Page 19 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

Even if I hated her as much as I was compelled to follow the light that led to her.

When I saw her on the couch, listening to that god-awful music that she's obsessed with, I had to stop.

I consider myself a relatively articulate man. I have to be. I've always had to be.

But the sight of Roisin on the couch, her hair catching the light, her peaches-and-cream skin flushed as she hummed along to the brutalracket?

I didn't have words for that moment.

Well.

I didn't have the right words for the moment.

I wanted to tell her that I've fucking missed her. That she's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen. That every day since I walked out on her, I've fantasized about touching her and her soft as fuck skin again.

That I'ved tried to see other women, to be around them. To get her out of my mind.

But I fucking can't.

And then, of course, it crashes down on me that she's not just my Roisin.

She's the sister of my sworn fucking enemy. Liam MacAntyre, the man that I have a hesitating, temporary alliance with.

The man whose brother killed my parents.

It couldn't be anyone but the MacAntyres. It simply couldn't.

They're the fucking worst.

I don't want to remember, either, that she's been lying to me. That she withheld her true identity from me.

And that she might have been spying on me, selling that information to either one of her brothers... the whole fucking time.

And then, I definitely couldn't say shit. Because the warring emotions inside of me, if they came out, would have made me seem utterly and totally insane.

So instead, I ignored her. Stomped past her to set up the little couch sleeper, and I didn't sleep at all.

I thought about her. Every creak from the loft bedroom upstairs, I thought of her. Every single noise made me think...

of her.

Now, I'm waiting to be picked up by whatever Interpol handler comes next.

And I still have no fucking clue how to handle this hearing.

"Marco," a male voice calls.

I turn.

Only to be met with a fist to the face.

I don't think.

I react.

My body goes into a brutal, efficient, fighting mode.

Most people in my line of work have to be relatively competent at defending themselves. It's just part of the work.

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