Page 10 of Wicked Union

"I've been reading…"

And just like that, she goes back to ignoring me. She turns a page and shifts in her seat to get more comfortable, and while she does appear to be quite cozy, as if she's been here for hours, I'm not convinced. My gut tells me she heard me speaking to my men and is keeping that bit a secret. It won't make a difference. I'll still enact my plan, and it will work regardless of whether Hector Peralta knows ahead of time.

I move toward her, sitting on the loveseat next to her. My arm draped across the back, my body reclined sideways, I cross my left leg over my right and hook a finger on the book, pulling it down so I can get her attention.

"You know, when a man like me talks, most people listen."

"I'm not most people," she snarls, and I like that feisty attitude. I chuckle.

"I can see that. You're quite the handful, aren't you?" Taking the book from her hand, I fold it shut and lay it on the cushion between us. She glares at me and pulls the blanket around her shoulders more tightly. She really is an exquisite creation, beautiful in so many ways, and I'm lucky enough to own her. Like my collection of rare books, Aria brings value to my life that I can't get any other way. It's not just the power I wield over her father. It's more than that. I can't place my finger on it.

"What do you want? I'm trying to read that." She reaches for the book, and I place my hand on it, palm splayed over the cover.

"How do you feel after last night?" Our marital bed was practically volcanic last night. I had her trembling under me no less than ten times, and while my own body has its limits, making her explode back to back is nothing short of an ego boost.

"Do you mind?" she snaps, grabbing the book and opening it up, searching for the page she was on.

So she wants to bite and claw? I'll put a leash on her.

I stand and walk to the door, pausing to look back at her. She's curled around the book like it's a life preserver that will keep her afloat in the storm surge, but I'm a tidal wave she won't ever see coming.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure tonight's performance is more spectacular," I tell her, and I see her shoulders tense as she hears my words.

My little toy has only begun to see what I'm capable of.

9

ARIA

If Tito thinks he's going to pull a fast one on my family, he's wrong. I've already told my father what my new husband is planning, the dirty drug deal and moving into Peralta territory. Dad is wise to it, but that doesn't mean he'll be able to do much about it when Tito comes hunting for results. Jasper will have to reach out to his connections in San Francisco to help him.

I sit at the large marble island in Tito's kitchen—well, our kitchen. I've been here five days and I still haven't gotten used to it being my home yet. I don't want it to ever feel like home. Yes, Tito can fuck the living daylights out of me and make me come so hard I piss myself—he's proven that twice now—but that doesn’t mean I'm his property. And it doesn’t mean I'm happy in this arrangement. I can't even call it a marriage anymore. It's not. It's more like prison.

The tea bag has steeped long enough, but I stare at the way it floats in the mug listlessly like a raft on a pool in the summer sun, and I wish I were anywhere but here. My desire to gain information and take Tito down from the inside out isn't goingas well as I planned. It's like his home is isolated from his work. Other than a few meetings he's had, ones I've overheard portions of, there is nothing in this home to connect him to the crime syndicate he leads. It's useless.

The only thing I've even found that may be useful is the fact that his younger brother, Carlos, seems all too eager to disrespect him at any turn. I'm sure it's nothing more than a case of sibling rivalry, but there may be a chance for me to twist the knife and help Carlos get what he wants while procuring what I want.

Which is why I'm sitting here now, staring at my tepid tea. I'm waiting for Carlos to come back to this damn kitchen to get another beer. He's been out back with Tito, sitting by the pool and enjoying the evening heat. Three times now, they've ordered me to put on a bathing suit and join them, and I refuse. I won't be paraded around in front of Tito's brother in that slutty scrap of material he calls a bikini, but that doesn’t mean I don't want to speak with Carlos.

I have to reheat the tea in the microwave twice before Carlos comes in. I want it to appear casual, as if I'm only just letting the tea finish steeping before I retreat to my safe place here in this house—the library. I'm fascinated by all the books Tito has, and I’m amazed that a man like him has taken time to preserve literature the way he has. Some things I've learned about him are surprising, to say the least.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos growls as he walks in. "You know my brother wants you out there." He stomps over to the refrigerator and opens it. The bottles and jars in the door shake and rattle under the movement.

"Your brother wants a lot of things he can't have." I pick up the tea bag by the string and dunk it. I'm not even going to drink this drivel, but I have to put on a good show.

Carlos bends and reaches into the fridge and then straightens and turns toward me, letting the door shut. He has an ice-cold beer in hand, which he opens and takes a sip from.

"Yeah, I hear that." Carlos is a large man, larger than Tito. I bet if they were to square off, Tito would have his ass handed to him, but just like in my family, Tito's family operates on a matter of respect. They both honor their father as the leader, and something tells me Daddy Dearest would skin them or disown them if they started shit. They probably learned this the hard way when they were kids.

"You sound bitter…" Here I am, planting seeds like I have a green thumb. I look up at him through my lashes and notice the storm in his eyes. It's always there. It was there the day of our wedding when he watched Tito kiss me at the altar. It was there earlier this week when I snuck up to Tito's den and watched a few moments of his stupid meeting.

"Bitter isn't the word for it." He takes another sip of his beer and then leans forward on the island. The white and black marble is a stark contrast to the bronze of his sun-kissed skin. These Italian men are obsessed with their appearance and it shows.

"Is he a good leader?" I ask, hoping to come across as a curious wife, not an unsuspected double agent. I'm hardly a spy, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Carlos stands again, squared shoulders, rigid jawline. I see the way he wants to trust me, but he's a trained soldier. "Tito is my older brother. He's blood. That's all I can say." He wants to comeacross as loyal, but under the surface, I see his wheels turning. He wants that position of leadership, and it's so obvious even Tito probably knows it.

"Oh, come on. You're brothers. I'm sure you've seen him be irresponsible. You really think he is the one who deserves to lead the family?" I pinch the tea bag and the liquid drains out, then I set it on the plate my mug rests on. "You've never once thought the rightful leader of this family should be you?"

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