Page 33 of The Mafia King's Stolen Fiancée

I liked hearing him use that endearment almost as much as when he called mecara. Which he was aware of and was probably using to his advantage—the jerk. Knowing that didn’t make it any less effective, and I could already feel myself moving toward giving in. But I managed to stop myself from sliding down that slippery slope. I wasn’t going to simply go along with his plan without asking any questions.

“I get that Chet was pissed when he left yesterday and yelled all that garbage, but I doubt that he’d actually follow through with anything he said. It would be too risky if he got caught. The press would eat him alive, and then he’d have zero chance of ever becoming governor.”

Rafa snorted with derision. “If he hasn’t figured out by now that it’s never going to happen, then he’s a bigger fool than I thought.” His nostrils flared as he heaved a sigh and shook his head. “And if he has, then he knows he doesn’t have much to lose anymore. I probably should have told you before now, but I didn’t want you living in fear, especially since we were just getting to know each other. However, without me here to protect you, you need to be aware that he’s tried to get to you a couple of times. It’s why I’ve kept you inside.”

A knot formed in my stomach, and my limbs felt heavy. Apparently, my instinct that Rafa had more shocking news for me had been right.

I narrowed my eyes at him, and he just flashed me a grin that held no apology and shrugged.

He had every right to feel triumphant at that moment, though, because if Chet was truly that much of a threat, I could only make one choice.

“Fine, I’ll stay. But don’t think you’ll get off scot-free from keeping something else from me just because you didn’t want me to be scared.” Although, it certainly made it harder to be mad at him when he did stuff that made me feel so cherished. I pointed at him and glared. “This conversation isn’t over.”

14

RAFFAELE

Ihated leaving Vivienne, not being there to watch over her and know for certain that she was safe. But eliminating the threat was more important than my obsessive need to be the one who gave her everything she needed or wanted.

My cousin Matteo—or Ink as his motorcycle club brothers called him—phoned this morning to tell me that the Hounds of Hellfire picked up the men Chet had hired to try to snatch Vivienne.

They hadn’t made it past my security, but just attempting to take something that belonged to the King of the South warranted a response. They had earned my wrath, but it was also an opportunity to make a clear statement about what happened to people who fucked with the Mafia.

The would-be kidnappers had been good enough to give us the slip while we chased their asses from our territory. But Marco had managed to track them down, and King, the Hounds’ president, offered to send some of his guys to retrieve the assholes and take them to a warehouse in Tennessee owned by the Iron Rogues.

Alec and our best tracker, Liam, had joined up with a couple of Fox’s men to snatch Chet and meet us there as well. The little bastard was in hiding too, but he didn’t have the skills to disappear like the men he hired.

I hopped into the driver’s seat of my Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut, dismissing Domenico’s grumbling. As my bodyguard, he preferred to drive, but I needed a distraction, and my very fast, very expensive vehicle was perfect for it.

When we reached the gate, the enforcer operating the post opened it but waved at me to stop by the guard shack. I rolled down my window when he approached, shifting my focus to Domenico when I felt him stiffen. He was staring out the windshield, and my eyes followed his line of sight.

“I didn’t figure you would miss them,” my enforcer drawled. “But I wanted to give you a heads-up anyway.”

“Grazie,” I murmured.

Three large, tattooed men wearing jeans, boots, and leather vests were sitting on idling Harleys a few yards away.

I hadn’t expected them to show up, but perhaps I should have.

They kicked up their stands and rode over to us. Then the oldest of the three, who had the commanding presence of a leader, climbed off his hog and ambled over to my open window.

“Not sure why the fuck I had to hear about this shit from Ink last night,” Jared “Mac” Mackenzie—the president of the Silver Saints Motorcycle Club—said gruffly.

Mac was married to Bridget, another of my cousins. She was closer to my mother’s age and had been extremely close with Matteo after he moved to Georgia when he was ten. They were also located in Tennessee, but Matteo visited them frequently. So it didn’t surprise me that he’d filled them in.

“He told you the Hounds have the men who tried to take Vivienne?”

Mac nodded. “And your enforcers are rounding up the piece of shit who hurt your woman.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “We’re going to interview them at one of the Rogue’s warehouses.”

“Know you don’t need more backup, but you’re family,” Mac grunted. “Gonna be there, just in case. Besides, my old lady would be pissed as fuck if she found out we weren’t.”

One corner of my mouth twitched. I would’ve loved to give him shit for being whipped. But while her mother had been a DeLuca—my father’s sister—Bridget was the embodiment of an Irish redhead. Her temper was fierce, and no one enjoyed being the target of her fury. And after meeting Vivienne, I no longer had room to talk since I was thoroughly wrapped around my woman’s fingers.

“We’ll see you there,” I murmured. He nodded and returned to his bike, climbing on just as I hit the gas and flew down the road.

Fox opened the door to the warehouse just as Domenico and I walked up to it.

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