Page 26 of Gilded Saint

My mobile vibrates on the coffee table.

What the fuck is going on?

“Who is it?” I ask, gun raised, standing to the side of the door should someone decide to blister it with bullets.

“Leo. It’s me. Open up.”

Nick?

I swing open the door, and Nick’s gaze drops to my briefs.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Didn’t want to call. Our lines might be compromised.”

I glance past him to an empty hall. He’s alone.

Nick strides into the suite like he owns it, and given he paid for the suite, I suppose he does. I lock the door and flick on the lights.

“You slept on the sofa?” He’s smirking and, mother of all things holy, I need coffee.

“What’re you doing here?” He’s fully aware that this marriage is a sham, and I’m not in the mood to deal with bullshit.

He strides over to the window, taking in the city view.

I ruffle through my bag, pull out a pair of jeans, and ask, “Can you order us some coffee? You hungry?”

“I won’t be here long.” He looks at the closed door. “Is she sleeping?”

“She was.” There’s no light beneath the door. I slide on the jeans and don’t bother with a shirt. “She grew up in the Italian mafia. I think you’re cleared to say most things. What’s up?”

If he’s knocking on my honeymoon suite, shit’s going down.

“If you turned on the news, you’d see.”

A darkened screen hangs on the far wall. I scan the room for a remote, but Nick waves his hand.

“Don’t bother. There’s another bust. Shipment through the Red Sea. But that’s not all. One of our shell companies was hacked and liquidated. Two hundred mil gone. We’re under attack.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing about the hack. My tech team is on it.”

I’ve got a good idea how it all came down with the bust. But hacking syndicate financial accounts is a death wish. We’ve got the best in the world, and when they trace it, the guilty parties will die a slow and gruesome death, after their loved one’s die in front of them.

“When do you plan to introduce your new bride to your family?”

His question startles me out of my sleep-deprived fog. The first image I have is of my sisters, and they can’t ever know about the life I’m leading, or else they too might end up on a firing line.

“Did you tell your relatives about your marriage yet?”

I blink, and it slowly dawns on me he’s talking about my cover family, the Sullivans, back in Texas. I really need coffee.

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet.” His expression is unreadable. “It’s a sham, Nick. You fucking know that.”

“Right. Well, I propose you play it like it’s real.”

“Why?”

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