Chapter 7 – Liam
Since Saturday night’s disastrous dinner, I spent a good deal of time thinking about my bride-to-be.
It took far more of my mental space than I would have liked.
It plagued me while I worked. It distracted me at the gym.
The puzzle drove me mad, chasing sleep away.
It wasn’t until I sat with my morning coffee paging through the news articles on my tablet that it dawned on me.
Gabriella was a spy.
The realization was the most obvious answer to the puzzle. Why else would she accept the position of wife to a different organization? No young woman would want to be forced away from her family to marry a stranger. Especially a stranger who looked like me.
No, this was just another strategy the crafty rodents were using to snare us.
It was highly probable that Don Morelli knew I was the one who’d killed his soldier that night.
Plus, a sly tactician like the Italian boss might even have sent the soldier to bait me, knowing all the time that it was a suicide mission.
The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Gabriella would have relayed the information. Told the truth about what happened. Hell! That was why she walked home alone. They wanted to provoke a reaction from me.
And I’d almost fallen into their trap.
No more. I figured out their angle. They weren’t going to manipulate us so easily. I would stay one step ahead of their schemes.
Which was why, when I saw my little bride exit a beat-up cab and hurry into the park, I delayed an appointment to follow. Gabriella had a head start. By the time I parked my sleek black Jag and slipped across the freshly mown lawn, it took ten more minutes to scour the park before I found her.
She sat on a bench. Peaceful and serene.
I didn’t buy it for a second.
There were parks in the Morelli neighborhood. Gabriella hadn’t chosen one of them. No, she chose to sit on this bench, in this park, with that pretty, nut-brown hair falling in waves down her back. Something about this didn’t feel right.
I tapped my index finger against my thigh, the leather silent against the fitted trousers. If the tree I leaned up against rubbed bark crumbs on my suit jacket, I didn’t notice. There was only me and my little prey.
Gabriella tipped her head back. The sunlight bathed her face.
She seemed to glow. Without thinking, I reached under the collar of my dress shirt and brushed my bare fingers against the strand of metal I wore there.
The spoils of war. The wisp of chain seemed to burn my skin as I watched my bride-to-be.
It didn’t matter that my attention bordered on obsession.
That girl was practically a goddess from ancient Rome. I was just another mortal caught by the divine’s enchantment.
I watched as she looked toward a group of approaching women with some kids. The pen she’d been using remained poised over the journal. The expectant look on her face changed into a soft smile.
She’s writing a lot.
That truth slammed into me with the force of a gale. So consumed with discovering why she was here, who she was meeting, I hadn’t considered what she was writing.
The urge to know crept under my skin. It slithered and crawled, irritating the hell out of the scars.
Her head snapped down, and she scanned the park. I held very still, pressing closer to the tree. That honeyed gaze swept over my hiding place, but she didn’t see me.
No, she might sense my presence, but she didn’t abandon her rendezvous. It must be important.
Important enough to leave the safety of her home, risk physical danger. Anyone with a vendetta could have followed her. And yet she was here.
From this angle, I could see her profile. That full bottom lip slid between her teeth. A wistful, hungry look spread over her face.
What if she has a lover?
Fuck. Me.
Why hadn’t that thought occurred to me before now? But of course it made sense! She would play the don’s twisted games, pretend to be a willing participant, but secretly, like every other silly young doe, she would want a buck of her own.
The urge to burn down the park consumed me. I would turn the emerald landscape into blackened char. Of course my little bride longed for another man. She probably wrote her name with his last name, putting dainty wee hearts around the words.
Not going to fucking happen.
It was possible she played the part of willing wife so that she could get close to me.
Sink her talons in my chest and rip out my bleeding heart.
Did she make some arrangement with the don to go along with it?
To act the part of spy in exchange for freedom to marry her lover?
Or was she playing her own cards in this game?
An escape, a midnight journey to a happily-ever-after?
I ground my fist into the tree, forcing bits of bark to crumble under the pressure. The desperate, greedy gulps of air did little to settle the destructive energy coursing through me.
Gabriella dropped her gaze. She began to write, but her attention wasn’t on the page. She was waiting.
For him.
Ichor choked my lungs.
Where is he?
Has he touched you?
Are you plotting my death?
I wanted to cross the distance, wrap my fingers around her slim little throat, and claim her. Right here. Right now. Fuck the truth from her in the bright light of day.
A perambulator passed. The daft cow gabbed into her Bluetooth, bitchin’ about her husband’s credit card limit.
I stilled, narrowing my gaze. Gabriella’s pen continued to move, but the motion was absent and without purpose.
Her head was bowed, but her gaze tracked the pram.
She stared hard, eyes fixed on the wee critter inside.
A strangled growl of frustration vibrated up my throat.
I couldn’t fucking see from this distance.
Couldn’t read what was written in those whiskey orbs.
When the pretentious housewife rounded the bend, Gabriella dropped her pen.
That pretty face fell into her hands. For a split second, she seemed to freeze.
I felt her lungs take a long drink of air.
She lifted her head, raked her fingers back through her hair, and tossed the gorgeous lot to the side.
The urge to wrap it around my fist sent a throbbing ache straight to my dick.
She began to write furiously in that damned journal again. This whole setting felt like a ritual. She’d been here before. This had happened more than once.
