Page 37 of The Viper's Wife

“A divorce. Nico, we could get married and then a few months down the line, get a divorce.”

“That’s not going to work. I need an heir and a wife, and you need a family that’s alive.” His hand comes up to my jaw, his thumb tracing over my cheek like he did when I had his cock in my mouth.

I’m sinking, mud sucking at my ankles. “No one wants tosee you and me together. My family is already exiled—no one would punish us further if you and I get a divorce. And I know the women in the Family. There are a few who would love to be your mistress and give you dozens of kids on the side while you and I pretend to be together. And after you divorce me and marry them, their families would be much better matches for you in the long-term.”

“You’re proposing I cheat?” He’s amused, before the lightness in his face fades to something darker. “Are you going to cheat too?”

“I’m proposing we have a fake relationship, only on paper, for a year. I get my and my family’s safety by playing along for now, and you get to have even more of a scandal than marrying an Aceto—a divorceandan affair. And, at the end, you still get a new wife and an heir, but with someone who wants to be by your side.”

His thumb scrubs over my lower lip. His fingers tighten at the nape of my neck. It’s so hard to think with his nearness—with the fresh lime scent of his body wash.

“What if I said no?”

Even his intoxicating scent and the warm press of his hard body doesn’t keep me from scowling. “Then I would fight you. I would be the worst wife imaginable, and I’d never give you a child.”

Nico’s gaze flicks to my mouth, impassive and intense. “What if I forced you?”

I summon all the hate I feel for him in this moment. “I would make the children hate you,” I say, barely managing not to let my voice crack. Even the idea of using my future children that way makes my heart squeeze horribly.

He meets my gaze for several long seconds. Hate and desire spin through my body, and then he presses up against me, his thigh between my legs, and I stifle a moan.

“How about a different sort of deal? I don’t see the point in going and hunting down a new fiancée when I already have one here. You’ll play the part to our friends and family for the next year, and if you can convince some poor woman to take your place and bring her into my bed, I’ll take her.”

I don’t let hope shift my expression.

“But you know what I think?” Nico leans in until his breath caresses my neck. “I think you’ll change your mind before then.”

8

NICO

A few days later,my red Ferrari is gone, replaced with a bird-shit-covered Prius. Giovanni leans against a nearby wall, smoking a cigar in his black leather glove.

Dammit. I’ll miss the Ferrari.

“You couldn’t have at least picked something red?” I ask, though I have to admit, the black really highlights the bird shit. Giovanni’s outdone himself.

“You can pick the color you want when you start making your own money.”

Making my own money, aka performing atrocities in the name of the Family.

“You know I’ve never told you this,” I say as I walk to the driver’s seat. “But black is one of my favorite colors.”

I slide into the driver’s seat and take more than a little satisfaction watching Giovanni wedge his oversized bulk into the passenger seat like a bear into a clown car.

Outside, the sky is an old wet rag, shedding snow in clumps that gathers beneath the shadows of passing buildings and melts into grey slush on the streets.

Exactly the sort of weather you’d hope for your fake engagement party.

“This is for you,” Giovanni says, placing a phone with a broken, taped-over screen into one of the sticky-looking cup holders.

“Any missed calls?”

“Your sister. She is unhappy to learn so late about your engagement.”

I’m not exactly chomping at the bit to tell Alessia how I picked up a wife just to fuck with Father, and how she begged me to choose someone else.

There’s no one else in all of the Cosa Nostra that would be a better choice than me. My father runs the Families in New York and my brother runs the Chicago mob. Any woman who married me would have everything she ever asked for. Any woman—except Valeria, apparently.