head, I quickly undress and add it to the growing mountain of clothes on the floor.

I lose track of time. How can choosing an outfit be this difficult? I bet Blake Lively doesn’t have this problem, but then she probably has a whole team of people choosing her designer outfits for her.

I’m so hot that sweat is beading on my upper lip, and I’m worried that I’m going to need to shower again before I go out. When I hear the elevator ping and Caleb’s footsteps crossing the living room, I’m back in the first little black dress I tried on before outfit-mountain became a thing.

I freeze. Should I go and speak to him in the living room or wait until it’s time to leave? Will he want to see what I’m wearing, or should I surprise him? I know so little about the man I’m supposed to be in love with that I can’t even figure out something as simple as getting ready for an evening on the town.

Heart thumping, I listen for the sounds of movement around the apartment. Silence. Then water running. He’s taking a shower.

Now I wish I wasn’t so indecisive because it’s almost time to leave.

I wait for his clipped footsteps across the hallway floor before I tentatively open my bedroom door and step outside. Caleb is standing there, staring at the doorway, and our eyes meet, my cheeks growing even hotter. Damn! At this rate, I’ll have to redo my makeup before we leave.

“Is-is this okay?” I chew my bottom lip while Caleb’s eyes roam my body, making me feel naked.

He doesn’t speak.

“I didn’t know what to wear.” I find myself instinctively filling the silence.

Caleb looks me directly in the eye and says, “Come with me.” Then he takes my hand and leads me back inside my bedroom, past the bed taking center-stage and into the dressing room.

My heart is racing sickeningly. Why is it that whenever Caleb touches me, my mind immediately sends images of Danny Zuko into my head?

Come with me.

It’s what Danny said when he took my hand outside the restrooms in the nightclub, and my heart has latched onto it and is sending all sorts of crazy signals down to my sex. Jeez, I need to get a grip.

Caleb takes a hanger from the rail and holds it out for me. It’s a red dress with a Bardot neckline, cinched waist, and floor-length hem that would drag across the floor like a wedding gown train on me. “Try this.”

“I…” I swallow. “It’s red.” It’s so red that I never even looked at it because it isn’t my color.

Caleb smiles, and I realize that he’s still holding the dress.

I take it from him and stand there like I’m waiting for him to give me instructions. When it’s blatantly obvious that he isn’t going anywhere until I try on the dress, I murmur, “Will you turn around?”

He full-on smiles at me but turns around anyway.

I shrug off the black dress, step out of it so that I’m standing in front of the mirror in my bra and panties, and remove the red gown from the hanger. It feels heavy. Expensively heavy. But when I pull it over my hips and arms and study my reflection, I get a glimpse of what Caleb must’ve seen when he bought it.

It’s stunning. My breath catches in my throat as I hold the low-cut neckline to my chest and reach around with one hand to fasten the zipper.

“Here, let me.” Caleb’s warm fingers brush mine as he tugs the zipper slowly up the back of the dress.

Heat floods my neck and face when I realize that he must’ve seen me in my underwear in the mirror behind me. I don’t know why this makes me feel like a giggling teenager, but I lower my eyes from his gaze and focus on the dress.

“This will have to come off.” Caleb deftly unhooks my bra and slides it over my shoulders, adding it to the pile of discarded outfits on the floor. My nipples immediately harden, visible through the gorgeous fabric when he finishes zipping me up.

Caleb’s breath is warm on my bare shoulders and the back of my neck, and I can smell cookies again, or vanilla, it’s hard to differentiate when his face is this close to mine. My pulse races, and my pussy is tingling and … wet. I can hardly breathe, and when he whispers, “Stay right there,” I follow him with my eyes, panting, as he slides open a drawer inside one of the closets.

He doesn’t meet my eyes when he comes back holding a fine silver chain with a red stone pendant set in it. A ruby? Standing behind me, he sweeps my hair forward over my shoulders and fastens it at the back of my neck.

He doesn’t move. Our eyes meet in the mirror as his lips drop to my exposed shoulder. I instinctively tilt my head to one side, offering him my neck, and his tongue travels across my skin to my earlobe, his teeth nibbling gently.

“You want this, Victoria.”

I let out an involuntary groan. It isn’t a question, but Christ alive, isn’t it obvious? “I want this,” I breathe, my cheeks glowing.

