I sucked in a breath and stared at him, trying to make sense of this all. That was the strangest speech I’d ever heard, and I wasn’t sure if his description of himself was at all endearing. He sounded like a monster, to be totally frank, and I was terrified of what it meant to be with him, if I was sacrificing myself for money, and if I’d ever get myself back again afterward.
“What are you getting out of this?” I whispered.
“A politically expedient wife,” he said. “Sorry, I know that isn’t romantic, but it’s the truth. I’ll take care of you, Mags. I’ll make you feel good when you’re down, and I’ll fuck you whenever you want. I’ll pay you, and maybe we build a real relationship, or maybe we don’t, but either way, we both walk away from this with something we need. So come on, let’s do this together. You get rich and I hold my family together.”
I wanted to laugh. His offer was so absurd, and he kept talking about fucking like it was no big deal, but the heat between my legs suggested it was a big deal, an absolutely huge deal. He was gorgeous and rich and powerful, but he didn’t treat me like a piece of trash.
I was used to men like him talking to me like I was a big dog or a fur coat. My father was better, but even he saw me as a burden.
Dean looked at me like a woman.
“I don’t want my uncle to get any of my money,” I said. “He’s going to try.”
Dean nodded slightly and opened a drawer. He took out a stack of paper. The top page was covered in small, dense type, and I couldn’t make out what it said. “I have a contract drawn up,” he said. “A prenup. I can make sure it says in here that Roy gets nothing, not a cent, no matter what.”
“Same with my dad,” I said. “Nothing for him.” I felt a stab of guilt for saying it, but he didn’t deserve my money.
“Okay,” Dean said. “I’ll add that in.” He turned the paper toward me. “You want to read this?”
I hesitated, staring into his blue eyes, not moving. He really was handsome—rugged, actually, cut in a hard way, but still pretty. I didn’t know if I could trust him.
I didn’t know if it mattered.
I had nothing to go back to. I could keep working in that strip club making minimum wage plus shitty tips. Maybe one day I’d earn enough to move out of my dad’s depressing house. Or maybe my dad would end up dead, killed in a mob war, or the drinking might finally catch up with him. My life was a dead end already, and there was nothing to lose.
So I walked forward, snatched a pen from a jumble of them in a Phillies mug, flipped to the end of the contract, and signed it.
Dean laughed softly. “You have to initial each page and—oh, never mind, we’ll hammer that out later.”
I dropped the pen and blinked away my tears.
I just sold myself to a mafia Don. And now I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. I walked over to the drink tray and poured vodka in a tumbler. I threw it back and savored the horrible, throat-clenching burn.
“You want a minute?” he asked, standing.
“Please,” I said, not looking back at him.
At my future husband.
He left the room. I stood alone in a strange office surrounded by strange things, and realized that my life would never be the same, that I might never walk away from this deal—and if I did, I’d walk away an entirely new person.
I should’ve mourned. But a strange pulse of excitement bubbled up from my stomach and I smiled to myself as I took another drink, and wiped away more tears.
3
Dean
The room was dark and smoky. Hector puffed on a cigar stub and the smoke wafted up toward the ceiling. He was the family’s consigliere, our main lawyer, and a fixer for City Hall.
He was one of the men most loyal to my father. He joined the family back when he was a young man, and he came up through the ranks until he stood toward the top of the family, though apart from everyone. He wasn’t a grunt, a soldier, or a Capo—he did political and legal work only. My father kept him out of the line of fire and Hector always appreciated that.
I planned on doing the same thing, so long as he gave me his support.
Bea sat in the back corner of the room of a red velvet chair. Her hands were folded primly in her lap and she smiled at me then at Hector, and looked the part of the doting housekeeper—but I knew her much better than that.
“Can we trust Roy?” I asked, glancing from Hector to Bea.
Hector answered first. “I think so,” he said. “So long as he gets what he wants.”
“I’ve never known Roy to break his promises,” Bea said. “Your father put a great deal of faith in that man.”
“My father had a particular relationship with him,” I said, drumming my fingers on the desk. “I won’t ever have that.”
“The girl will help,” Hector said.
Bea’s smile turned sour. She didn’t approve of the marriage plan, that much was obvious, but she hadn’t said so yet.
Speaking outright wasn’t Bea’s style. She’d been around my father for many years, since before I was born. The rumors about her were mostly true, though she wasn’t some puppet master making my father dance. She was a trusted advisor, whip-smart and sometimes cruel when needed, but always steadfastly loyal. I knew she’d have my back no matter what.
“Mags doesn’t want to be here,” I said. “I offered her money, but I’m not sure it’s enough to keep her around.”
“There are other ways to buy Roy’s loyalty,” Bea said, which was about as direct as
