Page 12 of Declan

The two throwback shots like water; that damn vixen is going to get drunk before the wedding ends. But I can see the tension in her shoulders—the way her grip tightens on the glass just a fraction too hard. She’s pissed. Really pissed.

As she and Selma laugh and whisper into each other’s ears, I take another sip of my drink, savouring the burn as it slides down my throat. This is going to be fun watching her try to outmanoeuvre me, piss me off, and prove she’s unafraid.

“Let her have her fun tonight,” I say, my voice a low rumble.

Kian and Connor nod, but I can see them—they are not taking any chances. Every guard is in place, every security camera is monitored, and Kian doesn’t take his eyes off Viviana. He’s waiting for the shoe to drop.

Giovanni circles the room, basking in his newfound power among the Irish Consortium.Fucking eejit.As if anyone here would actually consider making deals with him.

Three Irish families are present: the Bradys chatting with the Keefes near the bar and the Flanaghans—those drunk bastards—eyeing the Morelli sisters like prey. Good luck with that.

The party starts winding down. Viviana left the room with Selma a while ago, and according to one of the guards, the two are back in the prep room.

“I bet she’s preparing something.” I move closer to the bar, my hand clenching the glass in anticipation. Connor and Kian exchange looks.

“Fuck me, don’t say that,” Connor sighs, the panic clear in his eyes. He’s too innocent when it comes to women—especially women like Viviana.

“I’ll take that bet,” Kian chuckles, clinking his glass against mine.

And then she re-enters the room, and all bets are off.

Gone is the dramatic black wedding dress, replaced by something so tight, so revealing, it’s like she’s daring the entire room to look at her. And they do. Every single person—man and woman alike—can’t tear their eyes away.

Neither can I. That damn woman got a rise out of me—not the one she expected, but my cock has raised, that’s for sure.

Connor nudges my arm, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You’re going to let her get away with that?”

I don’t respond immediately, too focused on how the dress clings to every curve. The corset pushes her breasts up way too much for my liking, and the back dips low enough to heat my blood.

I’m close to snapping—close to dragging her out of this party. No wife of mine dresses like that in front of drunk bastards.

“Dec,” Connor cuts through my thoughts, tilting his head toward one of the employees—a young guy who should know better—eyeing Viviana like she’s a feast. My temper flares.

Viviana notices the way my face twists, so she decides to play her game. She follows him out of the room, her hips swaying, glancing back just once to make sure I’m watching.

Of course, I am. In my mind, I’m already breaking every finger of that bastard if he so much as brushes against her.

“She isn’t going to fuck the employee, right?” Kian’s voice slices through my thoughts, laced with disbelief and concern.

“No,” I growl, setting down my drink with enough force to nearly crack the glass. “But she wants me to think she will.”

Without another word, I push off the bar and follow them, my footsteps echoing down the darken hallway. This is a challenge to my authority—a test to see how far she can push me before I put her in her place. She wants to make me lose my shit.

And even knowing that’s her plan, I’ll still kill the motherfucker if he touches a strand of her hair. Fake wedding or not, she’s still myfuckingwife.

Up ahead, I spot them. The employee nervously glances over his shoulder as Viviana leans in, her voice low and sultry. She isn’t touching him—she won’t—but still. Fuck it.

She’s playing with fire, and she knows it. So do I.

In a few long strides, I close the distance. My hand catches her wrist before she can make another move. The employee steps back, eyes wide with fear and confusion, but I barely notice him. My focus is entirely on her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand, my voice a low, dangerous rumble.

She looks up at me, olive eyes flashing with defiance, a flicker of satisfaction dancing there. She got the reaction she wanted. My grip tightens on her wrist as I push her against the wall,clawing at her hips with enough force to leave a mark. She doesn’t flinch.

“I’m just having a conversation,” she says innocently. However, the smirk tugging at her lips says otherwise. “Or is that not allowed anymore,husband?”

I step closer, pinning her to the wall, letting her feel the heat of my anger. “Go on, play your little games, firecracker, but don’t forget who you’re dealing with. You’re mine now. No one else lays a fucking finger on you. No one even looks your way without my say-so.”

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