I clenched my jaw, torn between fury at his careless words and a frustrating arousal at the confident, soft tone with which he said them. “There’ll come a time when you’ll need allies, and I can guarantee you my family will be there.”
“Some intangible promise for the future?” Vincent shook his head. “That’s not enough to risk my men and resources. What do I look like, one of the shopkeepers under your jurisdiction?”
He turned, his gaze stopping on something, and he paused.
I turned my head to follow his line of sight.
On the coffee table were files. It looked like about a few dozen, all spread out. It was the only bit of mess I could see in the apartment. If I tilted my head and squinted a little, I could make out the names on the files. I recognized them all—daughters, sisters, of mafia men. All women who’d been born into our dangerous world.
I felt a heated, intense gaze boring into me and I looked up to see Vincent staring at me. I shivered. His gaze felt like being caught in the trap of a predator, but I found I wasn’t scared. Quite the opposite.
“Go ahead,” he said, jutting his chin toward the coffee table. “Look at the files. I know you’re curious.”
Curious, and he clearly wanted me to see them, or else he wouldn’t have insisted. I slid off the stool and walked over. There was some kind of game being played here between him and I, and I knew that, but I wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. Not until I figured out what the game was.
I quickly picked up a handful of files and skimmed them.
The answer was obvious: Vincent was thirty-five, a capo, and still unwed. Never a good thing in his position. His father needed grandchildren to carry on the family. And nobody in the mafia liked or trusted an unmarried man in the upper levels of the organization. Made them too reckless, they’d say. That it was a sign he hadn’t yet grown up.
I continued to flip through the files. “Your father must be putting the pressure on you to settle down,” I said aloud.
“You could say that,” Vincent replied in a lazy drawl. “But we all have our pressures to deal with, don’t we Miss Preston?”
His rumbly voice sent a shiver down my spine and I tried to ignore it, but that arousal settled in my core despite my attempt. “Do these women know what they’re being considered for?”
“Should they?” Vincent countered a bit arrogantly.
I sorted the files into five neat, categorized piles, and unwisely interjected my own opinion on the matter. “You can’t ask any of them to marry you. None of them have what it takes to be a capo’s wife.”
He arched a dark, inquisitive brow at my audacious remark. “And why’s that?”
I felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall by his gaze, but I ignored the sensation and pushed onward. “Politically, they’re good choices. All mafia girls, all a part of families aligned with yours, none too below or too above your station. None too friendly that an alliance is useless. You’ll be strengthening political ties and maybe even making some new allies, whichever you pick.”
“But?” Vincent walked over and stood next to me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his body and my fingers trembled where they held the files.
I exhaled a deep breath and then pointed to the first pile I’d made. “These prospects are much too insipid for you. You’re a smart man, or so everyone says. I’ve paid attention to your political moves the last few years, and you’re not as callous as most of the brutes out there who use physical force to keep their women in line. Your father would never stand for it. So you marry any of these women…” I tapped the very top file on the first stack. “You’re going to be bored within a few months at the very least, and resentful of the situation at the most.”
I moved on to the second set of dossiers. “I know these girls. They’ll never be fully loyal to you and the Russo family name. You’ll just be a stepping-stone for their own aspirations. You want someone who’s ambitious but sees the two of you as a single unit to rise together, not a tool they can discard when they choose, or when you’re no longer useful to them.”
He studied me thoughtfully as I spoke, and I continued on.
“This pile?” I pointed and shook my head. “Not ambitious at all. They’ll tell you to play it safe and make you question your decisions. And this group, not interested in your type of man, which could lead to issues . . . in the bedroom. What you can’t get at home you’ll get somewhere else, and that’s a weak point. Enemy families, the feds, they can use a mistress to set you up. Nine times out of ten, that’s how a boss goes down.”
“And this pile?” Vincent asked, indicating the fifth and final group.
When had we begun to stand so close? He was only an inch away from me, smelling of warm sandalwood from his cologne. I found I didn’t mind the proximity, even as my breathing began to quicken.
“Undisciplined and self-centered,” I said, glancing up at his gorgeous face. “They’re more concerned with their social lives and frivolously spending your money. If nothing else, they won’t make good mothers, and that’ll be the least of your worries.”
Vincent’s dark gaze was locked onto mine. “If only there was a clever, analytical, loyal, ambitious, beautiful woman out there, who knew the mafia life, who I could marry.”
He arched an eyebrow at me to punctuate the point.
His insinuation had my heart racing wildly in my chest. “Y-your men didn’t put me on the list,” I said in a whisper. “There must be a good reason for that.”
“A regrettable oversight,” Vincent replied meaningfully, and there was suddenly a shrewd edge to his voice, and an equally sharp glint in his gaze. “My help doesn’t come for free, Marla. Nothing in this world does. You know that. You came here wanting something from me, and it’s also clear that you’re an ideal choice for what I need, as well. Think of it as a quid pro quo.”
I drew myself up in a panic, unable to believe I’d unwittingly put myself in his cross-hairs as a potential wife. “You couldn’t afford me,” I blurted out.
Even as I said the idiotic words to ward off Vince’s proposal, I feared I had little to no choice but to accept his offer. How else could I get the help I needed to avenge the death of my brother, and still maintain protection and safety for my family? Marrying Vincent Russo was equivalent of becoming untouchable, regardless of any retribution I took against whoever murdered Dmitri.
But it would cost me the future I’d dreamed of having outside of this world.
I’d never wanted this—marriage to a powerful mafia man. I spent years avoiding the possibility and looking for a way out of this life, but clearly fate had other plans for me—if I wanted to keep my promise to my brother, and make sure his senseless death didn’t go unpunished.
Vincent’s fingers gently brushed my hair back behind my shoulder, then traced down the shell of my ear to catch onto the Cartier earrings I wore. I couldn’t breathe. My knees trembled. He stared at the earrings with a critical gaze and hummed thoughtfully.
“I can more than afford you, Marla,” he said, a confident smile touching the corner of his sensual mouth. “Every…single…inch of you.”