Chapter 13
TIERNEY
“You okay, Tier?”
Connor appears in the sitting room and joins me by the window. My gaze stays focused on the New York skyline, and I keep my arms folded across my chest.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I lie, not wanting to admit that I nearly went too far with Bronx last night.
“You look like you’re about to kill someone.” Connor nudges my arm. “How about we head outside, grab lunch and do some sightseeing? Then you can tell me what’s going on in that head of yours without the men in black eavesdropping.”
I smile, thankful to have an ally now. “Okay, let me grab my phone.”
“Where’s the big guy?” he asks, following me to the bar where my phone is charging.
“He’s around,” I say, waving my hand. “Last I heard, he had to take a call and disappeared into his home office. That’s the perfect recipe for a fake marriage. Out of sight and out of mind.”
As I unplug the charger cable, my stomach knots because even when Bronx is in the next room, I sense him. I know how he takes his coffee and that he fastens his left cufflink before the right.
And those moments when he’s charming and considerate make me wonder if he’s a decent guy after all. Then, I argue with myself about that thought and remember that Damien didn’t kill people, or sit back as I faced the firing line while his upperclass ma grilled me.
“You sure you don’t fancy him?” Connor cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. “Even a little? I mean, he looks at you like he wants to rip your clothes off and you look at—”
“Like I want to punch his teeth out?”
He chuckles. “That’s definitely not the vibe I was getting.”
“You’re imagining it,” I say. “As if I’d be able to move on from Damien that quickly when I liked the guy.”
“You liked the guy,” he smirks. “That’s a Tierney-style declaration of love, right there.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we please not talk about Bronx while we’re out?”
My scalp prickles, and I sense the atmosphere change the second Bronx enters the room. Despite myself, my body goes into high alert before my brain does.
“Please, talk about me as much as you like, wife,” he says, looking straight at me and ignoring Connor. “Means you’re thinking about me.”
“Oh, he’s so into you,” Connor whispers for my ears only, except Bronx must hear because he smirks.
“No, he’s into tormenting me,” I shoot back.
Bronx walks towards us with a hand in his dress pants pocket and a sexy as fuck grin spreading across his face. His cologne hits first, making my pulse go wild.
“I hear you’re going out?” he asks, running his fingertips through the lengths of my hair so my scalp tingles. “I’ll brief the security team. They’ll be with you both every second you’re out there.”
I understand that my brother and I are in an unknown city, him with a target on his back and me with the Viacava name on my new credit card. I get it, but fuck, what happened to a carefree stroll through Central Park with a coffee and a bagel?
“Fine,” I reply, pushing past him.
But when I move away, he cuffs my wrist, tugs me into his chest, slides his hand into the hair and my nape and kisses me. I freeze for the first few seconds and just as my brain blips out to the sensation and my tongue brushes his, he pulls away.
“Enjoy your day,” he says, stroking the inside of my wrist before letting go. “Hopefully, when you come home, you’ll be in a more pleasant mood.”
Fuck, this guy. I can’t stand that he did that in front of my brother, or that I fisted his shirt for a nanosecond instead of throat-punching him.
I’m about to offer him a sarcastic response when my brother pipes up. “She’s a hard nut to crack, Bronx.”
“I think I’m getting there.” Bronx winks, turns on his heel and walks away while my lips tingle and Connor chuckles under his breath.
“Stop humoring him, Connor.” I punch his arm and head for the door.
“It could be worse, you know,” his voice slips over my shoulder as he follows me into the hallway.
“How do you work that out?” I throw him a look over my shoulder as two suited guys move into position.
We stand side by side at the elevator; me huffing and Connor thinking my life is a fucking fairytale in New York.
“Well, he could be ugly,” he smirks. “Imagine sleeping beside some old bald bastard whose beer belly takes up most of the bed.”
I shake my head. “A six foot six Viacava takes up a lot of the bed too. Can we please focus on something else?”
