Page 56 of Widow's Walk

I turn to grin at him, and he’s already looking at me. “Never.”

I start to veer off to disappear around the corner when I’m grabbed by the waist and spun into him like a move straight out of a fucking fairytale. My hands slap against his chest. Our bodies press flush.

He only tortures me with a heated stare for a moment before opening his mouth over mine for a kiss deeper than the one before. Leaving me breathless and my pussy wet with heat.

My mask slips when he pulls away. Not giving me any time to recover, he walks off wearing a cheeky grin like he didn’t just set me on fire to leave me smoldering.

Asshole.

I head up to unwarp my mind and bleed out some tension. When I hit the top of the stairs, I hear some newcomers arriving. Quickening my steps, I duck around the corner to see who they are and what kind of evil they’re adding to this place.

Curiosity is one hell of a drug.

I peek over the banister only enough to see but not be seen, and I spy the last people I’d expect to be visiting. What the fuck are the Bozzellis doing here?

Looks like my day just got a little more interesting.

I switch directions, walking away from my room and towards another. A little secret of mine. Making sure I’m not being watched, I close myself inside the empty bedroom that happens to be right above the office, where all their little secret meetings are held.

Same old trick I used back home. All the vents are connected in some way, acting like an intercom. And the closer you are, the louder they project.

Closing the door and flicking the lock, I kick my shoes off to get comfortable. Seeking the floor vent I’ve used for months now, Ilay down on my belly and fold my arms to rest my head on them with my ear hovering over the vent.

I half-listen, half-doze. Nothing but egotistical babble. Men preening and comparing dick sizes.

I don’t understand what kind of business they could have with the Bozzellis. They aren’t well-connected. No solid ties to the inner circle. They have some bad blood with a few of the core families, mine being one of them. They’re a total wild card. Unpredictable.

Which makes them dangerous.

Their loyalty to no one, and their allegiance for sale to everyone.

I’m about to check out with nothing holding my interest when I hear my name drop, and my ears perk up.

Is she as crazy as they say she is?

Do you keep her locked inside a cage?

Yawning through the usual, I turn my head to the other side to stretch my neck. Once they’ve exhausted all curiosity where I’m concerned—part freakshow, part cautionary tale—they move on to my family in general. They wear their disgust for them loud and proud. No pretense or diplomacy, even with Blackwell sitting right there, knowing he’s about to marry an Ortiz.

But I can’t blame them. I share their sentiments and revulsion. No offense taken here.

And like storm clouds rolling in, the conversation takes a dark turn. They want to take out the Ortizs. And not metaphorically. A sick thrill crackles through my chest like firecrackers. The thought of my family dead should be a joyous occasion, but there’s no time to celebrate. Because technically, I’m an Ortiz, no matter how far I try to separate us and how much they like to disown me.

And without the family name, there’s no leverage. No empire. No point or purpose.

If they kill my family, I’mworthless. Like I’ve always been.

I teeter on the edge of sanity, waiting,beggingfor Blackwell to speak up. To say something concerning me and our arrangement. To push back. To insist I’m off-limits. But why would he? Our marriage was transactional and strategic.

No family, no gain.

No gain, no value.

Worthless.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, they drop therealbomb. They want into the circle. And to cement their seat, they want to take my family’s place and offer their daughter to Blackwell. Replacing me.

Blood thunders in my ears. My throat throbs, and my chest caves. I feel it everywhere.

---