The Monster: A Mafia Romance (Boston Belles Book 3)

Sam and I spent the next two months playing this chess game.

Whenever he’d make a move too bold, I’d retreat.

I made him work for it. Work for it like he hadn’t in an entire decade. There was something to be said about unrequited love. It taught you resilience and bravery and strength. Now, the tables had turned, and I wanted him to show me I wasn’t the flavor of the month. That I was worthy of his attention, his affection, his everything. I couldn’t allow him to take what I had offered for free for ten years.

I had to put a price tag on my absolute devotion.

And that price tag was love.

I wanted to feel loved.

As with everything he did, Sam brought his A-game to the table.

He would corner me in places, follow me, steal dirty kisses when no one was watching. Maybe another girl would have been alarmed by it, but I relished his attention. His new desperation for my touch.

He waited for me outside a Thai restaurant when I went out with Persy, Sailor, and Belle, snatching me into a dark alley and kissing me roughly, his hands between my legs pushing my skirt up.

Three days later, he ambushed me outside the clinic, dragged me into his car, and fucked me raw in the backseat, giving me a small heart attack and a raging orgasm.

Four days after, I visited his apartment to grab a dress I wanted to wear for a charity event. Most of my clothes were still at his place, and even though he’d left me the code for his apartment lock, he refused to let me take my things back to Avebury Court Manor.

One day, I caught him sitting on a stool by his kitchen island, catching up on some work on his laptop. When I trudged in and yanked my desired Armani dress from the closet, he raised his eyes from the laptop coldly. I expected him to stop me and have his way with me before I made my way out of the apartment, but all he did was salute me with a touch of his fingers to his forehead, bidding me goodbye.

I stopped by the door, confused.

“Aren’t you going to try to sleep with me?”

The subtext was obvious: I am going to sleep with you, but I’m not going to move in with you. I will not commit to you. I will not give you more than I am ready to give.

Sam kept his eyes on the screen.

“Do you want me to try to sleep with you?”

“No.” Yes.

He smirked, his eyes still on the screen. “Seems like we don’t have a problem, then.”

“That’s a change I didn’t see coming.”

For some reason, my feet were glued to his floor. I couldn’t leave without figuring out what had changed.

Had he finally given up on us? Maybe he decided I was simply not worth the effort. I wanted to punch my own face for putting him through so much. But then again, I didn’t regret any of it. He deserved to repent for what he’d done to my family, and I wasn’t sure he was done paying.

“Maybe I decided to save myself for marriage,” he murmured, taking a sip from the glass of brandy sitting next to him.

Staring at him dumbly, I shifted the dress on the hanger from one shoulder to the other.

“Usually you do that before sleeping with enough people to break a Guinness World Record,” I pointed out.

He finally lifted his eyes from the screen.

“Well, I’m an unorthodox guy. Better late than never.”

“I guess this is where our journey ends, then.” I put on a brave face, forcing myself to smile. Internally, I was shouting, “Merde, merde, merde” to the moon.

He was dumping me. I knew I was making things hard for him, but Sam never showed any signs of looking tired or distressed. If anything, he took our new game in a stride and always had that dangerous, mischievous glint in his eyes of a man entertained by having to work for it for a change.

“Guess so.” He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never wavering from mine. “Unless we get married.”

I threw my head back and laughed hysterically.

Get married. Us. Good one.

“Never gonna happen,” I provided.

“Unlikely,” he agreed. “You can still suck my cock every now and again, but sex is off the table.”

“That’s something I can live with,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “And thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”

He’d nodded.

“Have a great night at the Fishers’ charity ball.”

“How do you know that’s where I’m going?”

“I know everything about you, Nix, including where you take your lunches at work—the little backyard on a white bench—and what you eat—hope you enjoyed your oatmeal bar today.”

I didn’t dance with anyone at the charity ball.

I was nailed to my seat, punished, thinking about one thing—marriage.

After that night, Sam did seek me out again and we never went all the way anymore. Never clawed at each other’s clothes or had wild sex.

He showed up in places I went to but only enjoyed heavy petting and kissing. Every time I tried to stir him into full-blown sex territory, he would clap his hand over my wrist and say, “You can’t sample the goods anymore, Nix. You break it, you pay for it. Move in with me.”

“No.”