Enough.
I wasn’t going to sit around like some moon-eyed eejit and let her wallow in whatever tragic love story consumed her. I was a character in this plot—the villain. And I was going to play my hand.
Gabriella was promised to me.
She was mine.
If she or her don thought they could manipulate a different ending, they had another think coming. I might not have wanted this marriage, this alliance, any more than she clearly did, but that didn’t change where we currently were.
Taking charge, I strode across the park. I angled my path to come at her from behind. Gabriella was too lost in her private heartache to notice my approach.
The harsh bite of my voice was at odds with the pleasant afternoon. “You’re a long way from home, little bird.”
Gabriella jumped. A muted scream stuck in her throat. She rounded on me, fingers gripping the back of the bench. The small book fell to the ground, lying open near her shoe. Her full chest heaved. Noticing that sent another throb straight through my shaft.
“Liam! What are you doing here?” she gasped.
The most dangerous thing happened. That whiskey gaze collided with mine. It didn’t waver, didn’t drop. It stayed fixed.
I stopped a few paces away. This was close enough to act if I needed to, but far enough away to resist the temptation to touch.
“I should be asking you the same question, cailín.” Where’s lover boy?
Her lips pressed tight in a silent refusal to answer.
That spiked the anger fresh in my veins. Had her secret prince tasted those lips? Had he spread those strong, silky legs? I ground my molars.
“Say something,” I demanded.
Her brow flicked. Annoyance. Defiance. That was what was so fucking intoxicating about this woman. She dared to meet my eye. She possessed a fierce streak, I’d grant her that.
Good. Maybe she wouldn’t wilt when I dragged her to my bed and took what I’d been promised.
“Say something?” she repeated, mocking the words with a roll of her tongue. “Okay, what about the fact that you keep stabbing people every time we meet?”
Humor barked up my throat. Feisty. I liked that. Liked that a lot. “Technically, I didn’t stab James.”
Gabriella rolled her eyes. What kind of a life had she lived that she was so jaded and calloused toward violence? The kind that forged her into a worthy opponent. I wasn’t going to break her with threats or violence.
It was time to try a different tactic. “What kind of a ring do you want?”
“What?” she stuttered, rearing back. “A ring? What are you talking about?”
I closed the distance and peeled her left hand off the back of the bench. “A ring, little bird. One that you will wear so the world knows you belong to me.”
She didn’t tug her hand free. Only looked at it in confusion, where it was caught in mine.
Whereas my skin was ghostly, hers was naturally olive, blessed by the sunlight.
Heat licked my veins to see if the rest of her was that pretty, golden shade.
From the bits I had seen when she wore a dress the other night, my bet was that she was tan all over.
“Oh, you mean an engagement ring,” she breathed, flexing her finger.
“I do, cailín, that.” I stroked my thumb over the spot I intended to mark. “What’s it to be? An emerald? A blood red ruby?”
She tipped her head up, giving it a little toss to keep the hair off her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
I clenched my teeth, lip peeling back in warning.
“Just so long as it’s big enough to gouge your eye out,” she added.
The snarl on my lips morphed into a smile. I chuckled. Maybe she didn’t fear the violence of our world because she was violent. Which would be cute as hell if it was true.
No one else will ever touch you, I decided. The silent promise radiated between us.
Gabriella felt the menacing threat and swallowed hard. “Well, it’s been fun, mobster, but I have to get going.”
She tugged her hand. I wrapped my fingers around hers, squeezed them in warning, and then let her go. She spun around, but when she bent to gather her journal, sliding it in the bag with a pair of shoes, I narrowed my eyes to watch.
Whatever was written on those pages no doubt held her secrets. I made plans to steal them. They didn’t belong to her anymore. Everything about this woman was going to be mine.
Gabriella rose, slung the bag on her shoulder, and offered me a small wave. “I’ll see you around.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “No, no, little bird, you won’t just fly away.”
Her brows knit together in confusion, then concern. “I really have to go.”
“Where?”
“To church.”
I blew out a short breath through my nose. Lies. “Which church?”
“St. Vincent’s.” She began to walk.
“That’s across town.” In the middle of Morelli’s turf. I fell into step beside her.
Gabriella nodded. “Yep. My ride is waiting.”
She tried again to shake me off, but I wasn’t having it.
She was going to learn the hard way that her life was no longer her own.
She didn’t get to flit around this city—my city—and expose herself to the dangers of this place.
And she sure as hell didn’t get to blow me off to have a secret rendezvous with whatever fucking prick struck her fancy.
We walked silently toward the street. Gabriella’s fidgeting increased, and I looked around for some shining princeling to step out and intercept us. When none appeared, I bristled.
“This is goodbye,” Gabriella said, turning slightly and looking up into my face. “Have a good rest of your day.”
Such a polite fucking mouth. It was going to look so good wrapped around my shaft as she choked on my dick.
“It’s been grand,” I muttered.
Gabriella nodded once, looked both ways, then jogged across the street. She slid into the back of a cab, and without a final parting glance, she closed the door.
Through the boiling anger, I just so happened to notice it was the same beat-up number that had brought her here. If everything about this encounter didn’t scream ritual, this minor detail did.
The only good thing about that was it meant I could catch her again. And next time, I would be prepared.