Page 16 of The Mob Boss's Bride
I'm falling for him. For the dangerous man who forced me into marriage, who keeps me in his fortress, who takes me with a possessiveness that should frighten me but instead makes me feel wanted in a way I've never experienced.
This isn't Stockholm Syndrome. This isn't just gratitude for protection or response to his undeniable physicality. This is... something else. Something that feels terrifyingly like fate.
And I'm not sure I want to fight it anymore.
six
. . .
Atlas
She's wearing blue tonight—adeep midnight shade that makes her eyes look like summer skies by comparison. The dress hugs curves I've spent hours memorizing with my hands, my mouth. My wife. The word still feels new on my tongue, a sweet unfamiliar weight that I roll around like expensive whiskey. Three weeks of marriage, and I still catch myself staring at her like she might evaporate. Three weeks of having her in my home, in my bed, and the hunger hasn't diminished—it's grown teeth. I shouldn't be taking her out at all. She should be tucked away in my fortress where Silva's men can't find her. But I need to make a statement tonight. Need everyone to see who she belongs to.
"You're staring again," Fern says, a blush coloring her cheeks as she applies lipstick in the car's mirror. The color matches the marks I left on her inner thighs this morning. My marks. My wife.
"Can't help it." I run a hand up her leg, feeling her shiver under my touch. "You're fucking beautiful."
"Atlas." She says my name like a warning, but leans into my touch anyway. "We're almost there."
"I know." I withdraw my hand reluctantly. "Just reminding you who you belong to."
She rolls her eyes, but I see the heat there, the way her pupils dilate. "As if I could forget."
The car pulls up to Obsidian, my club in the heart of downtown. Exclusive, expensive, and very much part of my legitimate business portfolio. Vex opens the door, and I step out first, then offer my hand to Fern. She takes it, letting me help her from the car with a grace that makes my chest tighten.
Mine.
The thought comes unbidden every time I look at her now. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to keep.
"Remember what I told you," I say quietly as we approach the entrance, my hand on the small of her back. "This is a business event. These people work for me, with me. You're safe, but?—"
"But I'm here as Mrs. Vale, not Fern the baker." She finishes for me, a small smile playing at her lips. "I remember."
She's adapted to my world with surprising speed. In three weeks, she's gone from terrified witness to confident wife, at least on the surface. She still bakes when she's anxious—my kitchen has never smelled so good—and sometimes I catch her staring out windows like she's looking for escape. But at night, she comes to me willingly, hungrily. Takes everything I give her and demands more.
The club is already full when we enter, the low bass thrumming through the floor, the lighting dim and intimate. Heads turn instantly. Of course they do—I rarely bring anyone to these events, and never a wife. The rumors have been circulatingfor weeks, but this is the first public confirmation that Atlas Vale is off the market.
"Everyone's staring," Fern whispers, her hand tightening on my arm.
"Let them." I guide her through the crowd, nodding to those who matter, ignoring those who don't. "They're just in shock that I found someone worth claiming."
The VIP section is cordoned off, guarded by two of my men who step aside instantly when they see me. Inside, the music is quieter, the lighting better, the seating more comfortable. The real business happens here, behind velvet ropes and privacy screens.
Donovan approaches first, his eyes quickly assessing Fern before returning to me. "Boss. Glad you could make it. Romero's people are here already."
"Good." I keep my hand on Fern's back, anchoring her to my side. "Make the introductions. I want this deal closed tonight."
As Donovan leads us to a private booth, I feel Fern tense beside me. "Business deal?" she asks quietly.
"Legitimate business." I squeeze her waist reassuringly. "Romero owns restaurant chains. We're discussing a partnership with my import company."
She relaxes slightly, and I realize she's been worried about witnessing more illegal activity. The thought bothers me more than it should. I want her to know all of me eventually, the darkness and the light, but not yet. Not until she's ready.
The meeting goes smoothly. Romero is a businessman first, a criminal second—like me, he prefers to keep his interests diversified and at least partially legitimate. Fern sits beside me, quiet but attentive, sipping occasionally from the champagne I ordered. I keep one hand on her thigh under the table, a constant reminder of my presence, my claim.
When business concludes, Romero raises his glass in a toast. "To new partnerships," he says, his accent thickening the words. "And to Mrs. Vale—a surprise to us all. Your husband has been notably... solitary until now."
Fern smiles diplomatically. "Lucky timing, I suppose."