It went on and on and on, week in and week out, to a point where I wasn’t sure if I was not done hating him for what he’d done or if I was just enjoying the chase too much. It was entirely possible I lost myself somewhere in our game, and I didn’t know how to find my way back to what we were.

The truth was, I did want to move in with him.

I wanted to move in with him very badly.

Not because taking care of Mother was daunting—on the contrary, she had actually been quite okay, everything considered—but because I missed him terribly every time we were apart.

I was just afraid he was going to break my heart again, and this time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to mend it back to health.

Right now, we were in the twilight zone. On the edge of something deep but still with the possibility of swimming back ashore. I was afraid if I lost that edge, my resistance as a result of being pushed around by him, he would conquer what little I’d kept for myself, and it would be game over for me.

I think Sam knew it, too. That we were stuck in limbo, and we didn’t know how to stop. Even our families, who little by little began to see each other again for dinners, looked at us with puzzled bewilderment every time Sam treated me gently in public and I gave him the cold shoulder.

One day, when he came to my house to drop off some paperwork for Athair and stayed for coffee, he grabbed my hand from across the table and frowned.

“I don’t mind waiting, Nix. I just want you to know I appreciate you not coming to Badlands and defying me.”

“Defy you?” I yanked my hand away from him like he was made of fire, taking a slow sip of my too hot coffee. “How do you mean?”

“I asked you not to come to Badlands, and you agreed, even though I lifted the ban. I’m glad you still take directions well. You are an obedient girl deep down, aren’t you, sweetheart? You’ll be easy to manage.”

My blood bubbled with rage. So much so I didn’t take a second to decode his words or figure out if he was goading me, deliberately moving another piece in our chess game.

“I’m not easy to manage.” I stood up abruptly, yanking my coffee from the table. “And the only reason I haven’t showed up at Badlands yet was because of my workload. In fact, I think I’ll hit your club this weekend, just to get on your nerves.” I smiled, feeling much better about provoking him back.

Oui, mon cheri. Always showing the maturity level of a wet tissue.

“Can’t fucking wait,” Sam drawled, getting up from his seat.

Just then, my father came into the kitchen, holding his ledgers under his armpit, looking between us.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” Sam grinned at me. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Staying true to my word, I showed up at Badlands the following weekend.

As always, I invited Belle to join me. I didn’t tell my friends about Sam yet, but this time it had nothing to do with my fear of being judged by them. Things were still complicated between him and me, to say the least, and my brothers weren’t privy to what was going on.

I knew Sailor and Persy were going to confide in my brothers no matter what, and I didn’t want to complicate things for all of us for something that might not materialize.

Belle looked to be in good spirits and ready to tackle the night in a skintight red leather mini-dress and matching lipstick. As soon as we got into the club—this time I did show my ID to the bouncers—she headed to the dance floor.

I was still shocked by the fact they let me in.

The balance of power had shifted, and true, I didn’t have most of it, but I didn’t have any less power than Sam did in our relationship either.

He said I didn’t come here out of obedience, and I wanted to show him it wasn’t true. At the same time, texting him I was here was too blatant, too transparent, and I knew that if Sam was here on the premises chances were he wasn’t going to come to the dance floor.

I wanted to press where it hurt. To show Sam I wasn’t his little plaything. And so after seeing Belle was content on the dance floor, I marched toward the narrow hallway through which Sam had led me all those months ago, on Halloween, when I desperately got on my knees for him, taking the scraps he threw my way while masquerading as a stranger.

Two burly bouncers stood at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed, blocking my way.

“Let me in.” I tilted my chin up.

They looked at me in amusement but didn’t move. As if the mere idea was ridiculous.

Women weren’t allowed in the card rooms. Cillian once told me the official reason for that was because gambling and whores went together, and Sam didn’t want respectable ladies getting harassed if his gamblers got the wrong idea.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.” I waved my hand in front of their faces.

“No women allowed,” one of them spat on the floor.

“I’m not just any woman.”

His eyes raked over my body, head to toe, halting when he reached my breasts. “Seems to me like you are.”

I took out my phone, gliding my finger on the screen until I got to Sam’s contact information, showing them his phone number. “How about I call Brennan and clear it with him? I’m sure he’ll have something to say about you not letting his girlfriend in.”

“Brennan doesn’t have a girlfriend,” one said.

“He doesn’t?” I snorted, my confidence wavering a little. “Didn’t know he spent a lot of time talking to his bouncers about his love life. My name is Aisling Fitzpatrick. Check with him if you want.”

