Captive Mafia Wife (Twisted Mafia Kings #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

THE DAY FREYA IS TAKEN TO FREDRICK’S ESTATE

F redrick

With my unwilling bride-to-be arriving in mere hours, I must focus my energies. To say Freya Burnes will be a challenge is an understatement. For the arrival of this ice-blonde modern-day Valkyrie princess?

I should be armed.

My naked ass is freezing as I plunge my body into the depths of the river’s icy waters. The crystal-clear waters pour down from the mountains into the freshwater Loch Ness and out to the sea. Hence, the state of my balls, currently shrinking into my stomach as I breathe through the frigid temperatures. Swimming strengthens every muscle, which I consider a bonus; I swim to sharpen my mind.

My arms slice through the water, and I turn my head, catching a breath and a glimpse of my new home .

I’ve certainly upgraded from the oak barrel-scented apartment above my Glasgow distillery. I’m now the proud owner of a castle. It's a small one on the scale of medieval architecture for royalty, but a castle all the same. Modeled after the real castle of Inverness, ours is adoringly named Wee Inverness. The red sandstone structure sits on the tall cliff above me, overlooking the full moon of my ass cheeks as I glide through the river.

When Callum recruited me to help protect his sister, I knew I had to isolate beautiful party girl Freya from Glasgow. I lied to myself as I signed my name on the deed to the little castle, closing the cash purchase. I told myself that whoever married her could move here.

Indeed, I wasn’t buying it with me in mind to be her new husband.

But then, Callum picked me, and who was I to say no to my brother-in-arms? The fact that I would lay down my life to stop a paper from slicing the tip of Freya’s perfect finger made me the man her brother chose as her betrothed, revealed in that desperate call he made to me.

Hence, my recent move to Inverness in the thrumming heart of Scotland’s lively Highlands.

I knew she’d be kicking and screaming all the way. But she has a deep love of beautiful buildings. Did I buy this castle as a way to bribe my unwilling, captive wife into not trying to scratch my eyes out each time I enter a room?

Absolutely, I did.

I quickly correct myself; I bought the estate knowing Freya, with her love of older homes and grand renovations, couldn’t not fall in love with it, no matter which man was to bring her here.

“Be honest with yourself, Fredrick.” My body finally warm, I dolphin flip, head back toward home, and admit the truth. To say I was obsessed with her the moment I saw her sounds…dramatic. If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, it’s drama. There’s a light in Freya that shines so brightly she blinds me.

I have to have her.

Breathless, I flatten my palms against the stone wall, pushing myself up and out of the water. I’m drawn from my thoughts by a tsk tsk from my house manager, Morvan, who stands at the edge of the waters, her new blue-emblemed apron tied around her waist, an oversized towel draped over one arm.

When I first met her, she told me her Scottish name is pronounced MAWR-vein, which means “big mountain. " She also told me she came with the wee castle, daring me to try to fire her.

I declined the dare, doubled her salary, and moved her from the tiny garden shed, which had been converted to a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, to a larger guest house with a small kitchen and a soaker tub to ease her back at the end of a long day of work.

I offered to house her husband as well. She declined. I didn’t pry.

I’ve taken to calling her MAWR-vein in my head.

She’s a tiny, round person. Her namesake is in her determination, not her stature .

“Mr. Fredrick, you’re going to corrupt the young ladies in the town. I beg you—cover up this instant.” She hands me the towel.

I thank her and am grateful for the soft warmth wrapping it around my waist. “Not much to corrupt them with after that ice-cold swim.”

“Gah! You’re terrible! Dry off and get dressed. I have a fire and fresh coffee waiting for you in the kitchen. Haste ye back! Five minutes.”

“Yes, Morven,” I call to her, but she’s already making her way up the grassy hill, chastising me under her breath as she goes.

After dressing, more chastising about how I’ll catch my death of cold or get eaten by a monster in that river, and two cups of hot black coffee, I move about my home, awaiting my bride. With her stunning beauty, impeccable manners, and quick wit, she was born to host in this house. Her brilliant mind and nerves of steel round her out, making her a wife any mafia man would covet.

I’m the only one who can rein her in to keep her safe. As stubborn as she is strong, Freya has a wild streak in her burning brightly, suiting her family name.

