Page 40 of Poisoned Vows

Lilliana glares at me, but she says nothing. For once, she isn’t fighting me, and that’s better than the alternative.

“Take a nap,” I suggest. “We’ll have dinner and go back to the penthouse when I’m done.”

“Do I even want to know where you’re going?” she asks acidly, and I shrug.

“Probably not,” I tell her honestly, as I take her up the stairs to my suite on the second floor. “But if you decide you want to know, maybe I’ll tell you, depending on how nicely you ask.”

She wrinkles her nose, and it’s a more adorable gesture than it should be. I shouldn’t like it the way I do. I shouldn’t give a shit either way. But as I step into the room with her, I can’t resist tugging her towards me, my hand on her elbow as I lower my lips to hers.

A goodbye kiss is more intimate than I want to be with her. But I can’t resist the pull of her soft mouth.

She stiffens under my touch, not returning the kiss, and I force myself not to react. To behave as if I don’t care.

“I’ll be back,” I tell her, and then I shut the door behind me. I don’t bother locking it. She’s mine now, and I don’t think she’ll try to run. I’ll have to trust her to stay put at some point. I can’t keep guard over her forever.

The business I have to take care of involves one of the family businesses, a lower-end bar outside of the city that is mostly used as a money-laundering front. The ledgers have been turning up a bit short lately, and since the warnings the manager has received don’t seem to have taken root, it’s my job to go and look into it.

It’s a reminder of who I am—the brutal man who does the dirtiest of work for my father, when I’m the only one he can trust with it. I’m not a soft man, not an emotional one. Whatever Lilliana makes me feel, the temptation to be gentler, to want something that softens me, it can only make me weaker in the end.

And if there’s one thing I know my father can’t stand, it’s weakness. I can’t let him think that my choice to marry her has made me less capable.

Even so, Lilliana is on my mind as the car makes its way toward the part of town where the bar is located. I already want her again, my palms itching to touch her. The way she’d felt under my hands, thetasteof her—she was intoxicating. And taking her innocence—

If it was only that, I’ll know soon enough. If I don’t enjoy her as much, now that she’s not untouched, even if it’s only me that’s touched her. But from the way my cock is throbbing against my thigh, I don’t think that’s the case.

I force my mind away from her and last night as I walk into the bar, looking for Marcus, the man in charge of it. I find him in the back office, poring over those same ledgers, and I walk in, closing the door behind me with a click.

The look that passes over his face before he regains control of his expression is enough to let me know that my father’s suspicions aren’t unfounded.

“Marcus. We need to have a talk.”

The man’s face turns a greyish-white as I lean back against the door, motioning for him to get up. “I’d like to take a look at those ledgers,” I continue, and he pushes himself up out of the chair, swallowing hard.

“Sure thing, boss. No problem. Take a look.”

I sit down in the uncomfortable office chair, flipping through the pages, one eye on the now-sweating man to make sure he doesn’t make a break for the door. He’s trying to keep a poker face, as much as a terrified man can. Everyone knows if I come down to take care of business and you’ve been doing something wrong, the rest of your day will be one you won’t soon forget.

If you live long enough to have a chance to remember it, that is.

Four hours later, my hands are soaked in blood in a warehouse ten miles away, Marcus wriggling like a fish on a hook as he tells me everything I need to know. It wasn’t him cooking the ledgers, but the fact that he kept it secret is bad enough. He’s good at his job, so instead of killing him, I take three fingers. The left hand, so he can still write—but as a reminder to keep his figures straight from now on.

The man responsible for it will be at the bottom of the Chicago River by morning, but I won’t have to be the one who does that. I’ll send a few guys that I know I can trust to take care of it.

I tell myself that it has nothing to do with Lilliana. That I’m not passing that part of the job off because I want to be back with her, instead of dealing with the traitors and thieves who think they can pull one over on our family.

There’s always been a certain amount of satisfaction in what I do, in my capabilities both as the heir to my father’s empire and the one who is able to exact his will on those in need of reminding. But right now, I don’t feel that satisfaction. I feel like I want to get the blood off of my hands and into a clean shirt before I go back to check on my new wife.

My phone buzzes as I go out to where the car is waiting for me, and I reach for it. I already know it’s going to be my father before I even light up the screen.

Meet me in my study when you get back.

I bite back a groan of frustration. I’d planned to go straight to Lilliana and take her back to my penthouse, but it’s clear that’s going to have to wait. There’s no rescheduling a meeting that my father demands.

He’s waiting in his study when I arrive back at the mansion, exactly as expected, standing in front of the fireplace. It’s reminiscent of the night that Lilliana was brought to meet us, and I think, from the sheet draped over one of the chairs, that he’s set up this little tableau on purpose.

“Are you pleased with your new bride?” He asks the question without turning around, and it’s hard to tell from the tone of his voice what mood he’s in. He says it flatly, without any inflection.

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate further. I don’t particularly want to discuss Lilliana with him—it feels like a minefield for which I have no guidance.

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