Page 20 of Married to the Mafia

Brandi drew a breath and slid her laptop over, indicating the screen. “I tweaked my blueprint program and put this together. It’s not perfect, but it gives you a good idea of what he looks like.”

“So this is the fucker who put his hands on you.” It wasn’t a question, and he said the words in a tone so dark she almost didn’t recognize Mikey’s voice at all.

Brandi let herself look away. “Yeah.”

The unmistakable sound of clicking preceded the soft sound of him closing her laptop, and then Mikey curled his arm around the back of her shoulders. With surprising gentleness, he cupped his hand over her outer bicep and pulled her into his side. His grip was strong and yet their actual points of contact were few, and none of them crushing.

Her breath faltered.

“We’ll find him, and whoever’s connected to him,” Mikey said. “They won’t lay another finger on you.”

Brandi let him take more of her weight without thinking about it. “It’s too bad I’m engaged. I would marry you for that.”

He huffed out something that might have been an unexpected laugh. “Speaking of…” He gave her a faint squeeze before standing, carried her laptop to the desk and set it down in favor of lifting the folder and a pen. “Look it over, make sure you still agree. In the meantime, any particular requests for dinner?”

She nearly fumbled the folder at the strikingly domestic question. “Ah, no?” She was finally hungry. “Something filling. I’m starving, now that I think about it.”

His eyes crinkled and he nodded. “I’ll give you a minute to read through that.”

Even though she felt like she could trust his word, she also recognized she owed it to herself to read over what had been put into writing, so she didn’t stop him. She’d been so shocked by his proposal that morning it was entirely possible she hadn’t processed everything he’d said. Then again, was there anything he could have said after the punchline that she would have refused? Protection was hard to turn down.

She skimmed over the two-page agreement. Most of it rang familiar. None of the major points were issues she was willing to balk over. There was no clause about mandating consummation of the marriage, and he’d taken the effort to put in writing that neither party was entitled to anything the other brought into the marriage. The most unfamiliar section was a point explaining that in the event of children and the subsequent dissolution of the marriage, the parties agreed to sit down once more and hash out financial responsibilities, custodianship, and any and all inheritances. It sounded cold on paper, but it was entirely rational.

For a lingering moment, Brandi found herself reflecting on her own mother’s disappearance. She couldn’t fathom doing that to a child. But this wasn’t specifying she would have to, nor was she anticipating a pregnancy.

Pushing to her feet, Brandi moved to the desk and scrawled her name on the bottom line. It wasn’t an official marriage certificate, but as she lifted her pen from the paper, her breath stalled in her chest. It still felt like a significant moment in her life.

“Done already?” Mikey asked from behind her.

Brandi stepped from the table, leaving the pen over the paperwork. “The part about the kids was all I didn’t remember.”

His lips twitched. “Romeo’s idea, I have to admit. Sorry to throw it at you.” He signed on the line beneath her own signature, clicked the pen, and tucked everything back into the folder. “I’ll get this with the family lawyer first thing in the morning.”

She supposed that made sense. “So, now what?”

He gestured to the door. “Now you clock out and come with me. It’s time for that tour, and you should at least meet a few of the people who help me keep this place running. If you haven’t started one yet, I’ll need a list of anything else you definitely want from your condo, too.”

Brandi ended up selecting a room for herself that was on the opposite end of the same hall as her soon-to-be husband. In her mind it felt like a reasonable compromise between maintaining certain boundaries while acknowledging their increased, semi-mandatory closeness. She turned in earlier than she might normally have, exhausted in every way despite the nap she’d caught in the office. And even so, the unfamiliar space surrounding her—comfortable though it was—made it difficult to find sleep right away.

She did eventually drag her eyes open the next morning and found a waiting text from her fiancé.

Mikey: Daria will be on-hand to make you something for breakfast when you get up. Take advantage, you’ll heal faster. If you’re up for it, I’d like for you to be available for the consult this afternoon. Audio-only is fine. If you need anything else, call me.

She smiled, blinked some crust out of her eyes, and took a moment to take stock of herself. She still felt swollen and sore, to be sure. Her thigh ached, too. She tossed aside the comforter and was immediately greeted by the sight of vibrant red having seeped into the back of the bandage. So she probably needed to wash that out and cover it with something fresh. She lifted her phone again to at least respond before she slipped into the shower. Just woke up. I think the pain is less overall, but I bled through the bandage on my leg again, so I have to deal with that before I can head down for food. I should be good for a consult, though.

She pushed herself up, paused to check the bed to make sure she hadn’t bled through so badly that she’d ruined the bedding on her first night, then padded to the closet where Mikey had emptied a majority of her suitcase. She nearly didn’t recognize the sound of the ringing coming from her new phone as she dug out a change of clothes, and she ended up having to call Mikey back by the time she made it back to the nightstand.

He answered immediately. “What the hell do you mean you bled through your bandage? You never told me about that.”

Brandi felt herself flush. “Oh. Must’ve slipped my mind.” She couldn’t understand why he sounded upset.

“Did he fucking stab you, too?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“He threw me on top of my broken phone and I got a little dragged around. A big piece went into my thigh. I washed it out after he left and put some butterfly stitches on it, but I must have torn them in my sleep.” Hearing her words out loud almost sounded worse than what the wound had looked like, objectively.

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