Page 36 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

She’s wearing the most expensive athletic pants that I’ve ever seen, and they sculpt her toned body into looking like a fitness model. I swear I can see every muscle in her legs flex as she walks, and the expensive-looking bra top cups her breasts so perfectly, I ache to reach out and touch them.

She managed to wrangle her strawberry curls into two long braids, and despite the fact that she looks cute as a button in them, I know that they’re not meant to be attractive.

Roisin didn’t dress like I am expecting her to, and she knows it.

She dressed for war.

My blood heats. I can’t tell if she knows what she’s doing to me or not, but fuck me.

I love a fucking challenge.

She tugs on an athletic jacket. “I’m ready,” she practically snaps at me.

I raise an eyebrow. “Did you decide on something to bring?”

Instead of responding, Roisin just snaps her fingers. A small train of attendants rolls out of the women’s dressing room area, each one of them rolling a suitcase that is probably chock-full of clothing, and each one with an expensive logo that I would be worried about hurting my credit card.

If I worried about such things.

I’ve been making investments through the years. I’m proud to say that it’s my own, not tied to the family… before he went to jail, my grandfather gave me a gift of a thousand dollars.

I turned that into a portfolio that means I’ll never have to worry about who is putting clothes on my credit card.

It’s the only thing that I've really done for myself, or for a family that I had, in a fit of delusion, thought I might have one day.

The second my father died, though, that illusion was shattered for me.

Quickly.

I knew at that moment that I wouldn't ever be looking out for my own happiness in life.

I’d always be trying to figure out how to help my siblings. I’d always be watching over the family.

I took on the role of their protector, and I was happy to fill it.

But it did mean that my dream, and the assets I'd put together to live it, disappeared.

She glares at me. “I finished my shopping,darling.”

The venom on the endearment makes me chuckle. “Well I hope it was worth your while, pumpkin.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I certainly hope you meant it when you said this card had no limit.”

At this point, the shop attendants are watching us like a tennis match. Aware of their attention, and the fact that they might be reporting to people who care about this, I move over to Roisin and tuck her close.

“You couldn’t bankrupt me if you tried,” I whisper.

She stiffens. “I’ll see about that,” she mutters.

Roisin peels away from me, stomping forward.

And I grin as her ass jiggles on the way out.

CHAPTER 6: ROISIN

I am the dumbest person alive.

In the Jaguar, Marco follows my directions. The back is stacked with an unseemly amount of packaging that jostles,rolling from side to side as we careen down the narrow Irish countryside, heading for our family home near Sligo.

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