His tongue slides into my ear. He murmurs, “M’ áilleacht ,” and oh my fucking God, if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I never knew it could feel so good. A hand slides around me and inside the neckline of the dress, his fingers seeking out my erect nipple. I turn my face towards him, our lips coming together, while his fingers tease my nipple, pinching and squeezing, forcing the air from my lungs as I gasp against him.

Then, without warning, he pulls away, his hand sliding back out of the dress, his lips still reaching for mine. “We should go,” his voice is husky.

I lick my lips, relishing the taste of him, and straighten the dress over my chest. My pussy is throbbing. My heart is beating frantically. I didn’t want him to stop, and that frightens me because this isn’t real, and I know that I can’t have him.

I follow Caleb out of the Wraith on autopilot and into the waiting Hummer limo.

My body is still in the dressing room, tingling at Caleb’s touch, at his warm breath on the back of my neck, and his fingers squeezing my nipples. My heart is still galloping around inside my chest at the raging emotions tearing through my body. And as if this isn’t already the worst way to start an evening as his fake-wife, his brother is waiting for us inside the car with a supermodel sitting on his right sipping champagne from a flute.

“Oh.” It comes out before I can stop the disappointment from permeating the air in the back of the vehicle.

Without realizing, I’d hoped that Caleb and I would be alone. No, more than that, I’d hoped there might be a repeat performance of what happened in my dressing room. Because I was doing it again. I was falling hard for the hottest man on earth; second hottest if I believed that Danny Zuko really did exist.

Caleb’s brother’s eyes linger on the dress a beat too long and then meet mine. He smiles and shakes my hand. “Kyle Murray. Caleb’s brother. I bet he’s told you nothing about me.”

I can’t help smiling in return, grateful to have something normal to focus on. I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Typical.” Kyle raises an eyebrow in his brother’s direction. “This is Suki.”

Suki . The name sounds as exotic as she looks. She’s wearing a short, glitzy gold dress, revealing long legs that appear to have been glossed to within an inch of their lives. Her lips are glossy too, her eyes smoky beneath jet-black bangs that she can barely see out of.

“Suki, this is my brother Caleb and his wife Victoria.”

Suki leans forward and kisses Caleb’s cheek before brushing her lips against my face and sitting back in her seat.

I sit beside Caleb and accept the glass of bubbly that Kyle hands to me. I can feel Caleb’s thigh pressing against mine; I can smell his cologne and hear the faint rustle of his pale pink shirt against his black suit jacket. On anyone else, black would look formal, austere, but on Caleb, I can still picture him on the back of his Harley.

I don’t pay attention to the conversation in the car. I don’t know what they think of me. Obviously, Kyle knows about our arrangement, he drew up the marriage contract, but Suki has barely looked at me, and I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong in this world.

And we’re not even at the restaurant yet.

So, a thrill travels down my spine when we pull up outside Cesar and Caleb takes my hand to help me out of the car. Caleb won’t let me get this wrong, I tell myself. This is his life, after all.

A light flashes, blinding me momentarily. Paparazzi?

Caleb squeezes my hand. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry. You’re with me, remember.”

How could I forget?

The restaurant is sleek, modern, low lights casting shimmers across the golden accessories. The ma?tre d’ ushers us away from the main dining area and into the salon, a room where large parties can eat in privacy. The seats here are black, coordinating with the black lamps placed along the center of the long table which is already set with white plates, pristine napkins, and a variety of glassware.

Several people are seated around the table, but I don’t recognize Mr. Dragonetti. Olivia isn’t here yet either; of course she isn’t. She’ll no doubt be the last to arrive, wafting in on a fine mist of Chanel No. 5 and demanding everyone’s attention.

Ugh. I don’t like that I’ve allowed this woman to rattle me when I don’t even know her. This isn’t me. I generally steer clear of gossip and drama because who has the time, right? But something about Dragon-face has rubbed me the wrong way, and I don’t even think this is all about Caleb.

The woman is trouble, and like a cat sensing danger, my hackles are up.

Caleb introduces me to the mayor and his wife, a beautiful woman with clear dark skin, gloriously thick black hair, and high cheekbones. I sit between her and Caleb, and she immediately turns around and says, “Where did you get your dress, honey? It’s stunning.”

My shoulders relax a little. You see these people on the news and see their photographs over the tabloids and social media, and your mind automatically sets them apart from the rest of the world, like they’re a different species.

