Page 24 of Forced Vows

"Regardless of the custody agreement, I will provide full time security for our children and you," he adds.

Does it really matter who hires our bodyguards? With his experience in the underworld, Miceli is more qualified than I am to hire the security personnel.

Unable to see a downside, I nod slowly. "Okay."

Miceli gets up and goes to his brother's desk. He opens the computer and is soon typing away. It's weird to see him do that. Doesn't he have someone to make the changes for him?

Maybe the De Lucas consider the contract too sensitive to let anyone else see it. It is different than what they say mafia couples usually sign, if they have a prenup at all.

The whir of a printer comes from near the big executive desk.

Miceli returns to the table a few seconds later and places two stacks of paper in front of me. "Read it, initial each page and sign both copies."

There's no reason to argue, but I want to. He's just so freaking bossy. It's really annoying.

When I'm done, I slide the papers over to him. "You didn't remove the settlement."

"No, I didn't. It wasn't in there to buy my children." His offense at my accusation makes his voice hard.

I refuse to be intimidated. That's how the contract read to me. "Child," I correct him. "Twins don't run in our family."

"You assume we'll divorce after our first child is born."

Of course I do. "First implies more than one. We're having one kid and then we are both free." That's the hope of a future I'll cling to walking down the aisle. "Wait, can we have a civil service and skip all the religious stuff for the wedding?"

The don, my uncle and Big Sal all say, "No," at the same time.

Miceli doesn't say anything. His expression is almost pitying.

I don't need his pity. I might be younger than him and have no part in organized crime, but I just negotiated a future for myself with a mafia underboss, his don and my mob boss uncle.

"Your turn to sign," I point out.

He does it without comment, initialing each page with dark black slashes and signing with the same confident strokes.

When he's done, the woman who brought the water returns and notarizes the document. I thought a notary had to watch a contract being signed, but this is the mafia.

The fact everything but the spot on the page she's supposed to emboss with her stamp is covered supports my assumption they don't want anyone but us to know the details of the contract.

Too bad. I'm telling my grandmother and cousins all about this meeting. And every detail of the prenup.

"Now, it's time to sign the contract that matters." My uncle rubs his hands together.

I disagree. Whatever is in the alliance agreement between the two syndicates, it will never be as important to me as the one I just signed.

My uncle reads through the documents and then grunts. "It's all in order."

"Naturally." Severu pulls a knife from a hidden holster.

Uncle Brogan pulls his own knife out, a switchblade he always keeps handy. He flicks something with his thumb and the wickedly sharp blade pops up.

My heart hammers in my chest. "What are you doing?"

They just agreed everything is in order. Why are their knives out?

"Signing the contract," Big Sal says, like it should be obvious.

"With knives?" I demand in disbelief.

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