Page 70 of Bad Little Bride

I grab it, reminding myself to take steady breaths and trying to focus on my cappuccino rather than the soothing warmth of his large body enveloping my own.

“Relax.” His lips find my ear. “We’re just sitting.”

Heat buds in my core at his heady whisper, which is just sad.

Why is he touching me and playing this up? He said only three people knew we were already married, Mino being one of them, so what is this? His way of placating me?

Does he think I’m like a kitten he can pet, and all is forgiven?

What would he do if I stood and walked away? Humiliate me some more by demanding I come back and kneel at his feet while his friend laughed on?

I roll my eyes at myself, nothing I’ve learned so far indicating that’s the path he’d take when disrespected, but what do I know?

He was already married when I asked him to marry me.

Oh god, I’m the other woman, aren’t I?

Fucking lovely.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Are you keeping Katana prisoner?

I swallow, keeping my face blank. “No.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

He looks to the side, and I realize Grandma is still here. No wonder he’s on touchy-feely mode. Wouldn’t want his, whatever she is to him, to think he’s taken a second prisoner—not that Katana is a prisoner.

I can’t figure out what she is outside of a pain in my ass.

Grandma walks over, lowering a few options onto the small table before us.

Mino snags a chocolate scone as he throws himself into the chair adjacent to ours, his left leg lifting so his ankle can brace over his right knee.

He’s an attractive man. Nearly as tall as Enzo, but trimmer, and if I had to guess, around the same age. Where Enzo’s hair is the color of coal, Mino’s is a soft, chocolate brown with eyes to match. His jaw is clear of facial hair, and he has a small scar along the left side of his temple that disappears under his curly mop.

Enzo shoves a bowl of blueberries into my lap, facing his most trusted. “Where are we with the Martinez deal?”

“His daughter is due to arrive to the States in four days. The team that will escort her from the landing strip to the drop-off location was chosen, and the contract signed. So far, so good.”

“And the payment?”

Mino reaches into the inner pocket of his white suit jacket, passing over a small manila envelope.

Enzo stretches out, picking it up and glancing inside before tossing it back down.

The two go over several more dealings, not hiding details but not necessarily going into specifics, though sometimes Enzo turns to me to explain what they’re talking about.

Apparently, last night they tracked down a rogue dealer, someone who has been creeping around the lower-level neighborhoods selling specialized software.

Software that was identical to what was stolen from the Bandoni family, Bronx’s family, warehouse. They run a “legit” transport facility, shipping electronics and things all over the States. But really, those trips are a cover, a way for them to connect to satellites along the way, hacking systems and all that other techy shit that’s way over my head. That’s where Bandoni’s real money comes from, the clients who need inside systems they could normally never get into.

I’ve known Torin, Bronx’s dad, all my life. He’s on the Greyson Union and one of my father’s closest friends, though Iuse that term lightly in this world, so it’s interesting to know he hired Enzo to hunt, and the lion always catches his prey.

It’s an ironic little game Enzo plays, running a highly coveted and sought-out private security company, escorting celebrities, royalty, and more from point A to point B, guaranteeing their safety like no one else can. He’s a hero on paper and a villain on the streets, using all his knowledge and connections covertly to do the exact opposite. He strips people of their safety and is known for his ability to slip through any and every security measure put in place that’s not designed by the man himself.

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