23. Zara
ZARA
After two weeks of sheer bliss, I feel so close to him—our hearts have developed a bond nothing could destroy. Nothing could come between us.
On the jet, I snuggle into his side, and he kisses the top of my head. Closing my eyes, I savor his love as it spreads through my body like wires of pure light, making my insides buzz with life.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze as it peers straight into my soul, his wide smile touching every part of me. I wish we’d stayed on the island and never left paradise. A fear nags at my happiness, its sharp teeth scratching at the frail bubble and threatening to burst it at any second.
I don’t know where it stems from and have no idea how to eradicate it, but it pulses under my ribs, making it hard to breathe. “Promise me it’s always going to be like this.”
If it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up to be thrust back into an unforgiving nightmare. Losing him is unfathomable.
His chest vibrates with a deep sound ringing with determination, but a hollow echo of agony accompanies it. “I can promise you the world and lay it at your feet. I can swear to you that I will love you throughout my existence. I can vow there never was and never will be anyone other than you.”
It should be enough. I am absolutely certain that he would keep his word. I am not the only one afraid, which is curious considering he is fearless, but strangely, that fear begins and ends with me.
He holds on to me as if afraid I will slip from his embrace and drift somewhere else, to a place where he can’t reach me.
“Move in with me for good,” he says, nudging my cheek.
“You forgot something,” I say, grinning and tapping the tip of his nose.
Cherished. Loved. Adored. That’s how he makes me feel. Drunk on him and the promise of days full of love, nights filled with passion, and moments of pure rapture and sheer ecstasy.
“Please, mi sol. Don’t make me beg, take mercy on me.”
I slide my finger down his torso, a teasing smile arching the corner of my mouth. “I’m considering it.”
He raises a brow. “Who’s the cruel one now?”
I keep him on his toes, loving what it does to him. He’s smitten with me, making me feel like he needs me to function. It’s the type of power that makes me so high I could levitate above the ground, but it simultaneously grounds me.
His love is a typhoon, raging and unstoppable, but I am in the center, enveloped by its magnificent strength, safe from catastrophic consequences.
He grips my chin and nibbles along my jaw, each kiss dipped in sensuality, seducing me.
He’s getting his way.
I know it.
He knows it.
The truth might be stamped on my heart next to his name, tattooed there in permanent ink.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, desperate for his ministrations.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, his voice hoarse, causing goose bumps to rise on my feverish skin.
Will I ever get enough of him? I doubt it.
“Does it sound like one?” I could pat myself on the back with pride that I am still somewhat coherent, in control when he so easily strips me bare with a flick of his fingers.
There’s freedom in surrender. In those moments, nothing else matters.
“It does.”
Done playing, I lift myself up his torso, my legs going around his thighs. Planted in his lap, I lock my arms around his neck, play with the ends of his hair, and lean in to whisper above his lips, “Because it is.”
His eyes shine with so much delight it makes my heart leap from my chest, rolling straight into his palm. He’ll take care of it.
“You make me the happiest man alive. You’re my happiness, Zara.”
He’s so open with his feelings, so selfless in showering me with his love. The contrast between the man I thought he was and the one he is makes me feel special. Only I experience this side of him.
“I’ll have to handle some things first.”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, his voice ending on an impatient rasp. “For how long?”
“A week.”
He groans, making the smile on my face a permanent fixture.
“You had me to yourself for two weeks.”
His fingers dig into my waist, the display of possessiveness threatening to undo me. “Not enough. I need more. I need forever.”
I shake my head at him, grinning like the smitten woman I am.
Love in the underworld is something rare and precious. Even though I’ve witnessed it around me, it always comes with pain. The price we pay, perhaps, for the lives we lead.
I am glad my marriage turned into a lifetime bond. I’ve found my partner, my person, my soulmate in a world where I thought love had no place.
Maybe it’s too much, mixing business with personal matters, but they’re interconnected. Together we could become even greater—people you truly don’t want to mess with. It’s less for the love of money and the desire for power, and more to preserve the frail hope of safety.
I am just starting my life with him. I don’t want it to end at all, but ending too soon would be unfathomable, and I would never recover.
