Page 35 of Wicked Union

"It's done," she says softly, out of earshot from the still-retreating men who just sat in my living room.

I don't know what she's done, but I know why. Her loyalty to her father is unrivaled, though I sense a growing loyalty to metoo. There is an unspoken agreement between us now, one I haven't made good on. In her eyes, I see fierce determination to do what's right for her family, and I want to believe that includes me.

"Your father traded you to me in exchange for help…" I begin to circle her, feeling a swirl of questions rise up. Her sneaking around, speaking to my brother behind my back, the feistiness she had when she first got here that has now relaxed.

"He did nothing of the sort." Aria's words are firm and calculated. I'm not speaking to a helpless waif. She is a powerhouse that no one suspects, strong and resilient. "I made this choice myself, though he did mention it was a possibility."

And there is her confession. All along, I thought she was forced into this, which was the reason for her fight and rebellion in the beginning. The cold expression on her face, however, shows me she's being truthful.

"You offered yourself to me? To save your father, I assume…" I move toward my liquor cabinet to pour myself a drink. "A glass?" I ask, but she shakes her head to refuse.

"I pledged to do what was needed for my family, and I am here to do just that." Aria sets her hat on the back of the new couch, replaced since my bleeding incident last week. Then she sheds her black coat, revealing the dark clothing beneath. Anyone would understand why she's dressed this way, but I know all too well it's been for some nefarious purpose.

"So why help me?" The amber-colored liquid fills the tumbler, and I wonder why my wife isn't drinking. Could it be that she's already pregnant and she's been hiding it? Or is it that she wants to keep a level head—clear, sober thoughts? I turn to face herwith my glass of whiskey in hand. "Why are you offering to use favors you have stored up to help me, Aria? Why not just help your family?"

The question mars her expression. Her forehead wrinkles. Her lips purse. She averts her eyes and licks her lips softly, lips that have touched mine in ways only lovers understand.

"We have an agreement," she says tightly, but there's more to it. I know there is. I can see it in her eyes. It's not just an agreement, and it's not just for her father.

I move toward her, stalking her like prey. She remains standing behind the sofa with one hand resting on the trench coat now draped over its cushion. She doesn't flinch when I touch her cheek with my pinky, drawing a few stray hairs off her creamy skin.

"Do you love me?" I ask her bluntly, because I've been wondering just this. I feel the swell of affection now and then. It's hard to differentiate between that and the power I feel when I'm around her, dominating her. But it's there, permeating my being.

Her lips are sealed, refusing to answer my question, but when she looks in my eyes, I know she wants to. I see the war raging inside her thoughts even though I can't read them. Aria Peralta is caught in a storm inside her mind.

"Let's ask an easier question. Are you sleeping with my brother?" My words hit their mark, a target in her chest designed to inflame that delicious anger she has.

Her shoulders stiffen, and she glares at me with nostrils flared. "I will tell you exactly what to do to make sure your father does not make Carlos his heir. And no, I have not, nor will I ever,sleep with your brother." The pain in her eyes as she defends herself convinces me she is in love with me, even if she's not ready to admit it out loud.

My hand lingers on her face, cupping her cheek. It's a tender moment between us, the kind men like me don't often have. Watching my father grieve for my mother, I'd have thought there was no affection in their relationship, but I know better now how much he loved her. And I feel it for Aria. The perfection of who she is as a woman and as a partner doesn't go over my head.

"Mia cara, tell me what you've done." My thumb brushes over her cheekbone.

"I know of your plot to infiltrate my father's organization, to merge your finances with his then bankrupt him." Her lips are alluring even as she speaks my sins to me as accusations. The fiery darts don't pierce me, though. It's as if she is the leader and I'm being scolded by her for my misdeeds, only it's softer and gentler than my father's rebukes. "You'll stop that immediately. Our Families aren't now, nor will they ever be, truly one. United in this marriage, but separate. Am I clear?"

Aria's hand shakes as she lifts it to my wrist and presses my hand into her skin. The way she looks into my eyes, igniting hunger for her inside my body, I can't look away. This woman is worth more than the entire Peralta fortune, their territory, suppliers, customers, and the lot. I could live a peaceful life as a happy man with only her, and yet I've been greedily pushing for more.

"And what if I don't?"

Her tongue draws out over her lips, moistening them, and she presses my hand more firmly against her cheek. "Then bad things will come of it, a war unlike the ones you've seen before.Your father will roll over in his grave, and the last thing you’ll see will be my face over you as you breathe your final breath."

This is not a threat. It's a promise. There are no threats between us because there is a bond here. She's not telling me she will harm me. She is only predicting the inevitable end for our relationship should I continue on the path I'm traveling. Which means she's known about this path, the plot to forcibly take over her father's businesses, for a while. That night when I told Carlos what I would do, she was there, and she was listening.

"And my brother?" The idea that he could convince my father to change his will so close to his deathbed doesn't sit well with me. Carlos isn't ready to lead. Father has to know that.

"I told you not to question me and to trust me, and now I need to know that I can trust you." Her bottom lip shakes as she speaks. She's given power to someone other than herself to finish the task that must be done. It's written in her eyes, on her forehead, the way her hand shakes against my skin.

"My trust is yours, Aria." I reach into my pocket and pull out my gun, pressing it into her palm. "If you do not believe me, then kill me now, and all of this is yours." Spreading my arms wide, I back away a few steps. The ultimate test between enemies turned lovers is submission and vulnerability. I want her to see that in order to survive this war with Uhkov and his men, we must be united as one. Perhaps not our families—she doesn't trust my leadership in that aspect yet—but at least as partners.

"What good is lead to me?" She tosses the gun aside. "When I need assurance? I have that now." She clings to my chest and breathes me in. "And I need to get justice for my brother. His killer must pay."

The words sting like a slap to the face, even as her arms wrap around my body and embrace me. I am her brother's killer, and there is no way I can tell her that. Not now, not when trust has been developed between us like this. I slowly close her into the circle of my arms and kiss the top of her head. Her tone is sad, too, not angry. It's not like she is demanding revenge, but more as if she's mournfully accepting that nothing will be the same.

"I love you, Aria…" I whisper next to her ear. It's a foreign word on my tongue—love—but there's no other fitting word for me.

"I love you, Tito…" The words spill from her lips in a painful sob as tears begin to flow. The game I'm playing is wicked and dangerous, and I'm seeing the rippling effects flow outward from my choices now, effects I hate and wish were gone. That turns to rage inside me and a determination to make things as they should be, in every way.

If she says she is handling this, then I must trust her. It's the least I can do after taking her brother from her.

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