The elevator doors slide open, and all four of us move inside. As it sinks to the ground floor, I pack away the warring emotions inside of me and pull up the maps on my phone.
“Where do you wanna go first?” I ask, moving through the foyer.
“Let’s wander for a bit and then grab some food.”
When we step outside, too many people surround us. Horns honk, a guy shouts, and the traffic noise echoes off the skyscrapers.
“Jesus, this city is busy compared to Dublin.” I slide my arm into the crook of his. “Adjusting to life here will take a while.”
“I love it,” Connor replies. “This is what I needed. A fucking change of scenery.”
We walk a few blocks, stopping off to buy coffees and snacks with Viacava money, then find our way to Central Park.
“In Dublin, I knew every street, every shortcut, every safe house,” I say, sitting down on a bench. “I feel lost here, and Da refuses to send me money.”
Connor sinks his teeth into a pastrami sandwich, chews, and wipes the mustard off his lips with a napkin. “He said Bronx made it clear to him he handles you now. And that includes finances.”
Of course he did. Control freak.
I take a sip of coffee and scan every face that walks past us. Something doesn’t feel right. There’s a guy walking a dog who was a few blocks back, and the woman wearing a baseball cap and white sneakers went past us a few minutes ago.
This city is too big for coincidences.
“I earned plenty of cash working for Da,” I say, still watching the crowd. “It’s stashed in my bedroom at the house. Bronx doesn’t need to bankroll me. I’ve been funding myself since I was a teenager.”
Another guy jogs past, and I’d swear he’s already looped us twice. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. My spine straightens and I do my best not to startle Connor. I might not know local patterns yet, but I can sure as hell recognize predatory behavior.
We’re being followed.
“Why not spend his money?” he says, oblivious to his surroundings. “Buy a car with it, or an apartment in Miami so we can disappear at the weekends.”
I glance over my shoulder where our security guys are lingering and try to catch their eye. Doing what they do best, they’re focused on the crowd; and one of them takes a step forward, his chin lifting a fraction. He’s catching on too.
“We should go back now.” I get to my feet and throw my half-empty coffee into the trash.
Connor frowns and wraps the rest of his sandwich up. “What’s wrong?”
The woman in the cap touches her ear as if she’s receiving instructions, and I’m instinctively reaching for a gun that’s not there anymore.
“There are too many people… Trust me,” I say with a firm tone. “It’s time to go back to the apartment.”
Knowing better than to argue, Connor walks with me and notices when I signal to a security guy who nods once.
“Guess that’s the end of our relaxing day together,” he grumbles.
We walk a block at a faster pace than before, and then a blacked-out SUV pulls up to the curb next to us. I look over my shoulder when our escorts move in to usher us into the back of it.
Inside the air-con is blasting and the city noise dies.
Connor sits deep in the leather seat and sighs. “It’s all fun and games until I get framed for murder and you marry into the Italian mafia.”
“Was it ever fun and games?” I stare out at the city as the car pulls out into the traffic.
“For you, yeah,” Connor says. “You were practically born with an AK in your hands, Tier. Da wouldn’t have pushed you so hard if you didn’t thrive on it. That’s why I was shocked you dated a bland guy who played life safe.”
I let my head fall back as he talks. “Now, Bronx, he’s your match. That man can handle you for who you really are. He knows what your skills are and there’s nothing to hide from him.”
“What my skills were, you mean,” I bite out. “Since I got married, I became a wife. A woman who sits around all day. I’m not me anymore, Con. I’m a fucking ghost of myself and I hate it.”
He goes quiet, and part of me regrets giving him a glimpse of how I really feel because we both know I’m in this situation for him. But I’d never throw that in his face.
Once we’re riding the elevator again, Connor kisses my cheek and gets off on his floor with one guy tailing him. I never thought I’d be happy to be back in Bronx’s bachelor pad, but when I wander through the open space, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me.
“Couldn’t keep away, princess?” Bronx comes up behind me in the bedroom.
