Over the next week, what seems like a hundred men in suits come and go from the penthouse, paying their respects to their new king.
There are serious handshakes. Formal double cheek kisses. Quiet conversations in the library with whiskey and cigars.
And always, on arrival and departure, a bow and a kiss to Kage’s signet ring.
He introduces me to some of the men. When others arrive, he quickly ushers me out of the room. I know the intention isn’t to keep more secrets, but to protect me.
No cast in any mafia movie I’ve ever seen comes close to the reality of the darkness and danger those men wear like a second set of clothing. It’s palpable. A scary vibration in the air. An unmistakable energy of violence hovers over them, emanating from their narrowed, watchful eyes.
If Sloane were here, she’d be in hog heaven.
I do my best to be poised and polite, though I don’t know what’s expected of me. I don’t know how I fit into this world, or if I do at all. The only certainty is that Kage always wants me within arms’ reach.
If I’m across the room, he’ll come and stand beside me. If he’s talking with someone and I’m not near, he’ll beckon with his finger. His gaze is always on me, too, following me with a focus and heat I feel as a tingle of awareness under my skin.
I told him I love him, but I’m not sure love is a complex enough word.
There’s a weight to this thing I feel for him. A darkness. A violent edge, like what I see in the dangerous men’s eyes.
It frightens me, because I know his life, by its very nature, is unsafe. I thought I’d never recover when David disappeared, but in the end, I survived. I even thrived without him.
If anything happens to Kage, I doubt I’ll be so resilient. There’s a hairline fracture inside me that he’s holding together. If I ever lose him, I’ll break.
So I can’t lose him. It’s as simple as that.
“Here you are.”
When Kage presses a soft kiss to the back of my neck, I jump in surprise. I’d been lost in thought, staring out the living room window to the expansive view of Central Park. The sun is setting. The shadows grow long over the ponds, jogging paths, and trees.
“I wanted to give you a minute with Stavros. The poor guy looked like he was about to crap his pants. I didn’t want to make it worse for him by standing there as he had a meltdown.”
Kage smirks. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me close. “It’s a good thing you weren’t there, too. You would’ve gone ballistic.”
“Why?”
“He asked permission to kidnap Sloane.”
“What?”
“He’s not over her. Wants her back. Thinks the best way to do it is to force her into close proximity.”
When I stare at him in horror, he adds, “I said no, baby.”
“I’m not worried about Sloane. I’m worried about what would happen to poor Stavros if he dared to kidnap her. She’d castrate him with a rusty butter knife and choke him to death with the stub of his own dick.”
He chuckles. “Yes. That one’s trouble.” His eyes grow warm and his voice drops. “Not like my good girl.”
I quirk my lips and elbow him in the ribs. “Don’t be so sure I’m good. There’s a reason we’re best friends, gangster. We’re twin souls.”
He grasps my jaw and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “Your twin soul is the reason we’re at war now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The gunfight started that night at La Cantina because one of the Irishmen who was killed slapped her ass when she passed by as they were being seated. She stopped Stavros from shooting him then, but when you and I got up and left the table, the Irish came over and started talking shit. Asking her what she was doing with a bunch of Russian pussies. You can imagine how it went from there.”
“Oh my god.”
“Exactly. Then, at the annual Christmas Eve meeting of all the families, the Irish were pissed and wanted compensation for breaking the truce and for the loss of their men. I refused, of course. You slap a woman’s ass and call her man a pussy, you’re asking to be shot. The Irish didn’t like my answer. That time, they were the ones who started shooting. It all went to hell from there.”
“Wow.” I pause, thinking. “When I tell Sloane she’s the reason the entire American mafia is at war, she’ll be over the moon with happiness. I can hear the Helen of Troy comparisons already.”
“You can tell her when she gets here tonight.”
Surprised and excited, I say, “She’s coming here?”
He nods. “With Mojo. I sent the jet for her.”
I laugh. “Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t return it. And thank you. That means a lot.”
“I thought you could use the company. It’s not exactly normal around here right now.”
His smile is warm and soft. In a perfectly-cut black Brioni suit, his white dress shirt open at the collar exposing the strong column of his throat, he’s never looked so handsome or virile.
When my ovaries twinge, I look away, swallowing.
His tone sharpens. “What is it?”
I close my eyes and exhale. Life is going to be tough, living with a mind reader. “I was thinking.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I can’t look at you when I say this, so please don’t ask me to.”
His arm tightens around me and his gaze burns my profile, but he remains silent, waiting.
Losing my nerve, I shake my head. “Never mind. This is a bad time.”
Kage’s laugh is short. “Nice try. Talk to me.”
I’m so nervous to bring this up, but I know I need to tell him the truth or I’ll never hear the end of it. I pause for a moment, gathering my courage, then spit it out.
“Here’s the thing. I…I never really thought about being a mom. I mean, I just sort of assumed I’d have kids one day, but I never planned to. It wasn’t a goal or anything. But now that I know I won’t be having any…”
After a moment, he says gruffly, “What?”
