I’m in the gallery, taking inventory with Bonnie, and Luca is sitting in the corner. Bonnie hasn’t questioned why Luca is in the gallery with me. Nor did she when Vinny would come in with me either.
People know who the Mafia men in this city are. They know to respect them. They also like them in their businesses. It’s almost like a sense of protection.
Bonnie is a sixty-year-old woman whose husband passed away last year after a heart attack. She spends almost every waking minute either at the gallery or with her grandkids. The more people—customer or not—in the gallery, the fuller her heart is. She’s a people person, and her number one person is gone. That’s why I try to pick up as many hours as I can. She enjoys the company.
Everyone’s attention slips to the door when it chimes, and I frown when Cristian walks in. All conversation ceases. It’s what the man does—stops people in their tracks. He walks in with such arrogance that you’d think he owns the place. His broad shoulders are pulled back, his neatly trimmed, stubbled chin held high, and his eyes roam the room as if taking it all in.
The gallery is an open floor plan, so unless you go into the back room or office, you see almost every inch of space. The walls are white so as not to distract away from the artwork hung along them, and the floors a light walnut.
I stare at him in awe, in appreciation, as if he were the most expensive work here. His suit, the same one from this morning that I didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate since so much was happening, is precisely tailored to his body. Black sunglasses conceal those cold eyes of his. I frown deeper when I see Rocky following him, the permanent scowl he always wears plastered on his face.
Luca jumps to his feet as if he’ll be fired for not doing his job and quickly slides his phone into his pants while walking in Cristian’s direction. I trail him, my pace faster, so I reach Cristian before him.
The smell of his cologne envelops me as I grab the cuff of his white sleeve, lift on my heels, and whisper-hiss, “What are you doing here?”
My head is spinning.
He shouldn’t be here for so many reasons.
Cristian peers down at me, his face blank, and removes my fingers off him, one by one, as if I were a pest. “Can’t a man visit his future wife at work?”
His question isn’t a whisper like mine.
Cristian practically shouts his words, as if making an announcement for the entire building to hear that we will have impending nuptials.
Bonnie gasps behind me, and I can imagine the shock on her face. “Wife?”
I tug on Cristian’s sleeve again. “This was supposed to be more of a transactional situation.”
That makes me sound a little too Pretty Woman, but whatever.
“Was sucking my cock part of this transactional situation?” Cristian smirks, self-satisfaction laced with every word of his response.
And that makes it more Pretty Woman.
Luca chuckles. Bonnie drops her clipboard.
He can’t say I sucked his cock in my workplace.
We’ll have a little chat about that, or next time he’s in a business meeting with his murderous colleagues, I’ll tell them he ate my ass.
An eye for an eye, Monster.
I don’t reply, deciding against provoking him further in fear of what he’ll say next.
Cristian smirks at my lack of argument, knowing he’s won this round, but he doesn’t detach my hand from him this time. “We’re going to lunch.”
My stomach growls at the thought of food, but a twinge of nausea weaves through any desire to eat. The last time I stepped into a car with this man, he planned to hand me over to the Lombardis, like keys to a used car.
Hard pass on enduring that trauma again.
Cristian won’t receive any brownie points for changing his mind last night. It wasn’t done from the kindness of his heart.
I drop his sleeve and perform a dramatic turn, motioning toward the gallery. “I’m working.”
Cristian plays with his fingers, as if bored. “And I don’t give a fuck. You have to eat.”
I gulp, searching for an excuse to escape another death scare. “We have customers—”
Cristian’s eyes scan the room. “I don’t see any customers.”
Bonnie frowns.
I cross my arms. “The gallery is busiest at lunch.”
Cristian strides deeper into the gallery, passing me, and all eyes are on him.
“How much is this?” he asks, pointing at a canvas on the wall without even bothering to look at what this is.
“Five hundred—” Bonnie starts to answer, but I interrupt.
“One thousand dollars.”
Bonnie grins.
“I’ll take it.” Cristian points at another piece. “And this one?”
“That’s our most expensive piece—” I answer, but Cristian interrupts me how I had Bonnie.
“I’ll take that one too.”
“It’s three thousand dollars,” Bonnie stutters.
“I don’t care how much it is.” Cristian rubs his hands, ignoring Bonnie, and levels his gaze on me. “There. Now, you have enough sales for the day. Let’s go.”
I stare at him, speechless, and bite into my cheek.
That’s the largest sale I’ve ever had in the gallery. The three-thousand-dollar piece has been taking up room for six months now, and we weren’t sure if it’d ever sell. Sadly, it won’t go to someone who truly appreciates it, though. Cristian doesn’t give one fuck about what the art is. He’s buying me to leave with him.
How will I get out of this one?
Cristian snaps his fingers at Bonnie. “I’m assuming you work here?”
Bonnie’s blue eyes widen as she nods while her hands straighten her short blond hair. “I own the gallery.”
“Can she take a lunch now?” he asks. “I think with those sales, she deserves a nice, long lunch.”
“Of course,” Bonnie says. “Take all the time you want.”
Cristian won, of course.
He paid for the paintings in cash, so I’m sitting in the Escalade’s back seat next to him. Like last time, Rocky is driving instead of Francis.
Not a good sign, my people. Not a good sign.
Rocky would happily cart me to another back alley.
I peek a glance at Cristian. It’s a shame such a beautiful man has such a bitter heart. No humanity resides in those ice-cold veins of his. His blood is diluted with venom and deprivation. He’s proven countless times that he’s not a man to turn your back on.
Yet knowing all these things about him, my dumbass is marrying him. My pulse races when he’s near—out of fear and desire. As he stroked himself last night, I watched him with need and desperation. Then, I experienced the best orgasm of my life when his face was buried between my legs.
Hell, am I just as depraved?
“My father said you visited him this morning,” I say.
Cristian stops typing on his phone. “I did.”
I gesture back and forth between the two of us. “He isn’t happy about this.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He returns to typing.
“He also said you basically forced him to allow me to have a friendship with Gigi.”
I’m not angry with him for forcing the friendship. I love my relationship with Gigi, and no harm was done to my father. It’s the frustration of Cristian bullying and threatening those to do what he wants.