Chapter 3 Livvie
LIVVIE
Of all the men in Manhattan… in the world, in fact, and I’ve ended up with Kingston Viacava as my unhappily ever after.
His reputation alone boils my blood. It doesn’t matter that his six-foot-four build packs out his wedding suit in all the right places. Or that ninety-nine percent of the female population would scratch out my eyes to have his wedding ring on their finger.
Me? I’m thinking of cutting that finger off so I don’t have to feel the weight of my vows every damn day.
Looks aren’t everything. And being his fake wife won’t change my opinion of his cutthroat family. Nor will it change how I’ll live my life after tonight.
My father promised me this arrangement with Kingston would be business only. No sharing of beds. No pointless time spent in each other’s company and definitely no display of affection beyond public appearances.
However, Kingston seems to have other ideas. Ideas that will give his new wife a motive to kill him.
The fairy light lit terrace is peaceful, except for the faint hum of the wedding party inside. Fresh air chills my bare shoulders. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself as I lean against the stone railing, staring over the Manhattan skyline.
Coming to America should have been my moment of freedom. I’d imagined it a hundred times over—living in New York as a twenty-one-year-old single woman on a mission to stay out of the family drug business.
But now, wearing a stupid-looking dress that I didn’t choose, a gaudy Italian tiara encrusted with blood diamonds, and having a surname that isn’t mine, I’m more trapped than I was back home in Dublin.
“Running away already, wife?”
His voice, smooth and taunting, sends a ripple of tension down my spine. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t have to. Kingston has a way of filling a space by just existing in it.
“You caught me,” I say flatly, though my heart hammers in my chest. “Now what are you going to do? Drag me back inside by my hair before anyone notices that I’d rather be out here alone than sitting with you?”
His chuckle is low, dark, and seductively rich. “As tempting as that sounds, Livvie, I think I’d prefer to watch you sulk out here like a spoiled little princess.”
I turn, glaring at him. He prowls toward me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid glints in the moonlight. But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—they hold mine. Always watching. Always knowing.
“Sulking?” I shrug. “Nah, I just needed a break. From you.”
He raises an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink as he considers me.
“You’re a smart woman, Livvie. You fully understand how that wedding band you’re wearing means you’re not single anymore. There’s no ‘break’ from me. Ever.”
The way he says it—so calm, so absolute—makes my stomach twist.
“C’mon, Kingston. I’m sure you’ve got a few working brain cells in that big head of yours,” I shoot back.
“You understand that our boring wedding was bullshit. All this is a pantomime. It means nothing to us as a couple. We don’t have to play house just because our families forced us into this.
You stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine. It’s that simple.”
Kingston laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that sets my nerves on edge. He kills the distance between us in a few measured steps, his presence overwhelming.
“And here I thought you understood the position.”
He sets the glass on the railing beside me and leans in, caging me between his arms. The scent of whiskey and cedar invades my senses, making it impossible to focus.
“You don’t get your own lane, Livvie. Today, you crossed over into mine. You’re my wife. And you don’t get to walk away from me either, especially on our wedding night.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze.
“I’m only your wife by name, Kingston. Nothing more.”
His dark eyes sweep over me, lingering on the neckline of my dress before meeting my glare. Slowly, purposely, he reaches for my hand.
“Let go of me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No fucking touching.”
Ignoring me, he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a slow, searing kiss to my wedding finger, right below the huge diamond solitaire engagement ring that matches my jeweled wedding ring. His lips are warm, the scrape of his stubble sending tingles racing through me.
“Everyone knows the O’Callaghan men are ugly Irish fuckers, but you, Livvie, you stand out from the crowd,” he murmurs, his deep voice dripping with mock sincerity. “You’re the perfect Viacava bride.”
“Wow!” I fake a gasp. “If I didn’t know ya better, I’d think that was close to a compliment. You can’t bullshit me, Kingston. I won’t fall for your lies.”
When I try to yank my hand back, the momentum pulls him closer instead. Our bodies collide with a bump that steals my breath.
On impact, he lets out a guttural grunt of approval, his hand moving to my waist to steady me. The sound, rich and primal, sends a flush of heat through me that I utterly despise.
“Watch yourself, wife,” he says, amused. “You might give me the wrong idea.”
I glare up at him, the vein in my neck throbbing and a flush of warmth spreading up from my chest. Why the hell does he have to smell so amazing?
“The only idea you should have is how much I despise you.”
His fingers dig into my waist, and he tugs me just a fraction closer.
“Despise me all you want, wife.” His full lips curve into that hot smirk of his. The one that dimples his cheek. “It doesn’t change the fact that you belong to me now. You recited the vows and here you are. In my arms.”
I shiver, and his eyes darken, his gaze dropping to my lips before lifting to meet mine again.
“Where you belong,” he adds.
I swallow hard, holding his gaze. “I don’t belong to you, Kingston, or with you, for that matter.”
That smile of his slips to a grin so dark and wicked I almost fear for my sanity.
“That’s adorable, sweetheart. But let me make one thing clear—everything under my name belongs to me. Including you.”
Heat blooms in my chest. Equal parts rage to fascination. I push against his chest, but it’s like shoving a concrete pillar.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to play the role of your obedient little mafia wife.”
