Page 31 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
“Sorry, I didn’t know it was love,” he says in a huff, stalking off to get the cat pack and Arnold’s leash.
I throw the duffel over my shoulder and hustle him to the door. “It’s not, dipshit. Just watch your aim next time.”
“You kept moving.”
“Jesus, you can’t even admit you fucked up,” I say with a shake of my head.
“You know,” he says, ignoring me. “You were close to her. Very close. Something I should know about?”
“Move,” I growl.
I follow him out of the apartment, my pulse pounding with the need to get back over to her place.
The cold hits me, seeping into the fabric of my coat as we move to the street and Arnold barks at a passing pedestrian. “I’ve got questions?—”
I stop short when my phone buzzes. Dec peers over my shoulder as I look at the text from Callahan.
Had to invite Ricci to the wedding since you skewered his guy.
No doubt he had to anyway, because of the terms of the blood marriage, and this is his way of making sure things are good between us.
I text back.
Skewered guy shot at us. Fuck him.
Where are you? Get a suit and be at St. Jane’s church at eleven sharp. Make sure Dec’s there, too.
I poke my brother. “This is why I wanted you to shoot and miss, very much miss. Make it seem dire enough that Harry goes through with the wedding. Her life depends on it, whether she wants to do it or not.”
“C’mon, we’re all catches, Tor. She should be happy you’re doing the deed. A blood wedding sounds wicked.”
It sounds fucking binding, and I should be modern enough not to like the idea of making her mine in that way. But I do. Mine to do with what I want. How I want.
It’s all there, written into the contract for a ceremony only a mafia Catholic church can perform.
“When we get up to her apartment,” I mutter, “we grab her and you just keep quiet.”
“If,” he says, “she asks? What do I say?”
“Asks what?”
He shrugs. “Maybe wants someone hotter and younger. Maybe she’d rather have me.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I pick the lock again on the front door of her building. I really don’t give a fuck that we’reright out in the open. Most people take one look at us and hurry away.
With a dog like Arnold, an evil cat like Clawzilla, and the air we Murphys have, we exude a “keep the fuck away” aura.
“Then tell her I asked you to come and meet me to get her to the fucking church on time.”
The moment we start climbing the stairs to her apartment, an icy sensation snakes around my bones. Not of dread, but acceptance.
Her apartment’s quiet once we get inside. I take a quick glance around.
“Where is this girl?” Dec asks as Arnold creeps around, sniffing every crevice of the place. “She’s gone. On the run again?”
“No.” But as I leave him to go through the rest of the apartment, doubt creeps in. I step into her bathroom and look around the cramped, green-tiled space. The tub and sink gleam. Her peach-colored toothbrush sits on the counter.
“Smart fucking girl.” I open a side zip of the rifle duffel and pick up her toothpaste and a bottle of perfume that fits Hazel—but not the flash of fierceness of Harry in her silver eyes. That’s something far spicier than just soft, sultry florals.