But as the seats fill, and the conversations are like those at any regular dinner party: the latest Marvel movie, basketball teams, the upcoming Met Gala ball, I realize that they’re just people. Sure, they have wealth, and powerful jobs, and designer labels tucked inside their outfits, but strip that away, and they’re just like anyone else walking around New York City.

My stomach lurches though when Olivia Dragonetti, wearing a billowing black and silver gown, arrives with her father and makes a beeline for Suki. They know each other. I don’t know why this makes me feel hot and uncomfortable, but even when they’re air-kissing each other’s cheeks, Olivia’s eyes are on me, reminding me that I’m not like them.

“Ignore her.” Caleb’s lips brush my ear, and my nipples instantly harden as a blush creeps up my neck. “She’s trying to get a reaction.”

Mr. Dragonetti shakes the men’s hands around the table and bends over me to kiss my cheek. His gaze lands on Moira’s ring, and I flex my fingers without thinking. I catch Kyle’s eye across the table, and he winks at me.

Maybe I’m not as bad at this as I think I am.

I catch Rose Weiss’s eye several times between courses. She seems the most genuine out of the women, but her husband Brandon, like Caleb, keeps her close to his side, and we don’t get an opportunity to chat.

Between the main course and dessert, the conversation transitions to business matters. The talk seems to instinctively bypass the women like a bad smell, and I can’t tell if they choose to ignore the topic or if the men warn them in advance to listen but refrain from speaking.

I had no such warning from Caleb.

I don’t fully understand what’s going on, but it seems to me that Mr. Dragonetti still wants to form a business alliance with Caleb despite his rejection of the older man’s daughter. I also get the impression—and this is where it becomes a little bit foggy—that the mayor and police commissioner are here to offer their stamp of approval. Or not. The birthday party is simply a distraction, the glue bringing all the players together.

What I don’t understand is why. What does this have to do with the mayor and police commissioner? Unless they stand to reap some financial benefits from the coalition. A bribe perhaps to overlook some dodgy financial transactions?

Caleb is perfectly at ease, one hand casually resting on my thigh. He’s the doting new husband, refilling my wine glass whenever he notices it empty, murmuring into my ear to check that I’m okay, entwining his fingers with mine between courses. The only thing he doesn’t do is invite me to join in the conversation.

By the end of the evening, my head is thumping from too much wine and from being in a permanent state of alert so that Caleb and I don’t drop our facade.

I excuse myself and go to the restroom where I’m surprised to find my heart racing loudly when I’m surrounded by silence. Exiting the cubicle, I’m caught off-guard to find Olivia Dragonetti touching up her lip gloss in the gold-edged mirror behind the basins. I didn’t hear her come in.

It occurs to me that she was deliberately silent when she came into the restroom, so I take a deep breath and force a smile. I run the cold faucet and splash my face, dabbing it dry carefully with paper towels.

I want to be the first to speak; I’d take some small glory from being the bigger person after our first meeting, but I can’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound like I’m the geeky high school teenager trying to befriend the most popular girl in town.

She beats me to it. “I know what you’re doing.” She doesn’t even have the decency to face me squarely, but instead peers at me via the mirror while she sprays her neck with perfume.

I meet and hold her gaze. “What am I doing?”

“You only want Caleb for his money. Your brother has a whole catalog of debts he’ll never be able to repay, and you’re using Caleb to bail him out.”

My determination to not let her get to me crumbles at the mention of Mason. “How do you?—”

She laughs; it isn’t a sound that other people would want to join in with. “What, you think I don’t have connections? Caleb would never marry someone like you, a waitress from a backstreet café. I don’t know how you trapped him, but I sure as fuck am going to make sure you don’t get away with it.”

Tears prickle my eyes, and I tell myself not to cry in front of her. Anywhere else, but not in front of this woman.

I pick up my purse and turn to face her. “You’re wrong. Caleb and I love each other. We’re married whether you choose to believe it or not.”

An ugly grin spreads across her face. “That’s why his car is waiting for me outside, is it?”

“H-his car?” Don’t bite. If I let her get to me, she’s already won.

But still reeling from Caleb’s rejection in the dressing room, my self-esteem must be at an all-time low because I head blindly towards the door of the restroom, and instead of making my way back to the salon, I stumble past the ma?tre d’ and straight towards the exit.

“Victoria?” I hear Caleb calling me, but I don’t stop.

I don’t even think about where I’m going until I’m outside and the chilly night air brushes my arms.

That’s when I hear a pop that sounds remarkably like a gunshot.