The one who seemed hell-bent on not letting me in fished his phone out of his front pocket reluctantly, punching in Sam’s number while glaring at me. My heart was in my throat. This was the make or break moment. Sam would know I was here. The bouncer said my name. Asked if I could come in. There was a pause on the other line. The air was still despite the hustle and bustle of people, drinks, music, and the lights around us. After a second, he hung up and bowed his head, stepping sideways. His colleague widened his eyes.

“I’ll be damned. I thought pigs would fly sooner.”

“Keep the dream alive.” I patted his shoulder, shouldering past them.

I entered the hallway and picked the busiest, loudest, rowdiest card room. This time, I observed my surroundings more carefully than I did the night I came to fetch Cillian and Hunter. I had to look behind my shoulder for the bouncers and was too filled with white-hot rage to pay attention to anything back then.

Round, deep oak tables with green centers sat across the room with men in expensive suits huddled around them, smoking fine cigars and drinking brandy. They all looked like variations of the men in my family—privileged, corrupt, and desperate for cheap entertainment. There were also waitresses wearing tiny, black baby dolls, leaning down and tending to the clientele.

Scanning the room, I looked for the blackjack table. I knew how to play Texas hold ’em and seven-card stud, but my real specialty had always been blackjack. It was the first card game Cillian had taught me, and he made it a point to practice with me during Christmas Eves, after everyone had retired back to their rooms.

We kept that tradition alive for decades, this year included.

I found the table I was looking for and waited. I knew gambling in Sam’s establishment was going to make him explode with anger. My heart pinched a little when I realized he most likely was not around, but I forced myself to find the silver lining. The mere idea of me being here without him was going to bring him closer to asking me to move in with him again.

When the game drew to a close, I wedged myself in the middle of the semicircle of Prada-clad men, beaming at the dealer.

“I’d love to play.”

“I would love to play you,” a middle-aged man beside me jested, making the entire circle of men laugh crudely. I refused to let my smile drop.

“Wait, isn’t this …?” One of them frowned at me. I kept my gaze carefully on the dealer. “Whoa, it is. Aisling Fitzpatrick. Isn’t it your bedtime? Does your daddy know you’re here?”

I was three years shy of turning thirty, so this definitely stung, but maybe I deserved it for putting my parents’ needs before mine for almost three decades and still living at their place.

I stared at the dealer, ignoring the idiot talking to me. The older employee cleared his throat, widening his bowtie with his finger.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid—”

“Don’t be afraid. Fear is never a good look. Let me play,” I demanded, clinging onto my false confidence.

I was becoming aware of a warm, tingly sensation that spread from the top of my head down my spine. I knew exactly what it meant, and who just entered the room, but he didn’t make himself known.

“I’m not sure it is up to me, ma’am. See, there are rules regarding—”

“Me. Yes. I know. Brennan rescinded all of them.” I rolled up the sleeves of my Balmain mini-dress. “Same goes to women gambling in the card rooms. I’m not just any woman. I’m the woman Sam Brennan is engaged with in a battle of the wills. The rules do not apply to me. You can call and ask him yourself. That’s how I made it here in the first place.”

“There’s no battle, sweetheart. I won before I laid a finger on you, but nice try,” a low voice mocked behind me. My head snapped toward the door. Sam stood there, wearing a pale gray suit with a burgundy Hermes pocket square poking out of his blazer. A gorgeous sin in Italian loafers. He looked ready for a date. Ready for me, his skin gold and warm, his eyes gray and cold.

He knew I was going to come here the minute he challenged me to do so, and I fell right into his trap.

I looked away, ignoring him and turning my attention back to the dealer. I remembered what he told me all those years ago.

“I wouldn’t bet with me.”

“Why?”

“I always win.”

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the warm excitement that came with seeing him, and my insides didn’t turn into baby food as they usually had. Something about him felt daring, quiet, and on edge tonight. Like the old Sam, the one who didn’t want me. I felt like he was on the brink of showing me very publicly how much I abused his patience. I shifted from one foot to the other on my high heels.

“She can play, under one condition.” Sam sauntered deeper into the room behind me, his voice drawing closer, and I was aware of the curious glances thrown my way.

I refused to turn around and give him the audience he demanded.

