Page 32 of Filthy Little Games

Despite all that happened earlier with Izaiah, I slept better than I have in years because now I have something I didn’t before…hope.

Good riddance to that bastard.

Before I can throw the covers off my bare legs and climb out of bed, the bedroom door opens. Creed strolls in fully dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt underneath unbuttoned and open at the collar, which is apparently his standard uniform.

Here’s hoping he hasn’t changed his mind after sleeping on it. Losing out on the money that could help me get custody of Oriana would suck almost as much as my death.

“Good, you’re awake,” he says without even a hint of homicidal intent in his deep voice. “I’ve made arrangements for us with the City Clerk at ten and have confirmation from a judge who has agreed to waive the twenty-four-hour waiting period. A courier is on the way over from my attorney’s office with the prenup. It’s standard boilerplate with the details we discussed last night all laid out.”

“Okay.” So, he hasn’t changed his mind. Why am I surprised? It would’ve been much easier for him to kill me in my sleep than wait for me to wake up.

Creed stares at me as if waiting for me to say more. When I don’t, he speaks again. “My offer is more than generous for you, after what you did…”

Wincing at the reminder, I tell him, “It’s fine. I’ll sign the papers. I’m not going to try and take your money when this…ends.”

“I added an additional allowance of fifty million a year for every year I’m incarcerated to… encourage you to maintain your silence.”

“Fifty million a year? Wow.”

“The penthouse is paid for, so you won’t have to worry about losing it while I’m gone. My financial team will keep up to date on all the other bills for utilities.”

“You’re that certain that you’re going to prison?”

“The gun charge has a minimum mandatory sentence. The DA has police cam footage of me possessing the firearm, so my attorney doesn’t see a way out of it.”

“I thought all you mafia guys bribed judges and DAs to avoid convictions and prison.”

“Usually, we do,” he replies. “But this DA is new, and she got elected by running on a zero tolerance for drugs and corruption platform. As for the judge, well, there’s no bribe that can override a mandatory sentence.”

“Hence the name.”

“Right.” He glances at the gold watch on his wrist. “Can you be ready in half an hour?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No, you don’t. Be ready to leave in half an hour.”

It’s odd, but despite his demand, he doesn’t seem as angry with me. Deep down, though, I know that hate is still there for the part I played in his brother’s death. It’s likely festering underneath his tan skin, a wound that will never heal. The best I can hope for is that we’ll both try to pretend it’s not there.

Nodding my understanding of our agreement, I slip out of bed and make up my side of it, fluffing the pillows and all.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” I face him again, finding his gaze lowered as if he was just staring at my ass. When his eyes return to mine, he lifts a single eyebrow in challenge.

I’m about to marry him to stay alive, and he’s going to give me a million dollars a month as an incentive. Of course, he gets to look at me whenever he wants, and there’s nothing I can do aboutit. He’s likely expecting or hoping for more than just looking, since he’s a man and that’s a whole lot of money.

While the don may be a vicious murderer, I think he’ll keep his word about not hurting me or touching me without my permission.

And I can’t be upset about his gawking, since I did my own ogling last night when he came out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of snug, black boxer briefs. It was only for a moment before he killed the lights, but long enough to have his big, muscular, inked body tattooed into my mind.

A hard body carefully sculpted to intimidate his enemies and inflict violence.

The only way Creed could possibly get any hotter would be if he had Emilio Rovina’s blood on his hands when he tossed his corpse at my feet.

I’m definitely not the sweet, naïve girl I was when I first came to the city seven years ago, that’s for sure.

Creed glances at my bare legs and upper thighs for several more seconds as if remembering I’m not wearing anything under his shirt before he turns to leave. I blurt out, “Wait! I need to make a phone call.”

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