“We were being followed.” I peel off the sweatshirt I’d found hanging on my side of the closet earlier and sit on the stool by the mirror. “Professional hunters everywhere.”
“I know,” he says. “As soon as I heard, I sent the car for you. That’s the last time you go sightseeing on foot.”
I exhale a heavy breath and turn towards my reflection, cocking my head at the woman staring back at me.
She’s wearing a vest top and lacy bra she didn’t buy and has clean hair that she dried after unboxing a hairdryer that was left out for her on the vanity.
I have nothing of my own. No weapons, no autonomy. Even the food in the fridge came from his money.
“Do you know how lost I am here?”
Bronx moves in behind me and bends a little to bring his face next to mine so we’re staring at each other. I lean back half an inch without thinking.
“You’re not lost when you have me,” he says.
I close my eyes for a beat because even my husband isn’t truly mine.
“Back home, I had the location of safe houses burned into my brain. Contacts I could run to if I needed weapons. Escape routes and cash at my disposal.” My voice rises higher as my emotions get the better of me. “I hate being this helpless. Being useless and having to depend on you for everything.”
His hands settle on my shoulders and his mouth comes to my ear. “You identified the threat, didn’t you?”
A shiver runs through me, the warmth and gritty texture of his voice reaching places inside me that should stay numb.
“You won’t lose that, Tierney…in fact it’s important that my wife predicts the threats so she can remove herself from a dangerous situation and not get hurt.”
“Wouldn’t it be so much easier for you if a sniper wiped me out?” I slip out from under his hands and stand. “Not that I want to die, but it would solve all your problems. You’d be free of this pantomime and free to marry a woman who actually likes you.”
Bronx widens his stance, folds his arms, and skims his bottom lip with his thumb as he considers me. “I’d say you’re more of a challenge than a problem.”
He takes a step closer, and I back up. “And I won’t settle for a woman who just likes me, princess.”
In three strides, he’s crowding me against the closest door, one hand braced above my head and his face lowered so we’re almost breathing the same air.
His fingertips skate down the curve of my throat. “I want my wife to be crazy in love with me. I want her to be wet when I touch her. I want her to beg for my cock.”
God help me. I swallow hard and press my thighs together.
There’s a knowing curve to his lips as he trails featherlight fingers down my arm, igniting a flurry of goosebumps. “I want her to shiver when I touch her. I want her knees to weaken, her pulse to rocket, her body to melt into mine.”
He goes quiet for a racing heartbeat, studying me. “I want her legs to fall open as she lets out a moan because she just can’t help herself.”
For a breath, maybe two, his mouth hovers close enough that I brace for his lips to take mine. I hate that I’m almost panting.
However, his gaze drags from my mouth to my eyes, and he takes a slow breath, then he steps back.
He runs a hand through his dark hair and exhales through his nose as if he’s reining something in.
“What do you feel like doing tonight?” he asks, voice rough but measured. “We can go out for dinner and drinks. Or stay in. Your choice.”
It takes my brain a second to catch up after everything he just said. “What?”
He shrugs, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like he’d been thinking about dinner, not screwing me against the wall. “How about I introduce you to my city, my way?”
I straighten my spine and ignore the ache buried so deep inside me that I’d almost beg him to cure it if I wasn’t furious at myself for feeling it.
“What about the people who were following me?”
His expression hardens. “Don’t worry about them. That problem was taken care of already. No one else will get within a mile of my wife.”
There it is again. My wife.
Ownership dressed up as protection.
My father didn’t just trade me. He exiled me to a foreign country where I’m one hundred percent dependent on a man who can eliminate threats with one phone call. Back home, I handled problems. Here, problems are handled for me.
I don’t even have the freedom to walk through a park without permission or danger circling. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had a gun…or a purpose.
But this afternoon proved something else.
I’m not just Bronx Viacava’s prisoner.
I’m New York City’s prisoner, too.