Page 12 of His Bride

“Now, little brother,” he says as he lights another cigarette, “we need to focus on unfucking ourselves.”

“But what’s the plan?”

“You know the plan.”

“It’s short term. We need something solid. What happens…”

Shit, I can’t even say it.

“What happens if Alexius…if he doesn’t?—”

“We can’t think that way.” He darts up, moves to the bar, and pours himself another drink, like he’s trying really hard to ignore the reality of the situation.

I shake my head. “Nicoli, we don’t know what’s going to happen. And if he lives—please, God, let him live—we have no idea how long recovery will take, so what do we do?”

“We get Alexius back in his role as head of this family?”

I look up, and there’s Maximo towering to my right. He’s a big fucking man, so I’ve no idea how our top enforcer slipped inside without me noticing.

“I don’t know where you’ve been the last two weeks,” I say, “but Alexius is currently indisposed in his comatose state, and unable to take his seat on the Iron Throne while we wait for dragons to breathe fire up our asses.”

“No, he’s not.” Maximo crosses his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking under the pressure of his thighs-for-arms. “He’s right here.”

He stares at Nicoli, and I do a double take before the eureka moment hits me like the heavens just opened and showered me with a divine revelation.

“Holy shit. You.” I point at Nicoli. “That’s it.”

There’s a huge, flashing question mark on his forehead. “What?”

“Maximo, you motherfucker!” I stand and slap a hand on his shoulder. Fucker doesn’t even flinch. “Who knew beneath all these layers of muscle hid a brain that could be useful?”

Nicoli sits up straight. “What the fuck is happening right now?”

“You,dickwad. You,” I press. “You just became Alexius’ stunt double in this giant vortex of ass-fucking we’re in.”

Nicoli raises a brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak moron.”

“The world needs to see Alexius, so we’ll give them Alexius.” I cross my arms and smirk. “You, dear brother, willbeAlexius.”

Chapter 4

GIANA

Everywhere I go, people in this mansion seem to halt conversations.

Miss Paranoia that I am, I can’t help but think it’s because they’re talking about me. But then again, there are bona fide killers coming and going who I don’t think are into gossiping like mean girls at school.

Maybe I’m not the hot topic.

I think everyone’s planning something.

And my husband…

It’s been a few days since the funeral, and he’s like a hen’s tooth. So scarce he might now be a myth.

I hate him.

I miss him.

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