Page 130 of Bad Little Bride

“That’s my wife, Geraldo,” I tell him before turning the mic off and lifting my head.

Mino’s lips are pressed together, and I glare.

“What?”

“Nothing, except this whole husband and wife thing is supposed to be a secret, right? Yet you’ve told three people in the last two days. All men you’ve had guarding her.”

“Which is exactly why I told them. It was either that or tell them I’d skin them alive before cutting them up based on the number of family they have and mailing each one a small commemorative piece. I chose the first, making the second part obvious.”

Mino throws his head back and laughs before pulling out the same folder I’m opening from the pile of shit at his side. “Okay, back to this Brayshaw shit.”

I skim over the Mitchells’ family line, noting his most recent deals and the active contracts we could track down, trying to work through my newest thought. “The first time they came here, they asked about Philip, but after that, they never said his name again, and this last time, when the blond one spoke—what was his name?”

“Captain.”

I nod. “Captain saidthe manhe was looking for.” I meet Mino’s frown. “Why would he not sayPhilipwhen they’d already dropped his name?”

Mino’s frown slowly doubles. “Because it’s not about Philip or the Mitchells at all,” he comes to the only conclusion. “He’s just the connection to the person they’re really after.” His eyes snap to the file, and he starts flipping page after page, head shaking as he does. “But who is that? Who did he sign a contract with before they showed up?”

“There was only one new contract the entire month.”

Mino stills, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine. “Yours.”

I nod, holding his gaze. “Mine.”

The dinner I took Boston to wasn’t only to show the Mitchells their desire for my wife would get them nowhere, because she was already mine. That was simply the bonus to the business meeting that night. The Mitchells found out someone was trying to upsell their products to fluff their own pockets. Much to Gorgio’s displeasure, he couldn’t find the answer on his own, so he asked me to do it for him.

My specialty might be in security detail, in finding and hiding all tangible things, so my initial reaction was to decline. That, and no part of me believed I was the only person who could help him with his little job, especially when the first photo of Boston and I together had surfaced only the day before that night. He wanted to see if the tabloid was true as much as I wanted to prove it was.

We both used the opportunity for personal gain, but at the end of the night, when he offered me the contract, I signed it, knowing I had men I could toss at his little problem without doing any of the work. I’d hurt his pride, take his money, and squash his son’s dreams of marrying my wife all with one signature.

And I did all that, delivering them the name of the dumbass bottom-feeder who pissed them off not two days later.

“But what about your contract could they possibly be interested in, if anything?”

“I don’t know, but it would be stupid to assume it’s a coincidence. The bigger question, though, is why do they seem so interested in getting what they want from my wife instead of me?”

“Because they know something we don’t,” Mino mutters as if that part fell to the back of his mind for a moment. “Does this mean wecan’ttrust Bastian’s word on his little friends?”

I sigh, looking back at my wife, smiling and chatting with Katana, before meeting his stare once more. “It means we can’t trust anyone.”

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Boston

Enzo hasn’t beenin our bed in four days. He’s here for breakfast, and then he’s gone until the following morning rolls around. Rinse, wash, repeat.

It’s getting on my fucking nerves.

“Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“No one must have warned you of such a thing, did they, Grandma?”

She mutters something about me being impossible and tries to take the half bottle of champagne left beside me, but I yank it from her grasp before she can, pouring another glass, just as Katana walks out in yet another ball gown.

Same as the last ten she tried on, this one has her frowning down at her body. Her eyes pop up to mine. “Can’t I just wear the dress I wore to the fundraiser?”

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