37. Aliyah
ALIYAH
Istand in front of the full-length mirror in Jackson's bedroom, smoothing down the black silk dress that hugs every curve. The neckline plunges just enough to be dangerous without crossing into trashy territory. Perfect for a "friendly" mafia gathering.
I still can't believe that's where we are going.
"A party." I snort, applying a fresh coat of deep red lipstick. "You mafia boys at a little social gathering. What's next - a book club?"
Jackson's deep voice carries through the bathroom door. "Keep running that mouth, angel. These 'little gatherings' let us keep tabs on who's fucking who over." A pause. "Besides, you're one to talk about parties."
"At least my parties had class." I smirk, knowing that'll get under his skin. "And better entertainment than watching grown men measure their territories."
"Your parties had rich assholes getting drunk enough to spill their secrets to a pretty face." The sound of running water nearly drowns out his words. "Don't start pushing my buttons."
"Can't start what I never stopped." I adjust another piece of hair. "Just finding it amusing how you boys need scheduled playdates to maintain your fragile alliances."
"Fragile?" His voice drops lower, that dangerous edge I'm learning to recognize. "Nothing fragile about putting all the snakes in one pit. Makes it easier to watch them try to bite each other."
I grin at how annoyed he sounds. He says he hates how I always have a comment, but I know he loves that about me. "And here I thought you were just being social."
"There's nothing social about what we do, angel. You of all people should understand that."
The bathroom door opens in a cloud of steam, and my witty response dies in my throat.
Jackson emerges in a black tuxedo that fits him like sin, the crisp white shirt underneath a stark contrast to his tanned skin.
The jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, and the pants... I bite my lip, drinking in every inch.
"See something you like?" His dark eyes lock onto mine in the mirror as he adjusts his cufflinks - platinum, probably worth more than most people's monthly salary.
I turn, trailing my fingers along the dresser. "Just admiring how good my fiance looks."
"Keep looking at me like that, angel, and we won't make it to the party." He stalks toward me, movements predatory. His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. "Though watching you squirm through small talk while wearing my ring might be worth the wait."
The diamond on my left hand catches the light, a reminder of something I never thought I'd had showing. "Careful, tough guy. Your possessiveness is showing."
"Good." His thumb brushes across my bottom lip, smearing the fresh lipstick. "Let them see it. Let them know exactly who you belong to now."
I arch an eyebrow. "Belong is a strong word."
"It's the right one." He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. "And you know it."
My pulse quickens, but I refuse to let him see how he affects me. "We should go. Wouldn't want to keep your snake pit waiting."
His laugh is dark, promising. "There's my girl, always ready with that sharp tongue." His hand slides to my hip, fingers digging in. "But remember - tonight you're Mrs. Amato. Try not to stab anyone important."
"I make no promises." I step back before the heat between us can ignite. I don't even point out that I'm not Mrs. Amato yet. "Especially if they deserve it."
"Angel." The warning in his voice sends shivers down my spine. "Behave."
In the car, I show him just how well I can behave. He's only wound more tightly once we get there, and I've somehow managed to keep my lipstick in place despite taking the edge off for him.
Jackson's hand rests possessively on my lower back as we exit his Aston Martin at the Plaza Hotel.
The doorman's eyes slide right over us - another sign of how deep the criminal world's influence runs in this city.
Even the most prestigious establishments know to stay blind and deaf when certain guests arrive.
The ballroom drips old money - crystal chandeliers, gilt mirrors, marble floors that could tell a thousand secrets. The crowd is a mix of designer suits and evening gowns, everyone playing their part in this elaborate dance of power and control.
They make it look like a charity gala when it's anything but.
"Aliyah!" Naya's excited voice cuts through the carefully maintained atmosphere.
She weaves through the crowd, looking stunning in a deep purple gown that complements her dark skin.
The sight of my best friend loosens something in my chest, and I nearly laugh when I see Ryker's gaze tracking her across the room.
"Let me see it!" She grabs my left hand, examining the ring. "Oh my god, it's gorgeous. Jackson, you actually did good."
"Don't sound so surprised." Jackson's voice rumbles with amusement, but his eyes scan the room constantly.
I catch glimpses of familiar faces - Cole in his signature three-piece suit, Janelle by his side looking elegant as always.
Blade lounges near the bar in his leather jacket, clearly giving zero fucks about the dress code.
"When's the wedding? Please tell me I get to be maid of honor. I need details!" Naya bounces on her toes, and for a moment I see the carefree girl I knew in college, before Ryker claimed her.
"Breathe, Naya." I squeeze her hand. But she won't calm down.
"Spill everything," Naya demands, pulling me toward a quiet corner. "How did he propose? When did this happen? And why didn't you tell me immediately?"
"Because I've kept her occupied," Jackson says as he comes up behind her. "You won't be taking her from me tonight, Naya."
Jackson's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. His fingers dig into my hip - a possessive gesture that sends electricity down my spine. "Time to make our announcement, angel."
"What announcement?" But the wicked gleam in his dark eyes tells me everything.
He raises my left hand, the diamond catching the light. The ring practically screams 'property of Jackson Amato.' "This one."
A chorus of phone notifications cuts through the ambient chatter. The sound ripples across the ballroom like a wave. I pull my own phone from my clutch, my breath catching at the screen.
It's a society page announcement, complete with a photo of us that I never knew he took. We look cute and casual, relaxed even. And it's perfect next to the engagement announcement everyone is reading right now.
"You didn't." I look up at him, unable to hold back my laugh.
His thumb traces my bottom lip. "Ryker handled the technical side. Consider it his engagement gift."
"Of course he did." The infamous Ghost, using his skills to blast our engagement across every social platform that matters. "You two really are cousins."
"Worried I'm ruining your carefully crafted anonymity?" His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "Too late for that, angel. Everyone's going to know exactly who you belong to now."
"Belong is still a strong word." But my protest lacks heat.
Jackson's hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair. He doesn't care that we're the center of attention, that every snake in this pit is watching. "It's the only word."
His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding.
The kiss is a statement, a brand, a warning to anyone watching.
I should resist - the old Aliyah would never let someone mark their territory so publicly.
But his tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him deepen the kiss until I'm dizzy with it.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise. "Mine."
And I've never been happier about anything than I am about becoming Jackson's wife.