“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. De Luca, but I do have work to attend to. You need my signature on something?”

“Multiple items, actually.” Burge spun the folder around and I stood, stepping forward and picking up a stray pen. I studied the first document, my eyes flitting quickly over it before examining it more closely. It was a stock certificate, for an entity name I was unfamiliar with. I looked up at Brad briefly before moving the certificate aside and looking at the next page.

“Uh, Julia. We need your signature on that,” Burge interrupted, gesturing to the initial certificate. I ignored him, flipping through the remaining pages, skipping twenty or thirty signature tags in my examination. Then I looked up at Brad for confirmation.

“You’re giving me Saffire?”

He grinned. “Well, not all of it. Evelyn has her ownership, as does Janine. But yes, I am signing over my share of the asset, including the real estate, to you.”

“Why?”

Burge shifted uncomfortably, and I ignored him, focusing on Brad. He left Burge’s side and walked to the front of the desk, leaning against it casually and crossing his arms. “Do you have a moral opposition to owning a strip club?”

“Why give it to me?”

He shrugged. “We’re getting married. It doesn’t seem like an appropriate asset for a husband to have. And I thought you would enjoy running it. Plus, it might ease any ... concerns you have.”

“You mean Alexis.” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Yes. Alexis.” He looked pained for a brief moment, the look devastatingly perfect on his strong face.

“We’re not getting married for another nine months. Why transfer it now?”

“The process is not one that happens overnight. And I want to fly up there before the wedding. I’d rather do that with your ownership taken care of.” He smiled at me, dropping his crossed arms and stepping forward to gently kiss my neck. As he straightened, he paused at my ear, the next words hot on my skin. “Sign the papers.”

I shot him a disgruntled look, not appreciating the display of affection in front of my boss. “I’ll need some time to review them. Mr. Burge, do you mind if I take a few minutes in my office to look them over?”

The man looked relieved. “Not at all. Just return them to me once they have your signature on them. Certain spots need a notary, so please have Sheila help with that.”

I smiled at him, glanced at Brad, and then left, moving quickly to my office. Brad followed, slipping inside and settling into a chair across from my desk. I closed the door tightly.

Brad watched me walk to my chair and open the folder, silence falling over us for a brief moment. “For someone who’s receiving a present, you show your gratitude in an odd fashion.”

I looked up from the deed I was reviewing. “I’ll cover you with kisses once I find the hidden agenda.”

He looked wounded. “Because I’m not naturally generous?”

“You are generous with your time, your money, and your cock. This is a business you’ve spent six years building. I’m your girlfriend.”

“Wife.”

I shook my head and started to reread the paragraph I’d spent the last two minutes trying to get through. “Not right now. Right now I am your current fuck.”

“The sixty grand on your finger says otherwise.”

I winced. “Please don’t say that. I’m going to hope and pray that is not the case.” My eyes caught the diamond, and it sparkled spectacularly.

“You are my fiancée. Don’t dismiss it as nothing. What was all the irritation for?”

“What do you mean?” I asked absently as I underlined a sentence in pencil.

“When you came in and saw me with Burge. You seemed irritated at the inconvenience of having to sign something.”

I laughed softly. “I thought I was signing a prenup.”

Brad leaned forward, interested. “And that irritated you?”

“I wasn’t irritated by the prenup, but rather Burge’s involvement in the process. I feel that agreement should be something that is kept private, between the two of us.”

He nodded thoughtfully and leaned back, playing with his mouth with one hand. “And what terms do you feel acceptable for a prenup?”

I sat back, spinning slightly in my seat to face him fully. “You’re the divorce attorney. I assumed that you have some boilerplate contract you’ve perfected for your personal use.”

He stood, walking over to me and leaning over my chair, a hand on each arm, he stared deeply into my eyes. “We’re not getting divorced.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, not now, obviously. But in the future ...”

“No. Never.”

“Never?” I squeaked out, the concept so foreign coming from his lips.