“Usually when a man gives you his word, it doesn’t come with stipulations,” I muttered, feeling the color rising in my cheeks.

“I’m not a man. I’m a monster.” He stopped beside me, not removing his gaze from my face for a second. “Look at me, Nix.”

I didn’t.

I looked anywhere but at him.

“I will let you play, if we play each other,” he finished.

“It’s blackjack. I won’t be playing against you. I’ll be playing against the dealer.” I turned around, facing him.

Men whistled and chuckled, enjoying their front-row seat to our exchange. They obviously weren’t used to seeing anyone stand up to Sam Brennan, let alone a dainty woman in a dress.

Sam smiled calmly. “We play high stakes here, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

“My Spidey senses tell me I’m good for it,” I deadpanned, making everyone in the room erupt into rowdy laughter. Did he really just try to financially intimidate me? I had more money than all the men in this room combined.

“A million dollars a hand. Five hands. Sound acceptable?” I asked, my voice prim and proper, offering him my hand for a shake.

The place exploded with hoots, laughter, and shrieks. The men were on fire. Everyone looked at Sam expectantly, knowing he was not a man to bow out of a challenge.

Sam glanced at my outstretched hand, hands still in his pockets, his posture lazy. He was in no hurry to answer.

He obviously savored this moment. Our first public exchange in the ten years since we’d known each other.

“You mean five million dollars a hand.” He smirked.

“Dang!”

“Oh my!”

“Bryan, you gotta come here.”

Our audience grew as more men yelled and gasped to each other, people trickling from nearby rooms, craning their necks as the thick circle of bodies around us grew bigger and tighter. I felt the ring of men around me, like it was squeezing my neck. Cigarettes were put down, drinks were left unattended, everyone waited to hear my reply.

“Famous last words.” I hitched one shoulder up, raising my untouched hand an inch, hysteria clogging up my throat. Just because I had this kind of money didn’t mean I wanted to see twenty-five million dollars flushed down the drain in half an hour.

I felt my armpits dampen and started second-guessing my coming here.

Why did I want to push him so much?

“And if I win…” he raised his palm up to stop me “…you marry me.”

The dealer looked between us, dropping the stack of cards in his hand in shock. The middle-aged man who propositioned me rubbed his hands together.

“This is gonna be a story to tell my grandchildren.”

I stared at Sam silently, stone-cold sober, searching for mockery in his eyes. I found none, but I still couldn’t believe my ears.

“It’s not funny.” My voice came out gravelly, crawling its way out my throat.

“I’m not laughing,” he countered softly, his eyes never leaving mine, delivering the final blow. “Oh. And no prenup.”

“Ohhhh!”

Men bent backward, slapping their foreheads dramatically. I was lucky I was propped against the table because every muscle in my body ceased to work.

I wondered if it was another stop in his destination to full domination over Boston, marrying into the richest family with no prenup. Was I just a pawn in his game? Another juicy deal waiting to be sealed?

“Sweetheart, Brennan’s a top-notch mathematician. Crazy good with numbers. Run, don’t walk,” one man hollered from the depths of the room.

Sam smirked, neither confirming nor denying it.

“I know your older brother, little Fitzy. Say yes and I’ll have no choice but to call him,” another young man shouted.

Smiling and refusing to withdraw my hand and cower like everyone expected me to, I said, “Wouldn’t you like that, Samuel Brennan? The son of a whore, born without a dime to his name, married to one of the richest women in the western world. You’ll be eligible to half my fortune.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “Which means you’ll think twice before leaving me.”

Our audience laughed and hooted loudly.

“I’m not giving you half my kingdom,” I enunciated, my voice clear and unwavering.

“I don’t give a fuck about your kingdom, sweetheart. Mine is bigger in all the ways that matter. Believe it or not, the number in your bank account is not as powerful as my hold on the East Coast.”

“I don’t believe you,” I lied.

“Take the stakes or leave this room, Miss Fitzpatrick, but do it now. I’m running a well-oiled operation here, and every moment people don’t spend their money on these tables costs me.”

“Marry you,” I mouthed the words rather than said them aloud, shock still gripping me. My father was going to kill me. Cillian and Hunter were going to burn whatever was left of me. Yet somehow I believed Sam’s motive wasn’t money. He had enough of it.

He wanted to trap me. And me? I wanted to be trapped.

“Fine,” I said shakily, my stomach turning a hundred times over.