“Good.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “I have enough dogs that are obedient. A challenge is more fun, right? Keeps the marriage alive.”
The air crackles between us. For a second, I stare up at him.
Like really take in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls messily across his tanned forehead and how his inky pupils are wide.
I can’t tell if his eyes are pure black in this light, but I sure as hell sense the way his body seems to hum with restraint.
“You don’t scare me,” I whisper.
He dips into the side of my face, his lips brushing against my ear as he murmurs, “Then why are you trembling, Livvie?”
I jerk away, glaring at him with every ounce of fire I can muster, but he won’t back up.
“Because you’re infuriating. And you’re not listening to me.”
Kingston scrubs his jaw, smirking like he’s already won.
“Oh, I hear you, sweetheart. Loud and clear. Your Irish accent is quite charming.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks, the silence stretching thin and taut. The wind plays with a few flyaway strands of my hair, and the cool night air seeps into my skin, but all I can feel is him—his heat, his presence, his suffocating intensity.
“You want your freedom, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Well, I want my wife to live in our marital home, which is my place, by the way. Unfortunately for you, I always get what I want. And tonight, that’s you.”
I laugh under my breath. “You don’t want me, Kingston.”
He tilts his head, his thumb brushing the lace at my waist in a way that feels both possessive and tender.
“Don’t I?”
“You’re just a typical Viacava trying to take control.”
“Well, you’re a stubborn Viacava who looks really fucking gorgeous in white.”
His eyes burn into mine and the monster I know lives within him seems to hide in the shadow of his gaze. The world falls away—the party, the families, the blood-soaked vows that have bound us together.
“You’re so full of shit, Kingston,” I say, forcing myself to sound light because there’s no way he’s being genuine.
I’m just a pawn to him, and he’s an untrustworthy rival.
“I’m trying to figure out why you think I have to be near you in private.
Our union is already public. The preparations are complete. What do you actually want from me?”
His smirk fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
“Everything,” he says simply.
Unable to look away, my chest rises as I take a deep breath, his words cutting through me like a blade.
“Good luck with that.” I shake my head. “You won’t get anything from me. I fucking hate the Viacavas.”
His smile returns, softer this time, as though he found my defiance endearing. Slowly, he traces the curve of my spine with his fingers, stealing my ability to think clearly.
“Olivia.” The husky way he says my full name makes my veins burn hotter. “Hate the fact you’re mine all you want, but the way you’re looking at me right now? That’s not hate.”
“If this is how other women look at you, Kingston, then I’d be worried for your safety if I were you.” I half laugh. “Because I hate everything about you.”
“Oh yeah?” His lips curl into an easy, predatory grin, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something dangerous and intimate.
“Everything?” His voice drops to a velvet whisper. “Does that include the way I make you feel when I’m this close?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat for a beat. My heart is pounding so loud I’m almost sure he can hear it.
“Back the fuck off, Kingston.”
“Make me, Livvie.”
My cheeks burn, desire crawling through me. “Don’t think I won’t strangle you.”
“Oh, baby, now I’m hard,” he says, the tone of his voice deep and dirty.
“You’re so full of yourself. It’s unbearable.”
Kingston’s smirk widens, and he leans in just enough to feel his liquored breath against my skin.
“Guess what?” he murmurs. “Knowing I have to wait until later to watch my wife strip out of this dress… that’s unbearable. Although, I have to say, I find it very entertaining how you’re pretending you’re not married to me when you’re the one who showed up looking like…”
He falls silent for a split second. “…temptation. From the soft brown hair on your pretty head to your dainty little toes, you’re branded Kingston Viacava’s wife. Until death do us part.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
He chuckles. “Fuck you, too, sweetheart.”
Before I reply, his other hand flies up and cradles my jaw, tilting my face toward him. His thumb burrows in, securing my face in his murderous hand.
My fist shoots out to punch him, but before it connects, he stops the movement with his other hand. His tight grip on my wrist plays havoc with the burning ache in my core.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry, you know that?” he says. “But I’m liking this other look too… this flustered wife version.”
And just like that, his lips are on mine.
The pressure is rough and demanding, like he’s staking a claim. But equally, it’s also electric, too, pulling me under in a way that makes me crave more. The taste of his tongue—liquor and danger—God, it makes my heart pump faster.
“Still fucking hate me, wife?” he asks into my mouth, his deep voice laced with a smirk.
“You bet I do…” But I still kiss him back and he matches my hunger like we’ve popped a cork and can’t stop the bubbles from spilling over.
My fingers dive into his thick head of hair, and I tug at the lengths.
This is a mistake.
I can’t trust him.
“I’ll never stop hating you, Kingston.”
That admission seems to kick-start a wildfire between us. His body cages mine, leaving me no way to escape and our teeth clash the deeper we kiss.
“Good, sweetheart, ’cause I’ll always fucking hate you, too,” he grits out as he lowers his face to my cleavage and drags his tongue over my hot skin. “Bet you hate me doing this, don’t you?”
“Yesss…” I lie, painfully aware of the tingles where his warm, wet mouth moves and his teeth graze. “It’s gross.”
“Gross?” He straightens and cuffs my throat, fascinating eyes drilling into mine as he pants. “What about when I do this, wife?”