“Never,” he said, leaning even closer and sealing the promise with his mouth, strong confident movements. He released me, straightening and looking down at me. “There will be no prenup.” He tapped on the papers, then turned to leave, the fit of expensive fabric making his exit devastatingly handsome. He paused in the doorway and caught my eyes briefly. “Sign them. You can thank me tonight.”

Then he was gone, and I clenched my thighs, hating the traitorous moisture there.

The damn man was ... ugh. I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the papers before me.

♥♥♥

Thirty minutes later, I signed the documents, my pen moving slowly through the letters, wondering how many more times I would sign my name before Julia Campbell disappeared, kicked to the curb carelessly and taken over by Julia De Luca. I felt as if a part of my life faded with every signature on the documents, a slight dissipation of the broke, ramen-noodle-eating, unpaid parking tickets Julia. With these documents, I became, in my mind, a wealthy woman. I read every line, every addendum, of the documents. They were irrevocable. Despite Brad and my future, Saffire was now seventy percent mine. It was stressful, empowering, and utterly undeserving.

Chapter 17

THANKSGIVING DAY

Days until wedding: 256

The meal was to be held at Maria’s house. A relief, since she was, apparently, the least violent of Brad’s siblings. As Brad’s car found its way out of the city and headed to suburbia, I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

I was, in ways, a different woman than three months earlier. While I had stubbornly maintained my crappy dwelling—my clothing, beauty products, and car had all been substantially upgraded. A BMW X5 now adorned my broken driveway, designer clothes weighted down my plywood shelves, and I now enjoyed weekly massages and facials at Le Blanc Spa. I had quickly become accustomed and appreciative of my future life as Mrs. Brad De Luca.

While I didn’t necessarily feel ready to be Brad’s wife, I at least looked, and, for the most part, played the role reasonably well. The BMW turned, rolled along a dirt road, and stopped. We had arrived. Shit.

The yard was packed with cars—a sea of mostly black vehicles parked haphazardly across perfect grass. People were everywhere, threading through cars, gathered on the home’s porches, or chasing kids across the lawn. It seemed harmless and normal, if not overly crowded. Who had this many family members? I shrugged into my jacket and trudged out of the car.

We made it halfway to the house before we were stopped. There was a loud squeal, a blur of black hair, and Brad was practically tackled to the ground. The tackler was one hundred and thirty pounds of curly hair and loud energy. Maria. She finished her hug and turned to me with an ear-splitting grin.

“You must be Julia, the woman who finally tamed my brother.” She engulfed me in a hug before I could respond, a strong grip that came with a wave of lilac scent. I laughed, returning the hug and relaxing as she released me. “Now, don’t believe all of the awful things you’ve heard about the boys—only eighty percent of them are true.” She laughed, linking her arm through mine and pulling us toward the house. “We’re putting the food on now, so let’s get you two a plate!”

I had expected tommy guns tucked in corners, fedoras hung on coatracks, and stony faces behind cigar smoke, but everything about her Thanksgiving feast was utterly normal. Just supersized. The men were huge; food was everywhere, people crammed in every available hallway, all talking excitedly and hugging constantly. I expected to blend in with the madness, but somehow still stuck out, partly due to Maria dragging me from group to group and introducing me to everyone. Everyone was friendly, laughter covered the air, but it wasn’t perfect. In the midst of the familial orgasm, despite the smiles, hugs, and fawning, it was there—I could feel it. Coldness. Not to me, but to Brad. Not from the women, who fawned over him and loaded his plate sky high, but from the men—a reserved respect that carried a sea of resentment beneath it.

♦♦♦

I gripped a white china plate tightly and pushed on a door to the back porch, leaving the warmth of the kitchen, the fresh air welcome to my nerves, the breeze taking a layer of stress with it. I moved past a set of women, their shoulders close together and words low, girlish giggles reaching my ears as I moved to the far end of the porch and settled into a white painted swing. My plate, covered in turkey, dressing, and three different casseroles, rested on my lab, and I dug in, scraping fork against china as I showed the casseroles little mercy. I heard Brad inside the house, his laugh recognizable above the din of voices.

