Page 53 of Fragile Union

He stills, his entire body going solid. “What did you just say?”

“Bianchi. My name is Holly Bianchi.” I know he can hear the pride in my voice.

I’m proud of my husband. I’ll never hide who I am, who I’m married too. People may think Romero is a monster, and he very well can be, but to me he’s nothing but Rome. My Rome. My safe haven.

The dickhead shakes his head. “No, you’re Holly Gallagher.” His accent is thicker and that’s when I’m able to place it, he’s Latino.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing it’ll only cause me pain. “That is my maiden name. I got married. I’m sorry, it seems as though your invite was somehow lost in the mail,” I reply, my tone saccharine sweet.

“Married?” he echoes and I’m wondering if he’s hard of hearing or something?

“Yes, I got married, you know, in a church in front of hundreds of guests. The white dress, the veil, the I do’s.”

“Who?” he snarls at me. He’s once again edging closer to me.

I blink at his gruff tone. “Romero Bianchi.”

“Fuck!” he roars, the sound reverberating around the room. “That motherfucking bitch.”

I frown as ice crawls through my veins. The vibe in the room has changed, it’s more volatile, more dangerous, deadlier than before.

“Seems, Mrs. Bianchi, we’ve been stitched up. Had I known you were the wife of that monster, I would not have ordered my men to take you.”

I swallow past the fear and ask the question that’s on the tip of my tongue. “Who?” It’s weak and I hate I’m showing this bastard weakness. “Who stitched us up?” I ask, and I’m pleased this time my voice was stronger, concise, and filled with anger.

His eyes narrow. “Pussy is only good when the woman is soft and sweet to the outside world but a whore between the sheets. Pussy that’s filled with venom on the outside and used between the sheets is fucking useless. That motherfucking bitch played me like a fiddle.”

Whoops, seems as though someone needs to try a dating site.

“She hates you; I’m wondering what you did to piss her off,” he shakes his head in disgust. “Crossing her isn’t the smartest move.”

“If I knew who she was, I’d be able to answer that for you,” I reply sarcastically, I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me or himself.

He grins at me and it’s sadistic and I can imagine how merciless he can be. “Georgina,” he informs me, laughter echoing through his voice.

Fucking bitch.

“What does it feel like?” I ask, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Knowing you’re going to die? I mean, you’ve not only pissed off the Irish Mafia, which by the way, was a stupid move. My family has anger issues on their best days, piss them off and you’re asking for it. But also, to piss off the Italian’s. You must have some serious balls, or Georgina’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

He releases a low growl, this time when he steps forward, it’s not to backhand me, but to viciously throw his fist into my face. My nose crunches beneath the blow as blood instantly flows from my nostrils.

Fuck. He’s broken it.

Tears sting my eyes at the pain.

“Shut up,” he snarls. “Shut the fuck up and let me think.”

I do as he says, the blood continues to flow down my face.

“What did you do to her?” he asks and I’m getting whiplash from him. One minute he’s angry, the next curious. He needs to make up his damn mind.

“I married a man she used to fuck. One who has continued to rebuff her cheap arse ever since.” God, she’s fucking desperate.

“She’s been trying to fuck that Italian asshole?” he questions as he begins to pace.

“Yes, she even slept with his brother the other night hoping to make him jealous.”

His swift intake of breath is enough to have me brace for the onslaught of what’s to come. Once again, his fist plows into my face. “I’m fucked either way,” he says as he lands a blow to my midsection, taking the wind from me. “I’m going to die. There’s no way your family will let me live. I may as well make it worthwhile.”

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