He smiles warmly at her, causing the young woman to blush even as she steps back and hurries out of the room. His wife, a petite, icy blond with beautiful green eyes, sitting on the other side of him, pretends not to notice his blatant flirting. Andthisis what I have to look forward to as a Mafia wife? Yeah, no thank you. Dimitri would be foaming at the mouth and shitting himself by now fucking around with me.
“Other conditions?” Kareem echoes, frowning. “What are you referring to, Petrov?”
The pakhan arches a black eyebrow. “I’m sorry.” He reaches inside his suit jacket and removes a small silver case, opening itand sliding a thin, brown cigarette free. He can’t hide the gleam in his bright blue eyes as he looks from Kareem to a quiet Asad. The Russian is obviously a shit stirrer. “I had no idea you weren’t aware of the marriage contract Marcus had in place for whoever assumed head of House of Cross and all its… entities.”
Marriage contract?
I glance around the table. Most of the women either continue eating or sipping from the wineglasses while the heads of the families lean back in their chairs, studying Asad. Waiting, like the rest of us, for his answer. But from their obviouslackof reaction, they’re aware of this contract.
“Marriage contract?” Kareem demands, voice sharp. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
He’s not the only one.
A dull roar fills my head as I stare down the length of the table at Asad. Heat builds under my skin, pouring into my face, licking at the palms of my hands and under my arms.
“Why marriage? Why can’t I just sign a contract or something promising to stay employed with House of Cross?”
“Because I say so.”
He lied to me. The bastard fucking lied to me about why I had to marry him instead of another alternative. If I’m picking up even a little bit of what Dimitri Petrov is implying, then here’s the true reason why Asad needs to marry me. Not just the voting shares and ironclad ownership of HoC. It’s to keep it.
Son of a bitch.
I loose a low chuckle, and though there’s no way Asad could’ve possibly caught it, his gaze seems to sharpen on me. Not that I give a damn.
Not when these muthafuckas stay using me.
“Not now, Kareem,” Michelle hisses at her youngest son, and though his lean frame seems to damn near vibrate with the anger tightening his face, he sits back in his chair, shutting up.
Oh, so none of this comes as a shock to Michelle either. PoorKareem. It must hurt having the fact that you’re an outsider in your own family rubbed in your face.
“I apologize. Did I speak out of turn?” Dimitri asks, the wide smile on his face contradicting the remorse in his deep, rumbling voice. “I assumed that was the reason behind this impromptu dinner—to introduce us to your betrothed.”
Betrothed? I silently snort. What are we, in medieval England?
But then again, our world has more in common with that patriarchal society than a modern, progressive existence where women are recognized and valued as equals.
“It is one of the reasons,” Asad finally speaks, indolently reclining in his chair, eying the Russian crime boss.
Though I suspected the truth, hearing him confirm it shoves me back against my chair. Fucking bastard. Playing me like I’m some toy. No, worse. A pawn. Just a thing he can maneuver around on this chessboard only he and a select few know the rules to. But me? The person whose life will be directly affected, whose future hangs and turns on every one ofhis decisions, doesn’t matter. Not my voice, my dreams, my needs. They don’t matter.
I drop my hands to my lap, curling my nails into my thighs, embracing the flare of pain.
“Dimitri, I have respect for you as a businessman and an ally, but I don’t tolerate disrespect from anyone. Especially in my own house. We can start this relationship off with the same cordiality you shared with Marcus, or we can go another route. It don’t make one difference to me which one we do because I’m with the shits either way.”
Across the room, two members of Dimitri’s security detail move forward, scowls darkening their faces, but the Russian mob boss holds up his hand, even though his back is to them. They halt, but they don’t retreat to the wall or lose their frowns.
I might be the only one not holding my breath at theterrible tension arcing between Asad and Dimitri. The rest of the crime family heads remain seated, their bodies taut, gazes alert, watchful. Julian leans slightly forward, shifting his frame so it’s a barrier between the other guests and his wife. Michelle’s frozen, perched on the edge of her seat, and Kareem, although fury had just darkened his handsome features, unobtrusively lowers his hand, and reaches inside his jacket.
Eli, sitting next to Michelle, slides his hand behind him, as do the other members of the Cross family, no doubt reaching for their weapons in case someone in here jumps bad. The select members of the other mob bosses’ security teams allowed in the dining room step forward from their posts against the wall. They don’t reach for the guns that are probably on their persons, but one wrong move made, one wrong word spoken, and no doubt they will pull those weapons.
No wonder unease and anxiety fill this room like heavy storm clouds ready to burst and wreak havoc at any second.
Only Asad and I appear unaffected. Him, because, hell, he issued the threat, or choice, however you prefer to look at it. And me, because I sincerely hope all these muthafuckas off each other and save me the trouble. When or if the bullets start flying, I’m ducking beneath the table, pride be damned. Self-preservation will first and always be my concern. They can all go to hell, starting with mybetrothed’s ass.
Finally, after a handful of nerve-screaming moments, Dimitri nods.
“No disrespect meant. I apologize if it came across as such.”