22. Neomi
I keep staring at my left hand, trying to remember how this ring got there.
I knew I was drunk, but fuck, this is insane.
The band sits on my finger, platinum, simple, and unadorned.
I’ve never worn anything that carried this kind of implication.
Jewelry has always been a decoration. Something chosen, enjoyed, and discarded when it no longer fits my style or personality. But this…this is meant to be permanent.
Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains and paints the room in pale gold, softening the edges of last night’s chaos. My head still aches, but the bigger pressure sits lower, tighter, rooted somewhere beneath my ribs.
I’m married.
The words echo through my mind without bringing panic. That’s the part I can’t quite reconcile. I should be freaking out, but instead, the thought brings butterflies.
Lars moves through the room behind me, completely naked. Even though his hair is a mess and I see marks from my nails along his shoulder blades, he somehow seems calm. Watching him, I’m struck by how quickly my body has adjusted to his presence.
There’s a knock at the door, and Lars pulls on a robe and walks into the main room of our suite. I sit for a moment, collecting my thoughts before I take the other robe from the wardrobe. It’s soft but somehow offers little comfort for the war in my head.
I meet him on the couch as he pours two cups without asking and hands one to me before leaning back against the cushions. His gaze flicks to my hand, to the ring, and something soft crosses his expression.
“Well,” he says, voice still rough, “we certainly had a proper Vegas experience, I guess.”
“Yeah, we did.” I take a sip of coffee. “I’m in Vegas a lot but can’t say I’ve ever gotten married. Now I can say I’ve done it all.”
We drink in silence for a moment. It isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable in a way that makes me uneasy, like my system is adapting faster than my instincts can warn me.
“So,” I say eventually, setting my cup down. “Do you regret it?”
Lars studies me. “I want you to answer that question first.”
I should pause. I should ask for time, or space, or answer with logic. Instead, the truth surfaces unfiltered.
“No…for some fucked-up reason, I don’t regret it.”
He leans back. “Neither do I.”
“I’m not saying it was smart,” I add, because I need to show the part of me that still values control. “Or practical.”
“I don’t think either of us were in the condition to be practical last night,” he says quietly.
“So, what do we do now?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. He closes the distance between us instead, stopping just close enough that I feel his warmth. His thumb brushes my ring.
“We’ll go back to Austin,” he says with a tilt of his head. “You’ll move into my condo and we’ll figure shit out.”
Something in my throat tightens. This is madness. I’ve known this man for two weeks and I’m his wife, but something in me loves the rush—and might want to see where this goes.
“Okay,” I say flatly before I smile. “I guess we can’t get it annulled, since we consummated the marriage with you destroying my poor pussy last night.”
He laughs, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Get used to it. Your sweet little pussy is going to be full of me every night now.”
Fuck me.
We finish our breakfast, share a shower, and then pack efficiently, moving like two people who know how to function under pressure. By the time the driver arrives, I’ve tucked my questions back into orderly compartments. I can do this. I can enjoy this without tearing it apart.
The jet feels smaller on the return flight, or maybe I do. I settle into the leather seat, shoes kicked off, knees tucked beneath me. Lars sits across from me, jacket on now, posture composed. He looks sharper in daylight—edges more defined, presence more intense.
The plane lifts smoothly. Vegas recedes into the desert below us.
That’s when Lars’ phone rings. He checks the screen and stands.
“I need to take this.”
I nod, pretending not to care as he steps into the small bedroom at the back of the jet. The door doesn’t fully seal when he shuts it. I don’t mean to listen, but the plane cabin carries sound too easily.
“…can’t keep operating like this without tightening the perimeter,” Lars says. “Falco’s pushing.”
Lars has the call on speaker, and I hear a man’s voice answer, deeper, with an authoritative tone.
“I’m sending reinforcements; they’ll be there this evening,” the man says. “Assure the Saints we’ll take care of them and keep tracking Falco.”