The flight passes in a blur of open-mouthed kisses, heated glances, and gentle touches, each laying another brick in our foundation.
When the jet lands, we step out into a sunny Chicago day, summer in full bloom.
The car waits for us on the tarmac, several black SUVs behind it. This is reality.
His throat rumbles with a sound of protest, making me believe we’re thinking the same thing, so I offer him a small smile, hoping to convey the message that it is what it is, but we’ll make it work. Together.
The moment we sit in the car, his phone rings, and I go through the emails since Conrad always adds me to the CC line.
Everything has gone smoothly in my absence.
I expected nothing less.
Just landed. I’ll return later today,
I type, and Conrad reacts with a thumbs-up.
Slipping my phone back into my purse, I notice his features tightening. “I’ll be there in a few,” he says, hanging up.
“What happened?”
He glares out the window as if it were an enemy he would like to snuff. “Word got out that my uncle is sick. And those greedy assholes are tearing each other apart to take his place when I haven’t even buried him.”
I place my hand on his thigh and squeeze it in silent support, trying to comfort him. “I’m here.”
He cocks his head, his features softening. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on the inside of my palm.
Accompanying me inside the penthouse, he kisses me. “I’ll return as soon as possible.”
He rakes his eyes over my body, the hunger clear, igniting mine. Experience has proven it’s a fine line we dangle on. I push him inside the elevator before we forget about anything but satisfying a need that seems impossible to quench.
He chuckles, stealing another kiss before the elevator doors close. “Later, wife.”
I move to the living room, play some music, then sit in the armchair by the window and scroll through the pictures of our honeymoon.
My favorite is when we woke up from a long night of passion.
I had my cheek on his biceps, and his face was buried in my neck, rumpled sheets and sunrays kissing our faces.
I get lost in watching them and only stop when I hear a throat clearing. That’s one way of pulling someone from an alternate fantasy. My phone slips from my hand, and I jerk up, startled.
His uncle steps in front of me, frowning at the image on my phone. It’s a picture of Vian smiling back at me, untroubled, with the sun setting in the background.
“He loves you too much,” he says, the sigh of disapproval hitting me straight in the chest.
While both his uncle and his aunt welcomed me, he keeps me at a distance. Without Vian here, I don’t have to filter my curiosity.
“What is your deal with me? You don’t even know me, but you decided not to like me.”
He expels a heavy breath of air and goes to the bar.
“Should you be drinking?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.
He waves me off as he pours himself a tumbler. “I do whatever the hell I please in my last days. And you sound like him. Jesus. It’s like someone made you from the same fabric,” he mutters, and I smile, taking it as a compliment.
I place my phone on the coffee table as he sits across from me. For long minutes, we engage in a stare-down contest, neither of us saying a thing.
I don’t know how much time passes, but realizing he has none to spare and should spend it with his loved ones, I forgo the silent battle. “Why don’t you like me?”
He swirls the glass in his hand, the liquid perilously close to overtopping, watching the contents as if they convey the answer. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. What I don’t like is your power over him.”
Even if he thinks he knows stuff about me, as in the mafia keeping files on everyone is imperative, he knows nothing of substance.
“I intend to be by his side. That’s why I married him.”
His eyes set on me with cold assessment. “And here I thought it was a business deal.”
“I fooled myself into thinking that,” I say, letting my guard down on purpose to gain his approval.
He deeply loves Vian. Their bond is almost unique in the underworld, where men have slaughtered family members to seize power.
“He is a son to me,” his voice softens, eyes losing the hardness. “This was the deal my brother and I made. That we treat each other’s kids as if they were ours. Vian lost so much so soon, too suddenly. Any other man would have given himself the bullet.”
My heart twists in my chest, the pain as swift as a deadly injury, my voice shaking with heavy emotions. “Thank you for being there for him.”
“You weren’t.” His tone is bitter, biting.
“I––”
How could I be when I didn’t even know him?
His mouth pulls into a tight frown. “People say let bygones be bygones and make peace. What the fuck is that?”
I shrug, the concept foreign to me too. I wouldn’t show mercy or forgiveness to people who betrayed me either, and he continues, “I don’t blame you.
You did great. Made a name for yourself.
Became a well-respected member of the underworld.
