Page 65 of Righteous Deceit

DIEGO

Iwalk a step behind her, hands stuffed into my pockets, my mind racing.

Does she expect me to fuck her?

Do I want to fuck her?

Yes. Of course I do.

But not like this. Not with expectations raining down on me.

She’s stunning. I couldn’t watch her walk down the aisle, afraid my mind would play tricks on me and convince me that I wanted this. I wanted her. I wanted a fuckingwife.

My head pounds.

I’ve killed men. I, myself, have looked death in the eye. I’ve watched friends die. I’ve skirted the lines of the law too many times not to have been incarcerated. Yet I’ve never felt as apprehensive and out of my depth as I do now. All because of a legally binding contract, a circular piece of metal, and a woman who, in the eyes of the world, I now fuckingbelongto.

Her hand tightens on the heavy material of her skirt, lifting it to allow her to walk easier. The move emphasizes the split at her thigh, and I look away before I’m tempted to do something stupid like touch her.

We shouldn’t be here, walking toward the presidential suite of the Four Seasons like a happy couple ready to celebrate their forever. We should be sitting the fuck down to talk about what the hell she was thinking by confessing the ridiculous notion of our love to her brother and forcing us into this predicament.

I want to know why.

But I also don’t believe anything would be significant enough tomakeme understand.

I stood by myself the whole reception. The wedding party was in full swing—drinks were flowing, and food was abundant. I despised every moment of the circus. The smiles and laughter looked aimedatme and notforme. I, a capo of one of the most powerful families in the States, was played like a fucking fool.

Anyone from New York knew me well enough to leave me the hell alone, and anyone from Sia’s side gave me a wide berth the moment they took one look at my face.Fuck off, it screamed. Thankfully, everyone fucking listened. Even Leonardo, which is a feat in itself.

I watched my new wife the entire time. Every torturous second was spent searing my fury into her profile. I want it tattooed against her temple as a constant reminder of her biggest mistake. I searched every crevice of my brain, trying to understand what unfolded from when she turned up at my house, accusing me of attempting to undermine her family, to now, us legally tied together for eternity.

Alessia Bianchi is a chameleon if I’ve ever seen one. She has many faces, and she chooses each one with care and consideration. Gone was the formidable leader tonight. My tender prey was also nowhere to be found. Instead, a seemingly glowing-with-happiness bride stood in her place. She laughed and danced and accepted congratulations with a hand to her heart and a soft smile. It was all an act. Her need to avoid me at all costs was the giveaway. She wouldn’t even meet my eye.

“What were you talking to CJ Lincoln about?”

She stumbles but rights her footing before I catch her, continuing as though nothing had happened. “Hm?”

Avoidance. Interesting.

“CJ Lincoln, your stepson. What were you talking about?”

She shrugs. “He was congratulating me.”

I grab her arm, swinging her around to face me. “You’ve lied enough, don’t you think?”

She swallows audibly but not in fear or discomfort. She’s buying time, thinking about what answer will curb my curiosity.

“I can’t do any more fucking lies. You were arguing. About what?”

She brushes a thick lock of auburn hair from her face, tendrils having fallen out as she danced through the night. “CJ asked me to marry him recently. I said no. He was questioning how I ended up married to you.”

My stomach twists with fury, and I choose to ignore why.

“He’s in love with you?”

“God no,” she says, flipping a hand in front of her face with easy dismissal. “It’s business. He’s irritated at some conditions of his father’s estate. He assumed I’d help himfixthem.”

“And you won’t?”

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