But she can’t burn me. One look in her glass-green eyes and I knew I could tame the soaring flames of the raging bonfire that burns within her. Not dim them or snuff her fire out as other men might…

Instead, banking them to a soft flame that lights a candlewick. From daring fire to gentle flicker. I’ll give her the world in return. Freya loves fine homes, stunning jewelry, custom clothing, and fast cars. She’ll have it all.

A staff member comes to tell me she’s arrived. I find myself doing a slow jog down the stone steps that lead to the pebbled drive. I glance down at my watch. “Anytime now.” I start to pace as I wait, then stop myself.

She’s like a big cat; any sign of weakness, she’ll pounce.

Instead, I glance down, studying my dark gray suit jacket, searching for lint. As always, thanks to MAWR-vein, I’m spotless. My eyes focus on the road, and I fiddle with my cuff links. I slide my hands in my pockets.

Freya has arrived.

She steps out of the sleek black car I sent for her. Typically, she wears all-black, classic couture, head to toe. Today is the same; her sleek black dress is elegance personified. But something is different about her. Her long, white-blonde hair is swept up in a tight updo, and a black lace veil is perched on top of her head.

Standing behind the open door of the black car, she takes in the estate from behind dark, massive, cat-eyed Chanel sunglasses. Striding on those long pale legs atop black heels as thin as pencils, she moves around the door, allowing the driver to close it behind her.

Her gaze finds me. I can feel her staring at me from behind those glasses. I stare back as she makes a point of striking a pose, jutting out a defiant hip. She raises her black, lacquered fingernails to the top of her head.

And flips a swath of black lace over her face.

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth. Her feisty spirit is part of what draws me to her. Now, she’s come, dressed…for a funeral .

“You may have brought me here as your captive,” she says as she breezes past me. “But there will be no wedding.”

I slip in front of her, stopping her movement forward. An immovable wall of a man just as determined as herself. She’s finally met her match.

“There will most certainly be a wedding.”

“Look, Freddie. Callum’s worried, and it’s not a good look on him. I’ve never seen him anything other than cocksure of himself. So, I’m here. I’ll let you play out your fairy tale, pull a Rapunzel, and lock me away in a tower for safekeeping. Or heck, be the Beast if you want, but we”—she points from me to her, then back to me—“will never, ever be married.” She looks to the sky. “Pray for me, my sweet island!”

Shaking it off, I ignore her prayers. “I disagree.”

I grip the delicate lace between my fingers, slowly lifting the veil and folding it over the barrette that pins it in her hair. Gently taking hold of the arms of her sunglasses, I slip them from her beautiful face. “And what I say goes.”

Her eyes, green like her brother’s, focus on the light. She studies my face. Clouds roll through her sparkling gaze. “You’re not the only one used to getting their way.”

“No, I’m not. But I am responsible for you and your safety. And the best way to keep you safe? Make you my wife.”

Her head cocks to the side. “Neither of us will be safe if you try and force me to marry you because then I’d have to kill you.”

“Is that so?”

“‘Tis so, I’m afraid,” she sighs. “I don’t take kindly to demands involving the words, ‘till death do us part.’ ”

“But then I’d be dead and you’d be in prison,” I state.

“Aye, and only the best lawyer—” She raises her brows at me. “That would be me—would be able to keep me out of prison.”

With that, she snatches her glasses from my fingers, settles them back on her face, and blows me a kiss as she glides past me, stomping her heels up the stone steps to her new home.

She’s a perfect picture—she could be a painting, Parisian artwork hanging over my mantle. Her dress is tailored to her slim frame, the black lace against her immaculately styled fair hair, perfectly silhouetted against the grassy hills behind her as she pauses on the stone-pebbled walk before the red stone castle, looking to her left, taking in the view of the river, sparkling under the sunlight.

My heart lodges in my throat. Thick with desire, I swallow down the lump, quietly chastising myself. “Patience, Fredrick. Patience.”

I’ll give her things money can’t buy. Kindness, trust, respect, the list goes on. Together, we will forge a new empire.

And she will have it all.

Except for the one thing I won’t give her. Something so dangerous that it has no place in our brave new world.

Love.

You can’t give what you don’t have.