Page 13 of Stolen Bride for the Don

She glares at me, then rolls to the other side of the bed.

“Come, pet. You’ve not forgotten about our deal yet, have you?”

“Deal? I didn’t make any deals with you,” she answers without looking at me.

I chuckle. “Your book is upside down,” I inform her. Her face twists with disgust as she slams the book shut.

“If you noticed, then you should have had the good manners not to mention it; I’m obviously pretending to read to avoid having to interact with you.” She rolls her eyes.

I shake my head and tsk softly. “Now is that any way to talk to your loving fiancé?”

“Fiancé? Loving?” she scoffs with each word. “I think not. There’s no ring on this finger.” She wiggles her left hand in front of my face and I grab it.

“You have the most exquisite hands. They must bring you much enjoyment,” I murmur as I turn it over; her eyes widen slightly in response. I run the pad of my fingers over her soft palms. She shivers and snatches her hand from me. But I’ve already noted her ring finger and should be able to guess the size accurately. “Don’t worry, pet, you’ll get a ring soon enough.”

“You’re delusional, Hudson. Or should I call you Massimo?”

Hudson. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been addressed by that name. Sure it’s the name I use for my legal business, but nobody working at Moor Corporation or associated with the company can recognize me on sight. I have a proxy working as the CEO, a henchman I control. Only Crew calls me H when we’re alone, so my men won’t suspect I have another identity; it’s a reminder of my past life. But for some strange reason, that was the name I gave when we met, and I do love to hear it on her lips.

“Call me Hudson in private, never in public, or you will regret it,” I stammer sternly. She wants to give me attitude? I’ll show her exactly who’s the boss around here.

“You can give me a nickname for when we’re in the company of others. Perhaps, my love, or better yet, amore mio?” I suggest.

She rolls her eyes again, leading me to believe that I won’t be hearing pet names from her anytime soon. “Which one are you? Massimo Moratti? Or Just Hudson?”

“I’m both. To the Moratti family and associates, I’m Massimo. To you, I’m husband. And roll your eyes at me again, pet, and you’ll see exactly why I’m considered the most ruthless Don in all of New England.”

She rolls her head back to look down her nose at me, the little vixen. She can hold her own; I’ll give her that. She’ll do well as a mafia wife. She slides off the bed. “Like I said before, I’m not going to marry you Hudson–Massimo. Never.”

“Never is a pretty long time, pet.”

“Don’t call me that!” she screeches and marches to the bookshelf. She snags a hardback novel off the shelf and throws it at me; it hits the floor a few feet away with a thud.

“My, my, what a nasty temper you have…pet.” I don’t know why I’m antagonizing her. Maybe because of the way her chest heaves when she pants. Or maybe it’s because of the devilish glint in her eyes that really fucking turns me on.

She grabs another book and rushes forward as if to hit me with it, but I get to my feet and grab her wrist before she can make contact. “That’s enough. We have serious matters to discuss.”

“Like when you’re going to release me?” she demands.

“Like when we’re going to get married,” I correct.

“Do you have cotton wool in your ears, or are you just obtuse? I said I’m never going to marry you. I’ll scream for help if you take me before a judge or pastor,” she threatens.

“Even if it means saving your brother’s life?”

CHAPTER 10

ANDREA

I go still at the softly spoken threat. My brother’s life? “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think would happen if it somehow gets leaked that La Fiamma isn’t actually dead, but living a happy life just two hours away in Brattleboro as none other than Ezra Beaufort?”

I gape at him, my mind racing. I know exactly what would happen. While I’m not sure exactly what kind of work Ezra did while working with the Moratti family, I know it’s not something as innocent as sorting files or maintaining their finances. He probably did terrible, horrific things, making a lot of enemies in the process. What would happen if anyone finds out he’s still alive?

Both my brother and our entire family would be in danger, I suspect. Not to mention Charlie and his precious unborn babies; the thought makes me sick. Not even the Beaufort name would be enough to protect us from the rage of the New England mafia families and any other low life he had offended over the span of ten years.

“You wouldn’t,” I breathe, staring up into his hypnotizing green eyes.

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