Page 31 of Carnival Master

Family first, always.

The marriage to Paulie isn’t just about me. It’s about alliances, power, and peace between two volatile families. If anyone discovers I slept with Tyson...

I shudder, remembering stories of people who crossed my father or Paulie: bodies found in rivers, mysterious disappearances, families torn apart. My father may love me, but business is business. And Paulie? His toxic possessiveness already shows in the way he grips my arm too tight and how his eyes narrow when other men look my way.

Then there’s Tyson himself. He’s dangerous in his own right. I’ve seen the darkness in his eyes and felt the controlled violence in his touch. The carnival isn’t just Ferris wheels and cotton candy. I know his business with my father is illegal.

I slide deeper into the water, my heart heavy. I’m playing with fire from all sides. If Paulie discovers my betrayal, his rage will be explosive. If my father finds out I’m sleeping with one of his suppliers... The thoughtmakes me nauseous. And Tyson? He’s already showing signs of possessiveness that both thrill and terrify me.

Yet despite knowing all this, my body still hums with desire when I think of him. My skin craves his touch. He makes me feel alive, wanted, and beautiful, which is addictive. But at what cost? How long before jealousy, business, or family loyalty turns this passion play into a tragedy?

17

TYSON

Istare at my phone for the hundredth time today, willing it to buzz with a message from Sofia. Five days of radio silence, or worse—one-word replies that tell me nothing. My fingers clench around the device.

“Fuck.” I slam it down on my desk, making the papers scatter.

Lars pokes his head in. “Everything good, boss?”

“Get out.”

He vanishes without another word. Smart man.

I pull up the security feed Phoenix installed in her bedroom. It’s still offline.

My last text to her sits unanswered from this morning:

Talk to me, baby girl.

The carnival is packed outside my trailer, with screams and laughter floating through the walls. We’vegot less than a week left in Dawsbury before we move on, and the thought of leaving her behind twists my gut.

I pull up our previous messages, scrolling through the heat and passion we shared just days ago. Her responses now are cold and distant: “K.” “Maybe.” “Busy.” Each one drives the knife deeper.

I grab my jacket and head for the door. Time to pay my favorite redhead a visit.

I stalk through the carnival, ignoring the concerned glances from my crew. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy turns my stomach as I pass the food stalls. My boots crunch across the gravel lot to where my black Mustang sits waiting.

Turning the key brings the motor to life, and I zoom out onto the main road. Dawsbury’s streets blur past as I push well over the speed limit, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Twenty minutes later, I pull onto her street, killing the headlights as I cruise past the manicured lawns and oversized houses. My heart pounds when I spot her place—and the gaudy red Lamborghini parked in her driveway.

“Son of a bitch.” I recognize that car. Paulie loves showing it off around town, revving the engine.

I park a few houses down, hidden in the shadows of an oak tree. The lights are on inside her place, silhouettes moving behind the curtains. My jaw clenches as I imagine that piece of shit putting his hands on what’s mine.

The leather steering wheel creaks under my grip. I could storm in there and teach him exactly whathappens when someone touches my property. Although Sofia belongs to him since he’s engaged to her, her heart definitely doesn’t.

I sit in the dark, watching that damn car mock me with its presence. Each minute that passes feeds the rage building in my chest.

I slip out of the Mustang, tightening my black jacket around my shoulders. I flip up the hood to conceal my face as I move silently through the neighboring yards.

Voices drift through an open window on the side of her house. I crouch beneath it, pressing against the wall.

“You’ve been different lately.” Paulie’s voice drips with accusation. “Getting an attitude. Think you’re too good for me now?”

“I’m not having this conversation again.” Sofia’s tone is tired, defeated.

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