My ears perk at the mention of the Saints. Men have talked about them at the games. A local Motorcycle Club that protects the peace on Austin’s east side and might dabble in other not-so-valiant things.
“Already on it,” Lars tells him.
There’s a pause before I hear the man speak again: “How was your birthday? I saw the flight records. Are you on the way back?”
“Yes.” Lars sighs. “And it was…fuck. I, uh, had a good time.”
“So, who is she?” the man says like he already knows.
A nervous chuckle leaves Lars. “Her name is Neomi…and as of approximately one a.m. last night, she’s my wife.”
Silence stretches.
The man’s voice fills the line with amusement: “Yeah, okay.”
Lars’ voice takes on a deep tone. “Enzo, I’m serious.”
I pull my phone from my purse and my fingers fly, typing Enzo’s name with Lars’ into a search.
Enzo’s last name is Marchetti—they must be related.
Then I begin to scroll. The results are a list of insane news articles.
Gunfights, a stolen bride, a surprising bit of charity work. It’s as if I’m reading a rap sheet.
Enzo’s voice breaks through my focus, “Holy shit. What the fuck, Lars, are you sure about this?”
“Don’t, Enzo. Yes, I was entirely too drunk, but I think in some fucked-up way, I wanted it. I want her.”
My heart flips dangerously in my chest before I hear a woman’s voice on Enzo’s side of the call. “Fuck, I have to go, Zara needs me. We will talk about this as soon as you get back.”
“Understood.”
“Love you, brother. Just keep your focus and make sure Neomi has protection. If Falco gets whiff of this, you know what could happen.”
“I will. Tell Zara I said hello.”
I hear the woman shout a hello in the background. Enzo says, “You’ll have to be the one to tell her the happy news, Lars.”
The woman’s voice is louder: “What news?”
Lars’ voice turns soft. “Nothing crazy, I’ll catch you up later.”
“Okay, love you, Lars,” the woman says.
“I love you guys. I gotta go.”
Enzo says goodbye, and I’m sitting in my seat, running through all the information one simple phone call has fed me. I’m still staring at the door when Lars steps back into the cabin and his eyes find mine.
I decide to rip off the band-aid. “Lars, who was that?”
“How much did you hear?” he asks quietly.
“Enough,” I reply.
He sits beside me, leaning down with his elbows on his thighs. The fact that he won’t look me in the eye scares me.
“What is Falco?” I ask. “And why do I need protection?”
He exhales a long breath. “Fuck, I should have told you this from the start. Neomi, I know I told you I work in security, but the truth is, my family runs the Marchetti Syndicate,” he says.
“We’re headquartered in Chicago, but we have an international reach.
I didn’t exactly lie when I said we work in security.
The part I left out is that some of the work is legal, but some of it isn’t. ”
I shift in my seat, not responding.
“I'm the Underboss—second in command—to our Don, Enzo. That’s who was on the call. He’s technically my cousin, but we grew up together and I consider him more like a brother,” he continues. “I handle enforcement and strategy. I try to keep our enemies from deciding today’s the day they wage a war.”
I lean back slowly, letting the truth settle.
Mafia.
It should scare me more than it does.
“What does that make me?” I ask.
His hand covers mine. “It doesn’t have to make you anything. You’re my wife,” he says simply. “Mine to protect. You never have to be involved in the business.” He smiles softly. “But my family will be very insistent on bringing you into the fold.”
I look down at our hands. At the rings on our fingers, then at the man who walked into my life like a controlled burn and somehow made me want to stand closer to the heat.
“Should I be scared?” I say.
“Of my family? Yes, but only because they love hard and are a bit crazy sometimes. Of the rest of my world? No,” he lifts his head, “I promise you that you will be protected.”
I meet his gaze. “I’m going to hold you to that.” I relax in my seat. “I guess I won’t run just yet.”
A relieved smile forms on his lips.
“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t think I’d let you.”