I settled back, rocking the swing slowly, looking out onto the backyard. It was a large yard, with a pool and children’s playground, manicured grass and pavers filling the gaps in between. Azalea bushes lined the outskirts of the yard, almost obscuring a ten-foot iron wall that enclosed the area. I let my eyes wander, picking up discreetly hidden cameras scattered on rooftops and fence corners.

A figure appeared in my peripheral vision, and I dropped my eyes down, making eye contact with a tall, thin man. He moved closer, his eyes studying me, and my mouth automatically turned up in greeting. “Hello.”

He nodded at me and removed a toothpick from his mouth. “Good afternoon. You must be Julia.”

I nodded hesitantly, my smile wavering slightly as I took in his strong stance and scarred face. Dark eyes that carried no warmth. “Yes. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. You are ...” I attempted to stand, juggling my plate with one hand while extending my free hand out to him.

“Leo.” Brad’s voice came from behind the man, and I fought a shiver at the tone. It was unlike anything I had ever heard from Brad, a manner that commanded utter respect and, at the same time, carried hatred and disgust.

The man’s eyes met mine, and a trace of irritation flicked through them before he composed his face into a mask of veneration. He turned, nodding his head at Brad. “Mr. De Luca.”

My hand was still stuck awkwardly out, and the two men stared at each other, oblivious to my social gesture. I sighed noisily and sank back down into the swing, putting the ignored hand to good use and attacking some mac and cheese. I chewed baked deliciousness and watched the men, feeling like a spectator in some ancient art of combat.

Brad had about three inches on the man, and at least eighty pounds of muscle, yet the man seemed unafraid of the fury that radiated from Brad’s core. Leo. I recognized the name. This was the man who had killed Broward; this was the man who had come to my house in the middle of the night, with my death on his agenda. Brad leaned forward, putting his mouth close to the man’s ear and spoke softly. I strained to hear his words, almost falling off the swing in my eavesdrop attempt. I covered the slip by starting to swing, every push of the bench taking me closer, then farther away, then closer to the conversation.

Brad was tense, his jaw flexing, and I saw his hands clench. Leo turned and met my eyes, giving nothing away, his gaze flitting quickly back to Brad. Then they turned as one to me, and I struggled to swallow the broccoli casserole filling my mouth.

“Julia,” Brad said quietly. “This is Leo Casando. He is an employee of this family, one who I believe I have spoken of in the past. I apologize for interrupting your earlier introduction, but there was a matter of importance that I needed to discuss with Leo.”

Okay. This isn’t awkward at all. I nodded to Leo and attempted a smile but failed horribly, the final result being somewhere between a glare and a grimace.

The man started to speak but was silenced by Brad’s hand, which gripped his shoulder tightly. “Leo has other business to attend to,” Brad said smoothly. He released the man’s shoulder and clapped him on the back.

I nodded again and sank back into the swing, watching as Leo turned abruptly and walked away, his gait agitated. Brad sat next to me, the swing creaking slightly and threw an arm casually over my shoulders.

“Is everything okay?” I asked quietly.

Brad shook his head. “He shouldn’t have approached you. I’m sure he has been told of our situation, but I just reminded him of it.” He leaned over, taking my plate and setting it on the ground. I furrowed my brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh ...” he said, lifting me up easily and sliding me sideways onto his lap, and nuzzled my neck. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when you smell like fried turkey?”

I laughed despite myself, quieting when the two women next to us glanced over. “Brad, let me up.” I pushed against him, and he held me easily down, stealing a kiss before looking into my eyes.

“I want to marry you.”

I laughed softly. “We are getting married.”

“Sooner. I want my family to recognize you for who you are, my wife.” He brushed a bit of hair off my face and studied my eyes. The intensity of his eyes silenced the flippant response in my throat. “Leo and the others, they understand that you are to be left alone, but I won’t sleep soundly until you are fully protected. As my wife.”