Sam finally clasped my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he used our entwined fingers to jerk me toward him, pressing a very public, very possessive kiss on my mouth.

“We have a game. They’re going for it!” A young man in a sage green velvet suit jumped up from his seat. There was chaos in the room for the next few minutes, and I tried to gulp deep breaths and tell myself it didn’t matter. None of it did. I could dig my way out of this. Maybe.

The stakes for a game were never this high in the history of Badlands. Bookies rolled in from other rooms to take bets on the game, holding clipboards with spreadsheets, taking names and numbers and odds. I recognized Becker and Angus, the soldiers I had treated last year, shuffling about, whispering between them as they placed their bet against me.

There was a human traffic jam outside the door to the card room, and I could barely breathe when I heard the bouncers physically pushing people away.

We both took our places in front of the dealer, whose golden nametag said Daniel. I drummed my fingers against the green felt of the table. Sam stared at me. I refused to look back at him.

“Smart move. Your club’s about to become legendary after this.” I flicked my hair behind my shoulder.

“I never let a good scandal go to waste,” he replied wryly.

“Are you really that good at math?” my voice quivered.

“Better.”

Everyone settled, and Daniel started shuffling the cards, reciting the rules of the game loud and clear. He made a show of it. First with an overhand shuffle, a riffle shuffle, then a pile shuffle. By the time he was done, the cards were thoroughly mixed, even I couldn’t deny that.

Daniel put the neat stack of cards down, glancing between Sam and me.

Sam jerked his chin toward me, deciding now was a good time to become a gentleman.

I refused to remove my gaze from the cards, splitting them into two stacks.

Why was I so hysterical? Wasn’t it my longtime wish? To marry Sam Brennan?

Oui, mon cheri, but not like this. Not as a part of another elaborate game between you two.

I withdrew my hand and indicated for Daniel to choose from the right-hand stack. We were each dealt two cards. Daniel also dealt himself a hand. One exposed, one hidden.

The first round was a quick win for me, allowing me to breathe again. I spluttered around an exhale, wondering if it was Sam’s way of making me lower my guard. The second round went to Sam, after I doubled down and lost, making my rival flash a devious smirk. The third—to me. The fourth—to Sam.

The eerie feeling everything was premeditated took root in my stomach. Perhaps Sam had intentionally made this game a close call to make people more interested. Statistically, the neatness of our wins, and losses, seemed highly unlikely. He was engineering a narrative where anything could happen, and it made me even more nervous because that meant he knew he would win.

I never lose.

Sam played against casinos and won repeatedly. The chances of him losing twice, out of four times, were slim to nonexistent.

By the time we were dealt our fifth hands, I was a sweaty pile of mess. My hair was plastered to my temples, and everything in me shook. No matter the result, I was going to be devastated.

I didn’t want his money, but marrying him right now seemed as impossible as kissing the moon good night.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it fast and easy for you, Miss Fitzpatrick.” Sam shot me an impersonal smile as Daniel cut the cards. The whole room held its breath.

I got confused and didn’t stand with a pair of nines when Daniel’s up-card was a seven, even though Cillian had taught me to do so.

Sam split a pair of eights and aces.

Sam won.

Three to two.

Fair and square.

The whole room erupted in screams, arguments, and laughter as hands exchanged thick stacks of money. People huddled over the betting books. Others clapped Sam’s back and whistled, shaking his hand with a smug smile.

“The deal of your life, Brennan. Next stop, world domination.”

“Make sure you get your hands on those Royal Pipelines shares, man.”

“You delicate fucking genius.”

“Better take her for a test drive, eh?”

Nausea washed over me, and I gripped the edges of the table with force.

I lost.

Not only tonight but the last decade.

We were always playing a game, at least that was how it felt, and this was the pinnacle of a ten-year battle.

It didn’t matter that I wanted it. That I wished for it. That I longed for it.

Sam Brennan won me, but he didn’t earn me.

What kind of marriage would I have to a man who didn’t want to have children and hated women?

Sam ignored the congratulations, strolling the short distance to meet me, his face unreadable. Everyone stopped to see what happened next. I couldn’t blame them. I wanted to know, too. I didn’t move. Didn’t run away. The least I could do was handle the situation with dignity. A Fitzpatrick never bowed down.

Sam stopped a foot away from me.

