Page 8 of Savage Mafia King

I don't reply for a long moment, and he fills in the blanks for himself.

"You're letting him get close to you, aren't you?"

"It's not like that—"

He lets out a snort, dismissive. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Isabella. I can handle the O'Tooles myself. Whatever they got themselves into—"

"I can't lose you!" I exclaim. "I can't just… I can't just stand by and let something happen to you, Blake, you know I can't. You're all I have left. All the family I have left in the world."

That seems to trigger something in him, a small swell of recognition. No matter what we go through, we've always been together, and that has been my one saving grace in the face of so much of the pain we've endured together.

"That doesn't mean you need to let someone like him close to you," he shoots back, drawing himself further away from me. "Don't you see how dangerous it is? You know what he's involved with, right? The boxing, the gambling?"

"Of course I do," I reply defensively. "I-I didn't walk into this with no idea, Blake. You need to trust me. I'm working with him on this because I think he can really help me. Help us."

"We don't need help." His voice drops slightly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Suddenly, there's something about him I don't recognize. I know logically that this is my brother, standing before me, but there's something about the way he carries himself that makes him seem like someone else entirely.

"It's not going to be for long," I promise him. "Just enough for people to believe that we're serious about this. And then—"

"And then, you've already let him into our lives. And getting rid of him isn't going to be easy."

A shiver runs down my spine as those words sink in. I suppose, on some level, he's right. I want to think I'm in control here, but Marcus wouldn't have agreed to all of this unless he could handle it exactly as he wanted to. And there might be more going on behind the scenes than I'm entirely aware of, more than I'm ready to take on.

I can still remember the way his hands felt against me, the pressure of his fingertips against my skin, holding me to him, gripping me tight like all he wanted in the world was to have me right there in front of him.

I brush the memory aside.

"It's just for the time being," I promise my brother. "And besides, it'll do us good to work with the Silvas. With everything that's going on with the O'Tooles..."

"Nothing is going on with them. It's fine. It's dealt with. They lost one of their guys, he's locked up, but that's the end of it. Just because the raid took place in one of my restaurants doesn't mean they're going to hold me accountable."

My ears prick up. The raid took place in one of his places? That really doesn't sound good. Isn't he worried? Isn't he freaked out?

"How did the cops know that something was going on there?" I ask, curious. Is there someone working for him who knows more than they're letting on?

He shrugs. "Just a lucky guess."

The way he says it, he doesn't want to talk about this any longer. Fine.

I nod to the drink cart over by the window. "Do you want something to drink while you're here?"

He shakes his head. "I should go."

I feel a pang in my stomach. I don't like there being any problems between us. It gives me reason to worry.

"Blake, I promise you, I know what I'm doing in all of this," I swear to him as I go to fix myself a drink. I've avoided having anything alcoholic tonight, not wanting to let my guard down even for a moment around the rest of the people at the event. I felt as though one wrong move would expose me completely, and that's the very last thing I need.

"I hope so," he replies, and he eyes me for one more moment before he stalks to the door and leaves me alone in my penthouse once more.

I close my eyes, my head sinking down to my chest as I try to process what has just happened. I should have known that there was going to be some blowback from my brother. As much as he might like to try and convince everyone that he's totally in control, the truth is that when things get away from him, he despises it. He wants to have every little thing functioning precisely as he thinks it should, and right now, I pose an awkward question. I'm his family, and he knows damn well that he can't just tell me what to do, but he hates the thought of letting Marcus anywhere near this family.

I head to the balcony with my glass of wine, inhaling a deep lungful of the cold air. Goosebumps appear on my bare arms, but I ignore them. I can't help but think of what Marcus said to me when I climbed into the car. He told me I looked beautiful.

And he wasn't doing that for anyone to hear it. He wasn't saying that because he thought it was the right thing to do, to keep up this game that we're playing together. No, he said it... he said it because he meant it.

My breath hitches at the thought. I don't know what to make of that. Of course, the sensible part of me tells me that he's just playing some crazy game, that all he's doing is trying to wrapme around his little finger. Maybe just to prove to himself that he can, that he can push me into a corner where I have no choice but to submit to him.

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