His Greatest Loss: The Mafia Bride Who Never Looked Back

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outh seized, like a jammed cog in a watch piece. I did not paus

n us and his hand closed around my wrist. His large, calloused fingers were a manacle on

ing out like cords of rope, and warned me not

oil. His voice dropped, losing its hard edge, as he claimed the Maid of

. The sight of his hand on my wrist-so forceful, so p

ore my arm from his grasp, shaking

e corner and, in a voice devoid of inflection, dem

kin had scalded him. His face turn

using his massive height

e escorted my best friend to a fitting. His voice was a low,

ophic fallout with the Don if

he tense air. The bank notification lit up the scr

y face, my spine straig

ow it ends on t

boutique, the sharp report of my hee

tal, her syllables drawn out, as if

rage, harshly snapping at Serena that she

lence of the luxury apartment, with its great panes of glass framing t

ead, I pulled out a stack of card

rted packing his tailored suits, pulling them

acked his weapons, the chill of the steel

from my eyes. The small, insidious details, once invisible,

ll subtly replaced with shades tha

s on this home-the cushions on the sofa, the art on the walls, the photogra

sound of heavy footfalls echoed

ed at the moving boxes stacked by the f

t his temple. He demanded to know what I

lacid surface over a roiling depth.

ed him to move into the newly purchased bridal estate, a s

upied by Serena. He claimed she was hiding there from a

a dress shop as an excuse to kick my own

here. I had begged Silas to let her st

ed Serena she needed to leave soon,

ure of his lies laid bare before m

had to move in. I never

closely, waiting fo

a long, drawn-out moment, t

ment lit up his dark eyes, and in that f

I knew exactly how