Holding his bleeding nose, Gianni stumbles to his feet, using the wall for balance. Breathing hard, his hands shaking, he looks at Juan Pablo with pure hatred in his eyes. Then he turns his vicious glare to Lili.
“If you leave with this boy, you’re dead to me. Do you understand? I’ll never speak to you again. You’ll be cut off. You won’t have a dime of my money.”
Juan Pablo snaps, “She doesn’t need your money. She’ll have mine.”
Gianni’s laugh is cold and hard. “From what, your newspaper route?”
“My family’s probably richer than yours, ese.”
“Really? Cleaning pools is a big moneymaker, eh?”
“No. But drug trafficking is.”
The air in the room goes static. Nobody says anything. The silence has a strange, dangerous weight.
Into it, Declan says quietly, “Anytime you’d like to explain that, feel free.”
“My uncle is El Mencho.”
Gianni makes a strangled noise, like a cat trying to expel a hairball. His face turns sheet white.
With lifted brows, Declan says, “Alvaro?”
Juan Pablo nods. “My father and I aren’t in the business. We don’t want nothing to do with that. But he’s family. My mother’s brother. He makes sure we don’t want for anything.”
A confused Kieran says, “Who’s Alvaro?”
“Head of the Jalisco Cartel,” answers Declan, assessing Juan Pablo with a new look in his eyes.
“Oh. We friends with them?”
“Never met them. But they’re Sinaloa’s biggest rival.”
“And Sinaloa’s our enemy,” finishes Quinn. A hint of a smile lifts his lips.
Juan Pablo says, “If you want, I’ll make an introduction.”
Declan nods. “It would be appreciated. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You didn’t have to do this for me and Lili.” He looks at me. “You, too. I know you’re only wearing that dress to protect us.”
Gianni appears as if he’s having a stroke at hearing the news that not only has he lost control of his daughter, he’s lost out on leveraging a blood tie to the second-largest cartel in the world.
Desperate not to lose anything else, he shouts at Declan, “Our families negotiated a contract in good faith!”
Declan smiles. “And the contract stands. Christ, I love weddings.”
Quinn says, “I hope you love receptions, too. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
Quinn turns his attention to me. His eyes darken and his voice takes on a husky edge. “I’ve got a date with my wife tonight.”
He licks his lips, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.
21
Rey
We’re in a limo. I don’t remember exactly how we got here. The past hour of my life has been such an overwhelming whirlwind of emotion, I can’t think straight.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think straight again. My brain is broken. There’s a network of cracks all over the poor thing that look exactly like my new husband’s dumb spiderweb tattoo.
Sitting beside me, Quinn stares at my profile in broody silence. Then he reaches over and drags me onto his lap.
“What the—”
“Easy,” he murmurs when I yelp in surprise. He winds his arms around me and holds me in a tight, possessive grip, gazing at me with hooded eyes. The skirt of the wedding dress poufs all around us like a cloud.
“Quinn, I’m not sitting on your lap!”
“Funny, but it looks like you are.”
“Let me go.”
“No. Now, listen. No, don’t start cursing at me. Listen.”
He takes my chin firmly in hand and turns my face so I’m forced to look at him. His voice low, he says, “You’re in shock.”
My laugh sounds crazed. “You think?”
“Aye. I’ve seen you stab a man in the neck without batting a lash and hunt armed intruders with the enthusiasm of a big game poacher, but saying ‘I do’ seems to be beyond your stress threshold.”
“Marriage is beyond any rational woman’s stress threshold.”
His lips thin in displeasure. “I’m not your bloody dead husband.”
I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps those fingers clasped around my jaw, holding my head in place.
Looking into my eyes, he demands, “Say it.”
I frown. “Say what?”
“That I’m not him.”
He’s deadly serious, his expression dark and his eyes darker. I don’t know why it’s so important to him, but I don’t have the presence of mind to figure it out. Or to argue.
All I really want is to take a bath, go to bed, and wake up tomorrow morning with someone else’s life.
“You’re not him.”
“Say it again.”
“For fuck’s sake!”
“Indulge me.”
I sigh and close my eyes, too tired to fight. “You’re not him. I know you’re not. Honestly, I do.”
When he remains silent, I add softly, “You’re ten times the man he was. That doesn’t mean my feelings about this situation are illegitimate.”
He strokes his thumb along my jaw and murmurs, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you ever going to look at me again?”
When I crack open an eye, he smiles at me. Then he turns serious and businesslike.
“We need to talk.”
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
Adjusting my weight in his lap, he spreads his legs wider so my butt is resting on the seat and his thighs are open around my bottom. He pushes on the mass of white chiffon so it’s out of his way and slides his hand up my thigh, pulling me closer and digging his fingers into my bare flesh.
I say drily, “My, aren’t we handsy all of a sudden.”
“I’m only getting started. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I’d like to get drunk first, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I need you lucid for this.”
“That sounds scary.”
“I want to fuck you as soon as we get to the hotel, so we need to get this conversation out of the way first.”
My face flushes with heat. I chew on the inside of my cheek as he stares at my mouth with undisguised longing.
His voice thick, he says, “I won’t force you, I want that to be clear. Just because you’re my wife doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”
Feeling as if I’ve just been run over by a truck, I take a deep breath and blow it out.
“Are you forgetting our pleasant little chat in the back room of the church where you demanded this fake marriage had to include sex or the whole thing was a no-go?”
“I remember that you agreed to it,” comes the hard reply.
“Because my niece was about to be shot by her father.”
“Okay, let’s get into that.” He pauses to smirk at me. “You’re full of shite.”
I say hotly, “He would’ve shot her! And Juan Pablo, too!”
“Mmhmm. And there was no way you could’ve wrestled the gun from his hand or distracted him long enough to shoot him yourself, right? Because you’re so meek and incapable.”