“Well done. I knew you were a talented mathematician and blackjack player, but I still underestimated you.” I offered him my hand again, my voice quiet and resolute.

He narrowed his eyes at me, like we were enemies. Maybe we were. I never knew where we stood. He cupped my throat, angling my face up to look him in the eye. When he spoke, it was to the room, not to me, but his words were loud and clear, filling the air with poison.

“I want every single asshole who witnessed this game to go and tell their friends. And tell your friends to tell their friends. I want this to hit Cillian, Hunter, and Gerald’s ears tonight. I want this in the papers. Aisling Fitzpatrick is now mine. I won her, and she is going to be my wife. If anyone has a problem with that, he will have to go through me, and I sincerely don’t recommend it. It’s a terrible way to die.”

With that, he crashed his lips down on mine, sealing our deal with an animalistic kiss. People cheered in the background, but we paid no attention to them. I paid no attention to them, completely immersed in this thing between us, my heart soaring to the sky. Sam hoisted me up and carried me out of the card room, shouldering past dozens of men, heading straight to his office. My legs wrapped around his waist, my tongue dancing inside his mouth.

We reached the point of no return.

There were no more games to be played.

We were together.

“You will keep your word to me,” he growled into my mouth, kicking the door to his office open and slamming it shut behind us without touching the handle, his fingers digging into my behind.

“No,” I insisted breathlessly, peppering his neck with kisses. “Not until you tell me that it’s real. That I’m just not a conquest. That I mean something to you.”

“You don’t mean something to me,” he countered. “You mean everything to me. Jesus Christ, I need to get inside you before I fucking die.” He let me down, turned to his desk, and in one go wiped it clean of his laptop, ledgers, and paperwork.

He grabbed my waist roughly and turned me around to face the desk, bending me over as he hoisted my dress up, tugging my panties to the side.

“Belle is waiting for me outside,” I warned, panting hard, so wet my thighs were sticking together.

“Belle can go fuck herself. You’re mine now, and I’m celebrating our engagement in my favorite place—inside you.”

He thrust into me from behind, and the unexpectedness of it, the sheer surprise made a loud moan slip between my lips. He snaked one arm between my legs and started playing with my clit as he entered me mercilessly, picking up pace, driving me mad as he hit my G-spot again and again.

“Oh, Monster.”

“Mine.” He leaned down, brushing my hair from my ear, biting the lobe softly.

“Mine, mine, mine. Forever mine,” he chanted, moving his fingers from between my thighs, up to my breasts, kneading them. His fingers traveled north again, and he pushed them into my mouth, coated with my arousal, to stop me from moaning loudly.

“There, there, little Nix.” His breath tickled the back of my neck and my ear, sending goose bumps down my body, making me clench around him even more. “You will now have this dick on a daily basis. Starting tonight, you’ll be moving in with me. I’ll have no lip from you, Aisling. I won. You lost. Understood? Nod if you do.”

I nodded jerkily, my body quaking with an impending climax that threatened to tear through my bones. From this angle, he was so deep inside me, I felt impossibly full. I swear the man was rearranging my guts.

My fingers dug into the wood of the table, my teeth sinking into Sam’s fingers in my bid to stifle a groan. The orgasm racked through me like a tornado, ripping everything inside me in its wake. He must’ve sensed my orgasm because he, too, let go of the sliver of self-control he still possessed and began thrusting erratically, coming inside me in warm spurts, grabbing the base of my neck and pulling me to his mouth for a kiss full of tongue.

We stayed in this position for a few moments, him deep inside me, the last of his cum dripping into me. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of my head.

“Better than cigarettes,” he said dryly, his face turning cold and expressionless again, putting his mask back on now that we were done.

This time, I smiled, knowing it wasn’t personal.

“Aren’t you glad you quit?”

“No.” He pulled out slowly, massaging my butt in the process. “But I’m glad you took the bait and got lured back into Badlands. A few more weeks of being celibate and the cemeteries in Boston would be overcrowded. Now go say goodbye to your friend. You have exactly five minutes before we go back home and I fuck you all over again.” He squeezed my ass, pushing me toward the door playfully. “Make it quick and make it count, Nix.”

I was marrying a bastard.

But he was my bastard.

“I heard the news.” Belle waited for me by the bouncers, leaning on the balls of her feet, just outside the card rooms. They wouldn’t let her in. By the looks she sent them, I could tell no love was lost between her and the two burly men. “On a scale of one to Lindsay Lohan circa 2010, how drunk were you when you said yes to the bet?” she raged.

