Page 220 of Forced Vows

"Which was their second big mistake."

"What was their first?"

"Taking you in the first place. They forfeited their lives the moment they touched you."

One is already dead and Miceli is going to kill the other two as well. I can't make myself regret that.

Those men thought it was okay to kidnap me because they didn't believe that I have the right to make my own choices.

Even Uncle Brogan allowed me to choose. Yes, he pushed me toward one choice with coercion, but he would never have physically forced me into the marriage with Miceli.

Unlike Gabriel and Jed, Miceli would never physically force me to walk down the aisle either. He's ruthless and the mafia have some outdated attitudes about women, just like the Irish mob, but he respects my intelligence.

He respects me.

And that matters. A lot.

When we land on the roof of our building, Miceli doesn't let me walk, but lifts me out of the helicopter and swings me up into his arms.

Barking orders to security, he carries me inside the building and heads straight to the access to our penthouse. The elevator ride lasts only a few seconds and when we get to our place, four of his men accompany us.

He assigns one to the hall outside the elevator and another to patrol the outdoor space, with two inside the apartment.

I have a feeling this isn't a temporary aberration in our security. I'm going to have a lot more guards going forward and I get that, especially once I am the don's wife.

I tell him, "We are going to discuss having two soldiers in our living space."

"Later," he grits out.

Yeah, I don't want to fight right now either. There's something else I need a lot more than an argument with my fiancé.

Miceli carries me into the ensuite bathroom off of our bedroom. His expression on the verge of demonic, he lets me slide down his body until I’m standing on my own two feet.

He keeps one arm a tight manacle around me while reaching in to turn on the shower. "We need to wash all that salt water off of you."

The words are prosaic; the tension emanating off of him is not.

"Is this part of my new barnacle life?" Seeking more of his heat, I press against him, leaning my forehead onto his chest.

"Barnacle life?"

"Stuck to you like one," I explain, wriggling out of his suit jacket and letting it fall to the floor.

A hot shower sounds heavenly right now. Even with a guy whose expression and tone are a good match for someone who just escaped hades. Especially with that guy, if I'm honest with myself.

"I like that idea," he says gutturally.

Not a surprise. "You did threaten not to allow me out of your sight again."

Which is over the top and totally unrealistic. But still sends warm fuzzies through me. Despite what happened today, right now, I feel safe.

Protected.

Cherished.

His arm tightens convulsively. "It's not a threat."

"It's a promise?" I ask with dry humor.

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