Page 27 of Filthy Little Games

How the hell did we go from discussing my imminent death to…me marrying the man who hates me for causing the death of his brother?

Ferraro must be joking.

Or plotting a punishment worse than death.

My stomach rolls, making me feel queasy, and it’s not even because the cabin smells like rotten garbage.

“Well?” Creed asks.

“I’m guessing there’s no such thing as a pinkie promise privilege?”

A grunt from him says now is not the time for jokes. “A suddenwedding will look suspicious to the family, but at least it will give us a cover for why you’re moving in with me and staying by my side day and night.”

“I’m moving in with you?” I blurt out.

“I told you that I can’t just let you walk away. This arrangement will only work if I can keep an eye on you and be certain that you’re not making any phone calls or speaking to anyone about what happened tonight.”

“I can’t just move in with you and skip the marriage step?”

“There’s no roommate privilege,” he replies. “I need a commitment from you if I’m going to try and trust you. What I did tonight…this isn’t how I usually handle business. You cannot tellanyonewhat happened tonight, Zara. Not a soul. I don’t even want my own men to find out. The family is already all up in arms after Carmine…” When he trails off, the sadness with which he says his brother’s name, it makes me feel so damn guilty.

God, I hate Izaiah for not only causing this mess for Creed but making me the bad guy in his story.

My fingernails drum nervously on the door panel. “So, you’re saying that if I want to live, all I have to do is marry you, move in, and never tell anyone what you did?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. You drive a very hard bargain, Mr. Ferraro.”

“Creed,” he corrects me. “And…as an incentive for your cooperation, I’ll consider opening an expense account for you with a monthly allowance.”

“A monthly allowance? Like if I wash the dishes, you’ll give me twenty bucks for a new pair of shoes?”

“We can negotiate your allowance later, but it will be a significant amount of money so that you’ll be disinclined to betray me, not one you have to do anything to earn.”

“Oh, so it’s more of a bribe?”

“How much did Izaiah pay you for setting me up?” he asks yet again, his tone frigid.

“I told you — nothing. He said it was a favor.”

“Right,” he mutters, sounding unconvinced.

“It’s true.”

“Well, either way, this money isn’t technically a bribe. It’s an incentive. I’ll have to get an attorney to draw up a prenup. Once it’s signed, we can start off at a million a month.”

“A million dollars?!” I twist in my seat, studying his face in the dim car interior to see if he’s being serious.

He nods. “A million a month. Twelve million a year will be well worth it to avoid a life prison sentence. Or Emilio finding out before I take him out.”

Holy shit on a stick. I consider telling him that I will marry him for free if he just promises to kill Emilio.

But then he may start asking questions, decide I’m not worth the headache, and dump me in a hole with Izaiah.

“Thanks to my new gun charges,” Creed grits out with a pointed glare at me. “I’ll probably be going to prison soon for at least three-and-a-half years. After I’m released, we can discuss getting divorced if I can trust you not to run your mouth by then. Just remember that if you tell anyone I killed Izaiah while I’m away, you’ll go down as an accessory.”

I already know that I’m in too deep to try to turn Creed into the police now. And boy do I have motive for wanting Izaiah dead. A criminal trial would not go well for me.

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