I threw myself between her arms, even though they weren’t technically open, squeezing her in a hug.

“Not drunk at all, Belle. It’s the real deal. I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure where it was going, but … we’re kind of together now.”

“Kind of? Ya think?” Belle gave me a sarcastic look, still in shock, pulling away from me while patting my shoulder to show me she wasn’t mad. “We all know where it’s going now, and let me tell you, people called your brothers, who then told their wives, who told your parents. Needless to say, no one’s happy you kept it such a secret. They’re suspecting you’ve been lovers all along. The entire ten years you’ve known each other.”

Let them think that, I thought.

In a way, it was true.

Sam and I were always lovers.

Even when we didn’t speak or touch each other at all.

That night, I went home with Sam. It was only when we entered his apartment that I realized that the place felt completely and irrevocably mine. Somewhere down the line, his place had become my home. It housed my clothes, my shoes, my toiletries, and the man I love.

Still in a daze, I walked around the living room, brushing my fingers over the minimal furniture, the bare walls; I knew there was a good chance our house was never going to have any art in it, no paintings, no beloved vintage knickknacks to fill the place with personality and warmth. I was oddly okay with that. With the loss of art in the name of love.

I was facing the window overlooking Boston’s cityscape, sparkling in the nighttime like masses of tiny stars, when I heard Sam’s voice behind me.

“Don’t turn around. Stay like that.”

I did.

Our phones were both blowing up with calls all the way from Badlands.

At first, we shoved them into my purse, but when that didn’t help, and the buzzing and lit screens kept taunting us, we turned them off completely. I was pretty sure my brothers and parents were fully intending to knock this door down any minute now, only they couldn’t because they didn’t know where Sam lived.

I found that little fact strangely liberating.

The irony of living somewhere my parents couldn’t find me, after being under their thumb for so long.

His footsteps pressed down on the floor underneath us. I felt him stop right behind my back. He took my left hand while I was still facing the window, sliding a ring onto my ring finger. My breath caught, and my heart stuttered, the unreliable monster that it was.

“Don’t look yet,” he whispered into my ear. I nodded, waiting.

He dropped a kiss to the crown of my head, and I felt dizzy with pleasure.

“Sam,” I breathed.

“Yes?” he asked, catching the zipper of my dress, sliding it down seductively.

I cleared my throat. “I want children.”

He stopped unzipping me. I found my voice again. I couldn’t not talk to him about it.

“I know you are not a fan, but I want them very much. Is this going to be a problem for us?”

Holding my breath, I waited. After a few seconds, he resumed the work of undressing me, sliding the zipper down all the way. The dress pooled at my feet like a shimmering lake of burgundy blood and glitter.

“No.” His lips skimmed the hollow of my neck. “I will give you children, if you quit your job. Do something legal, Aisling. I cannot bear the idea of something happening to you.”

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes.

My patients were so dear to me.

Their well-being, supporting them meant everything.

But he was right. If someone caught me, I’d be locked up for life.

Becoming a mother and doing something so dangerous simply didn’t go together. Especially since my future children’s father had a less than respectable job, too. Someone would have to be their anchor. The reliable parent who goes out to work and comes back every day, no matter what.

I felt my eyelids drooping.

“I’ll tell Dr. Doyle tomorrow.”

“Good girl.” He kissed my cheek, unfastening my bra. “Now take a look at your ring.”

I turned around to face him, wearing nothing but my underwear and the ring. I blinked at it. A gasp of shock and pleasure escaped me. I looked up to Sam with eyes full of tears.

“Troy gave Sparrow a ring with a blood red diamond. It reminded him of her hair. I wanted to do the same, but when I think of you, I don’t think about your hair. I think about those eyes. They taunt me. The absolute blueness of them.”

He took my hand and kissed the ring, a huge halo ring of diamonds surrounding the center stone—an emerald-cut octagon-shaped sapphire. I kissed it, too, laughing and crying at the same time.

“You were going to win all along, weren’t you?” I whispered, referring to our blackjack game. “You knew you were.”

He cupped my cheeks, pulling me to him.

“I was never going to lose you, Ash. That wasn’t in the cards, or on the table, or part of the agenda. You were always going to be mine. You had to have known that.”