Page 9 of Savage Mafia King

And yet, even knowing that, there's a part of me that craves more. I can only imagine everything he would do to me, given the chance. The way he would touch me, rough and commanding, the way he would toss me down onto the bed and clamber on top of me, that wolf-like smile all over his face.

I throw back the rest of the wine and head to pour myself another glass. I need to get a little tipsy tonight, to forget about him, to forget about the way his hands felt on me, to forget about the way it made me crave more.

My mind drifts to my conversation with Blake. I suppose, in some ways, it's a good sign that he's already found out because it means the news has spread quickly. I'm glad that that part of the plan is working, at least. But that doesn't mean I particularly like arguing with my brother, nor do I like the revelation that one of our family restaurants—the place we've used as a front for as long as I can remember—was the locus for the raid that got one of the O'Tooles arrested.

It raises questions for me, about how they found out. Why they knew to go there, specifically. Is there someone working for us who has been spilling the beans? Snitching on us behind our backs? I don't know. But I don't like the thought of it, especially not when we're in the midst of building a tenuous new alliance with the Silva family.

I kick off my heels and sink down onto the couch with a sigh. I know the day to come is going to be even more intense as people hit me with a million questions about what's happeningbetween Marcus and me, demanding to know why I would even associate myself with a man of his standing.

I'm just in the process of forming some answers to those questions when my phone rings shrilly. I grab it and answer it, expecting it to be Blake with something else to say about everything that's been going on.

"Isabella?"

Instead, it's a voice I don't recognize—at least, not from recent memory. But it stirs up something deep down inside of me, some memory of passing my father's office when I was a little girl and hearing voices inside.

"Hello, who is this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"It's Talia McTominay," she replies calmly. "I worked with your father for a long time. Long enough to know that he would be furious if he knew that you were associating yourself with the Silvas."

She spits that name at me, the disdain clear in her voice. I roll my shoulders back, gathering myself. I've dealt with sorority girls for the last few years. If this woman thinks she's going to scare me like this, she has another thing coming.

"And what about it?"

She sucks in a sharp breath. She might have expected me to just roll over and take this, but I'm not that girl, never have been, never will be.

"You should be careful about who you align yourself with so publicly," she warns me. "You should think about how it could impact your family name. Or your family alliances."

It's a threat, a blatant one. She might not be coming right out and saying it, but she doesn't have to.

"I've considered that, thank you," I reply. "But I appreciate your concern."

I hang up the phone before she can say another word, and when I do, I find that I'm trembling. I can't believe she would talk to me like that. Is it really that bad that I'm willing to consider working with another family like this? It's just for a while. And it's not even real. Once the heat has died down around my brother, I'll be able to move on, and it will be like none of this ever happened.

I rise to my feet and head to the bathroom, where I start running a hot, steamy bath. I feel like I need to scrub the memory of this day off of me, get some sleep, and get on with my life. I have classes tomorrow as well as a meeting at the sorority house, and the last thing I want is to look a mess. If I do, people will assume I went home with Marcus, spent the night with him.

Not that that would have been a bad thing.

I slip into the bath, letting the water rise up to my chin, and close my eyes. All of that can wait. For now, I just need to clean myself off and get to bed.

And hope that the weight of all of this doesn't get to be more than I can bear.

Chapter Five—Marcus

I can feel Valentina staring at me as I prepare to drive us out to the poker night we're both headed to. I know she has a million questions, but right now, I'm not entirely convinced I want to answer them.

"What is it?" I ask, not turning around to face her.

"What?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You can't even tell I'm looking at you."

I finish pouring a drink and then turn to her.

"You are, though, aren't you?" I point out. "You didn't deny it."

She shrugs. She doesn't look like she wants to get into it. She plays her cards close to her chest, literally and figuratively, hence why I'm taking her to this poker night. And she has a hard time coming out with what's really on her mind.

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