Now you have by your side a man who would tilt the world off its axis for you.
” He leans forward, steepling his fingers at his mouth. “But what would you do for him?”
I feel my brows furrow, and at my confusion he sighs, “I can’t go in fucking peace knowing you will rip his heart out of his chest. Since I will not be there, I ask that you give your word to a dying man.”
He takes a small folding knife from his inside pocket and eyes me intently with no trace of joking. He wants me to make this blood oath. In the back of my head, it feels like a manipulative tactic. As if he can predict the future, he seizes his chance while deliberately leaving me in the dark.
There’s a saying in the underworld: nothing is stronger than your word; add blood to the mix, and you give it a sacred meaning. Not respecting it would call for your demise.
But what he asks of me is pertinent, something I intend to do, regardless.
Grabbing the knife from his hand, I untwist it and slide the blade over my palm. Droplets of blood coat the line, cementing the promise. He reciprocates, grasping my hand.
Long moments pass before he lets mine go.
“Thank you. Hate me if you need to. Vian never deserved it and never will.”
He stands, and I follow him, raising my arms in the air in frustration. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“I must. Made a blood oath of my own,” he says ominously, causing a shiver to run down my back.
At the elevator, he comes to an abrupt halt and looks at me over his shoulder. It’s the first genuine smile I witness directed at me. “Welcome to the family. Death is the only way out.”
“I know, remember?” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.
He tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Take care, Zara Monroe Giancana.” There’s something acidic in the way he pronounces my maiden name. “If you ever wonder whether he loves you, your keeping that name is all the proof you need.”
“Wait. What?” I rush to him, but the elevator door closes right before I reach him.
So done with these riddles, I pace for a while, but it makes me even more restless, and when I see Vian’s text that he needs a bit more time, I head to his cousin’s studio a few blocks away.
At her gallery, the woman at the front welcomes me in and shows me where to go.
In the back, a vast space opens where sculptures lie in more or less finished stages, different materials scattered around.
The Chicago Bratva’s leader towers over her, and she gesticulates with her hands, her frustration clear while he watches her, unable to keep his eyes off her.
“I will finish this and then push it up your ass, as you wouldn’t know the difference between a masterpiece and garbage to save your life.”
Lew cocks his head, remaining perfectly calm. “Just tell me if you want to see me naked. No need for the fuss.”
“Good God, help me, or I will kill him.”
“You tried and failed,” he says matter-of-factly.
I tiptoe back, feeling that I am intruding on something personal, when his face snaps toward me, assessing if I am a danger.
“Zara,” she says in clear relief.
“Hi,” I say, waving awkwardly. “I came to see you in your element.”
“Mrs. Giancana,” he says curtly, displaying nothing but cold professionalism.
She lifts her palm to his face. “Ignore him.”
His eyes burn with a challenge. “Like you would like to.”
I look at her, letting her know I don’t approve of this dangerous foreplay they have going on. His reputation is controversial at best, and everyone in the underworld is wary of him.
She waves me off as if I am imagining things.
Sure, right.
I’ve been in the delusional bubble myself, and when it pops, it alters the course of your life.
“You’ll get it when it’s ready, probably in pieces I will hurl at you.”
“Personal delivery.” Lew winks at her. “I like it.”
“Out.” She stabs an angry finger at the door and mumbles “asshole” under her breath. He leaves with a smirk, every stride steeped in a show of dominance.
“How was your honeymoon? Tell me everything,” she says, firing off questions once we’re alone, her bubbly personality shining through. This is a good day, and I wonder if it has something to do with him.
“Too bad it ended,” I expel a long breath, and we move to a bench next to a marble block.
Over two cups of coffee, I recount the PG-approved content.
She nods and smiles here and there, then bursts into laughter when I tell her the whole sand sex debacle.
With her, it’s easy to talk. We understand each other.
I fold my hands in my lap, offering her a sympathetic look. “Your father came to visit.”
“I can’t even be mad at him,” she sighs, the sound echoing with heartbreaking sadness.
I place my hand on hers in silent support. “Make peace with his decision. I would do anything for another day with my father.”
She avoids my gaze. “Yes, even if they were monsters… we’re programmed to love them.”