“You don’t know that,” I say. I know I should follow her, but I can’t move my feet.
“I do.” He jerks his head up then takes a deep breath. “So, what do I really have? I married someone who probably thinks of you when I’m kissing her, and now the people I trust the most in the world want me dead. What do I have, Roman? What? Because I’m at a loss right now.”
I have no words for him.
I truly don’t.
I don’t even know what to fucking say, so I walk toward him and sit. I sit on the bed, and I do something I’ve never done in my entire life—I grab a mob boss’s hand, and I hold it despite the fact that I want to break it only because he has what’s mine.
I hold his hand.
And he doesn’t kill me.
He doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t shove me off the bed.
He squeezes it back, and for some reason, I want to cry for him. I want to cry for the burden he has and the fact that the girl who just left the room can’t even be his.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says after a moment of silence. “It’s mine.”
“For what?” I ask. “For loving someone?”
“For loving the wrong one,” he answers, gazing up at me. “And for being born a Campisi where I have no choice but to take the throne and kill anyone who might try to take it from me.”
I drop his hand and shove him a bit. “So kill them.”
“And if I don’t want to?” His eyes lock on mine.
I lift my chin and take a deep breath. “Then I’ll do it fucking for you.”
“That,” he says slowly, “is the best answer you could have given me.”
“Don’t tempt me; I have lots of rage right now.”
His chuckle makes me relax a bit. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have much time left anyway. In a few days, she’s yours.”
I want to say don’t be so sure, but instead, I just nod.
And he accepts it.
Which makes me feel even worse as we go into business mode and start talking protection, the woman we both love, and life going forward.
Not how I thought this day was going to go.
Necessary.
But, oddly.
Sad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“If people reach perfection they vanish, you know.”—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
Del
I’m insulted but also embarrassed that Roman had to see that and that King made me feel that way, yet I’m also feeling something I can’t quite decipher. I mean, the jealousy, the need from King, I can’t even look into it because if I do, I will start to feel things.
God, so many things.
And I think I’m betraying Roman.
I tell myself it’s okay because I’m a wife now, I made a pact in blood, so obviously, it’s fine, but my treacherous brain says that even if I didn’t, would I still make the same choice, and it’s always yes, that’s the word I always come up with, even in my dreams.
Yes.
Yes.
God, yes.
King.
I’m the worst sort of person, aren’t I? Where I imagine a world with him in it when I should be in the one Roman and I created.
“Want a drink?” The bartender, with a cute smile, kind eyes, and wearing no nametag, asks. He’s in a black shirt and has a sleeve of tattoos down his right arm as he drops a napkin in front of me along with a little bowl of peanuts.
I shrug. “Tequila?”
“Shot? Drink? Glass? Gun?”
I do a double take. “Gun?”
His smile is warm, his skin a gorgeous tan that obviously shows he doesn’t live in the area. “Just kidding.”
“Ah,” I answer. “Maybe just a shot for now.”
“Shots are good; they make the tears go away.” He pours me something into a glass, and I realize that I didn’t even look at what brand the liquor was or what he was even pouring.
“So…” I touch the shot glass. “What makes you think I need the tears to go away?”
He’s silent. “Take your shot first, and I’ll tell you.” His smirk is completely harmless. He’s washing dishes in front of me while simultaneously taking orders from people next to me.
I take my shot and tap the bar for another.
He gives one in seconds, and it makes me smile. He’s so easy. Why isn’t this? I love Roman. Right?
My heart beats, you also love King.
In such a different confusing way.
I’m a pawn, and now, what am I?
I tap the bar again with my finger, and my bartender freezes. “Let’s take it slower.”
“Huh?” I say.
His eyes flicker to the left, then the right, and suddenly things get a bit blurry as I sway on my barstool. My bartender is barely even there anymore, more or less like a smudge of a person.
I start to fall back and feel strong arms catch me.
“Son of a bitch!” The person yells. “How the hell did this happen? Who did this?” It sounds like King. Is it, though? Is it?
I get traded into different arms that feel familiar, and I recognize that they’re Roman’s; at least that’s what they feel like and smell like, his arms.
Why do I want to be somewhere else?
More yelling on King’s part.
And then everything goes dark.
I wake up in a gasp next to King on the bed and Roman on the floor. Both of them are out, and Tiffany, bless her soul, is up and standing at the door looking at her phone and smirking.
“You’re up.” She doesn’t look away from her phone. “Try to go back to sleep; I’ve got this.”
I open my mouth to tell her to rest when she raises her hand for me to stop. “Girl, I have at least ten more minutes of this game left where I’m going to kick ass, don’t piss me off by distracting me. Sleep and enjoy the time between two super-hot guys.”
I look down at Roman then over at King. “It feels weird.”
“Lucky, wish I felt that weird,” she jokes. “Sleep.”
I lie back down and try not to think about what happened or how it did, along with realizing that yeah, I’m sleeping with King by my side and Roman by my feet.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes as King’s arm comes around and pulls me close. I feel safe then, so safe, my eyes flutter closed just as they lock on Roman sleeping on the floor, his filled with concern and jealousy before closing again in sleep.
I don’t move, maybe even all night.
Someone tried to hurt me.
But right now, I know I’m safe.
At least for now.
I let myself succumb and wake up hours later with King pressed up against my ass so hard and ready that I want to warn the room. Everyone’s gone though, it’s just us, me and him, and his super hard dick, and I want to tear the world down. I want to feel him against me, inside me.
I look around again, feeling guilty, then slowly reach behind myself and grab his length.
He groans and pumps into my hand—and I let him. I take control and guide him right where I want him between my legs, inside me right away.
With a curse, he thrusts into me, his arms wrapping around my body, holding me so close I can barely breathe. We start to move in sync. I need this, I need him, I need this.