Page 12 of Mafia Christmas Vows

The tremble of fear in her voice makes guilt punch into my stomach.

Clearly, someone’s been talking about me.

And they’ve given an accurate description.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” I murmur.

She gulps.

“Alexei.”

I’m going to hell.

The way her pretty red lips part around my name puts my mind into a million dark, depraved places.

The rich tone of her voice makes my name hang in the air between us. She’s waiting on confirmation; I’m just savoring the way my name sounds from her lips.

Well.

If she’s waiting on confirmation, I might as well give it to her.

“Yes,” I murmur.

It’s more of a growl, I guess. I can’t help it. My mind is still stuck on the way she said my name, and a primal part of me wants to know how I get her to say it again.

She’s your wife. You can make her say your name whenever you want.

The thought hits me like a drug.

She’s your wife.

Well.

Not yet.

“Oh,” she says, her lips making the most perfect shape against her pale skin. “I… um… I’m Maggie.”

Maggie.

We stare at each other.

I don’t know what to do now. I hadn’t thought this far ahead, and now that I’m staring at her standing in my mother’s rooms, I simply don’t know what I should do.

She’s blinking at me, her beautiful face still backlit by the winter sky.

Maggie takes a step forward, her feet skimming the carpet of my mother’s bedroom. My eyes follow it, noticing the dark stain near her toes.

Blood.

My mother’s blood.

Just like that, any amiability wipes itself from my memory.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I growl.

Maggie pales. “I…um… like in Russia?”

“Here. In these rooms. Leave,” I snarl at her.

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