Reno side-eyes me, hitching a disapproving brow. “It’s not the ceremony that’s the issue. How about Dré Souza having a wife? You’re not the committing type, never mind a wedding. One night with the same woman is all you can offer. But a wife… she’d be all up in your face with relationship demands. Is she worth the risk of losing Miami?”
“It’s not just about the woman,” I reply thoughtfully, remembering how she’d gotten away from me once before. How it had spun my whole world in the wrong direction. “This is a tactical move,parce. She’s a mafia princess with a lot to inherit. I’m sure I’ll enjoy breaking her in initially, and in the long run, she’ll get used to our lifestyle. At least the Souzas would be firmly in Sicilian territory. We could increase our firearm and explosive shipments.” I shoot a glance over my shoulder where Sapori puffs his thick cigar, his eyes burning into us. “Not even Papá achieved that.” I look back at my friends’ troubled expressions and grin. “Have you seen the women over there?”
Letterman scrubs his face. “What if you lose?”
“I won’t. He’s a shit poker player. His left eye twitches when he’s losing.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Reno slides his hands under opposite armpits and widens his stance, every bit the protector he had sworn to be.
I shrug. “You only live once. One way or another, the woman is coming home with me tonight. I’ll either carry her off this floating museum before I blow it to smithereens or Sapori will hand her over with a hefty inheritance as a wedding gift.”
“Dré… you’ll start a war.” Letterman breathes smoke around the statement. “You ready for that?”
“I was born ready.” I jab his flexed bicep, hitting half of a haunted skull tattoo peeking out from under his shirt’s short sleeve.
“You were born fucking reckless.” Letterman’s throaty chuckle rumbles between us, whereas Reno sigh-smirks. “We’ve always got your back, parce. I just had to figure out what the hell was going on in that head of yours. You'd better not turn into a domesticated gimp and pretend to be a one-woman man.”
My laugh booms, spiking my energy with barbs of electricity. “Domesticated? Christ… I’m not cutting off my dick and offering it to her as a keepsake. You know I’ll never change. It’s impossible.”
6
SINÉAD
After all these years, he recognized me.
But instead of looking at me with fondness, something dark passed over his features as if his soul had derailed. Those coal-colored eyes weren’t how I remembered them. They were liquid-black and intense.
André is no longer the boy who was a few inches taller than me. He’s transformed into a mouthwatering monster of a man made from solid muscle, six-foot something in height, and has temptation written over his skin in ink. And to my utter horror and frustration, the reality of him rendered me speechless when my name had left his tongue.
Flutters swooped inside my stomach and erupted in my throat, collectively suppressing my voice. That foolish reaction to him, a toxic curse—a deadly mix of pheromones and desire for the man who had lied to me.
It’s unheard of for a guy to have such wizardry over me. So in that moment, I aimed for silence rather than let him hear a treacherous tremor.
I’m a newly crowned Sapori, owning a powerful title that should give me a degree of stature or an armor of gold-plated fortitude to level the battlefield. However, it didn’t.
Even though I wasn’t raised in a mafia household, my backbone was still forged from incombustible steel. Life hadn't dealt me a winning hand, which meant I owned a rifle and would never back down from a bully. So, why did he make me feel so unbalanced?
Out of hotheaded anger, I slam my fists on top of the quilt and shove my face into the soft fabric to muffle an infuriated scream. How dare he rattle my entire skeleton and scorch the flesh covering it.
The next time I cross paths with my ex-best friend, I’ll be better prepared without jumbled emotions getting in my way. We’re incompatible people who live different lives. His crooked lifestyle isn’t something to envy or admire. It’s destructive.
Anyway, he had countless years as an adult to track me down, and never once did he stroll into The Rusty Shamrock to fulfill his promise of forever.
And that’s the crux of the hostility hissing through my veins. His childhood oath wasn’t worth shit.
I roll off the bed and pace in the darkness, muttering and sighing, furious at the dumbstruck reaction I had to him—to a man. I’m blaming my surge in hormones on the fact he took me by surprise. That seeing him in person was a shock.
Despite the betrayal of overwhelming tingles I’d suffered, the facts would never change. He’s a bad man and my future lies in New York with Acer.
My agitated strides eat up the moon-soaked carpet in my gilded cage, doing nothing to exhaust my nuclear temper. I’m pissed at my pathetic show of cowardice, how I’d scurried below deck like a cornered rat while grappling with those damn butterflies stuck in my chest. What a stupid move, because now I’m trapped and still hungry.
I pause a few steps away from the large portholes, peering out at the silvery ocean and Miami coastline glittering in the distance. A speedboat leaves the rear of the yacht in a trail of frothy white waves, heading for dry land.
A logical reaction would be relief. To take solace in the knowledge that Frankie’s guests have finally left—which includes André. Except that's not the emotion pumping through my veins. Rather, I’m angry at how my foolish heart sinks to the seabed like a weathered anchor. The same way it did when Mammy and I fled our little house on the Hennessy estate, when I knew I was leaving him behind.
I perch on the edge of the bed and nurse the unusual pain in my chest, exhaling in a slow gust. Content I’m not having a heart attack, I pull out my iPhone and swipe open his social media profile, stalking him all over again. Only this time there’s no update. Nothing.
No doubt he’ll upload a selfie later, when he’s partying at another VIP venue. Before I swipe the screen to close the app, a direct message notification pops up.