I shift my weight to my other foot and wet my lips, wishing my heart wouldn’t beat so hard. It makes it difficult to keep my voice even. “I’m thinking I’d like the choice.”
He turns me to face him, pulling me close and grasping my jaw so I can’t look away. In a low, intense voice, he says, “Are you telling me you want to have my children?”
I whisper, “I know you said you didn’t want to bring kids into this life—”
“Are you telling me you want to have my children?”
“—and you already had the vasectomy—”
“Answer the damn question.”
“—but I think you can get those reversed—”
He growls, “If you don’t say yes or no right now, I’ll take you over my knee.”
I glance over at Stavros on the other side of the vast living room, talking in low tones with two other men and shooting us the occasional worried look.
“There are people here.”
“Do you think that would stop me?”
“No. So here’s something that will: red.”
He grinds his jaw, his dark eyes blazing. He looks like the top of his head is about to explode like a volcano. He says my name, enunciating every syllable.
I blow out a breath and blurt, “I’m saying I want to know if you’d be open to it.”
His reply is instant. “If I say yes, will you marry me?”
My eyes widen. I stare up at him with my heart pounding against my breastbone and my hands shaking.
Then, my stomach in knots, I drop my gaze to his chest and shake my head.
“It can’t be a negotiation. It has to be something you really want to do. That both of us want to do. You don’t make kids a bargaining chip.”
After a silent, tense moment, he drops his hand from my face and releases me.
“Go into my office. Look in the top drawer.”
His expression is unreadable, and now I’m confused. “Now? We’re in the middle of kind of an important conversation here.”
“Do it now before I lose my patience and do something I’ll regret.”
Anger forming into a bitter little ball inside my stomach, I stare at him, standing there glaring at me in all his Alpha male glory. “You don’t have to be so bossy.”
“And you don’t have to be so stubborn. Go.”
He turns away and swaggers back to Stavros and the other two men, dragging a hand through his dark hair as he goes.
I want to go into the kitchen and get a vat of wine to guzzle, but I do as I’m told, muttering under my breath about bossy men.
When I get into his office, I head straight for the big oak desk. I pull open the middle drawer on top, but there’s nothing in there except a blank pad of lined paper, a roll of stamps, a few ballpoint pens, and an unmarked manila envelope.
I’m about to close the drawer when I pause and take another look at the envelope.
After David’s safety deposit box letter, every blank envelope looks suspicious. I’ll never be able to walk into an office supply store again without being traumatized.
Without taking the envelope out of the drawer, I gingerly lift the top flap and look at what’s inside.
It’s a glossy color brochure from the Mayo Clinic about vasectomy reversal.
Great minds think alike.
I set both hands flat on top of the desk, lean over and brace myself against it, and breathe deeply. After a moment, I start to softly laugh.
“What’s so funny, baby?”
Coming from behind me, Kage’s voice is warm, full of suppressed laughter. He runs his hand up my spine to my neck, which he starts to massage.
“Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many conversations exactly like this one are in my future.”
“You mean conversations where you owe me an apology for being so headstrong?”
“Headstrong? You’ve been reading your Regency romance novels again.”
He pulls me upright and gathers me into his arms, smiling down at my flushed, happy face. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him.
He teases, “I have. It’s where I got the idea of putting your ring into the pocket of my sweats. Those romance novel heroes always have such creative ideas.”
“I wouldn’t know. I only read non-fiction.”
“Ah. Well, maybe I should tell you to look into my pocket again.”
“Um, honey, I don’t think it would be the greatest idea to get busy right now, with all the guys outside and whatnot.”
He shakes his head, chuckling, then kisses me. “I don’t want you to grab my dick, love.”
“Since when?”
“Just put your hand into my pocket.”
I look at his beautifully fitted suit and frown.
He says softly, “Coat. Left side.”
My heart starting to flutter, I slide my hand into his coat pocket, searching until my fingers close around something small, round, and metal.
Unlike the last round metal object I retrieved from a pocket of his, this one has a substantial square chunk of something smooth and cool on one side.
His voice rough, Kage says, “If ten carats aren’t enough, I’ll return it for a bigger one.”
I close my eyes and drop my head to his chest, curling my hand around the ring.
My heart in my throat and my soul flying, I whisper, “Ten carats? So tiny. God, you’re a cheapskate, gangster.”
He hugs me, hard, kissing the top of my head, my earlobe, my neck. Into my ear he says softly, “Marry me.”
Of course it had to be a command, not a question.
My voice cracks when I answer. “Let me get a look at this tiny ring first. I’ll let you know in a minute.”
“It’s a flawless cushion-cut diamond on a platinum band. Harry Winston.”
I press my cheek against his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his pounding heart. “Ugh. Sounds hideous.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” When I don’t answer, he prompts impatiently, “Use your colors, stubborn girl.”
A tear slipping down my cheek, I whisper, “Green, honey. All the green in the universe.”
