10. Family

TEN

"Me?"

"Of course," Gen snaps. "Don't you play innocent with me, Damien. I know what kind of man you are, even if you'd rather pretend I didn't. If that woman stabbed you, I'm pretty sure you deserved it." She gasps, her fingers covering her mouth. "And then not only did you marry her, but you…" Dropping her hands again, they go right back to her hips as she glares up at me. "Do you want her to smother you in your sleep?"

Genevieve's thoughts always go a mile a minute. Normally, I find that charming. But, normally, she didn't burst in on me as my new wife was sucking my cock. I love my sister, but if I hadn't stuck around to finish in Savannah's mouth, I don't think I'd have the patience for this conversation.

"She won't?—"

"You forced her to suck your dick!"

I did not. Not… necessarily. "I assure you, she went to her knees willingly."

"Oh?" Stepping away from me, holding out her arms as if she's pretending she's as muscular as I am instead of a dainty slip of a ballerina, she plants her feet on the hallway tile. Then she thrusts out her pelvis, and in a voice that's a mockery of mine, says, "I'm Damien Libellula. All powerful head of the East End. You'll never suck a more magnificent dick than mine. You should be grateful for the privilege, woman."

I cast my eyes toward the ceiling. Instead of denying that her imitation might have… a little merit, I ask God, "Where is my sweet baby sister?"

Genevieve straightens up, moving closer so she can slap me in my bicep. "She's right here, wondering when my big brother became such a perv!"

"Excuse me?"

"What? Look, I didn't expect you to be a virgin at your big age. I know about your ‘late nights'. Your dates. I want you to find someone to make you happy—but I'm not so sure this is the way to do it. You said she tried to kill you, right? How do you know she won't try again? Remember? Pillow-smothering? Even pervs don't deserve to be murdered in their sleep." Gen pauses, then taps her chin as if she's reconsidering her point. "Except pedos. Fuck them. They can die. But your wife… she's not a minor, is she?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with Genevieve right now, and I finally understand why Savannah might have been a little ashamed to be caught in such a compromising position when Gen goes on to add, "With her face full of dick, I couldn't get that great of look at her."

Patience, Damien. Search for patience.

"She's twenty-nine. Thirty in June," I tell my sister after a moment.

At least, according to her fake identity, Savannah is. I'm leaning toward that being the case if only because, in my experience, a fake identity works best when there's some semblance of truth to it.

"That's a relief." Gen blows out a rush of air. "And you really did it, Dame? Got married and everything?"

"It was in front of a judge," I explain before she can grow upset that she missed the simple, expedient ceremony. "But, yes. I did."

And it doesn't matter that Savanna's fake name is the only one I had to put on the license. As soon as I get her to trust me enough to learn who she really is, I'll fix that up as soon as I can.

The way I see it, I already decided she was mine long before I enticed her to approach me tonight. And maybe I did because I was sick and tired of waiting for her to make her move, or that seeing how devoted ‘Rolls' McIntyre was to the Williams girl made me rethink my relationships with women—and my lack thereof. Tonight, I went through getting stabbed, then stitched up to claim Savannah.

Fuck it, I'm keeping her.

But there aren't any more tears coming from Genevieve at the moment. Not ones of sadness, at any rate, since, out of nowhere, she bursts into roaring, wild laughter.

Oh?

"Something funny?"

"It just hit me. All these years of women trying to figure out a way to lock you down and become Mrs. Libellula, and the only one who manages to do it is the woman who caught your attention by stabbing you."

I sniff. "She was trying to kill me."

She dissolves into another peal of laughter. "That's what makes it so much funnier!"

Despite the pull on my stitches, I cross my arms over my chest as I look down my nose at Gen. "Aren't you supposed to be loyal to your family?"

"Yeah, well, you made her my sister-in-law, didn't you? She is family."

Once Genevievefinally stops laughing before disappearing upstairs, I press the intercom button in the hall to page Vincent while keeping my eye on my closed bedroom door.

Our home has three floors, plus a basement. I had it built with my immediate family in mind. Genevieve has the entire third floor to herself; she was seventeen when the building on the house was finished and threw a temper tantrum until I agreed she could have her room, a massive bathroom, and her dance studio installed on that level. The second floor is mine, from my bedroom to my private bath, my office, and my television room. Downstairs is where Vin sleeps. The first floor hosts the kitchen, the living room, three guest rooms plus his master, and a dining room we rarely use.

It's wired so that I can reach either of them with just a touch of a button in case I need them and I don't feel like relying on phones. While I always have mine on me—like how it's in the back pocket of my pants right now—and Gen is glued to hers, Vin's from my generation. We didn't grow up with them and, if business didn't call for it, I'd happily toss it to the side and forget about it for hours at a time.

Vin usually does. Unless he's on duty, waiting for me to call and give him a particular job, he sets his phone down once he's home. So I page him, and when he grumpily answers, I tell him to get his ass upstairs.

Considering the most he's done is strip off his jacket, I'm sure he'd been expecting this assignment—even if he's still going to give me shit about it.

We meet in the hallway before I jerk my thumb at my closed door. "I've gotta go out for a bit, Vin. I want you to watch her."

I don't have to tell him who. That she's in my bedroom tips him off, and he isn't happy to hear that I moved her into my bed instead of trapping my new wife inside one of the guest rooms until I have a better idea what to do with her.

And since fucking her seems off the table for the moment—and Gen's scandalized ‘perv' is still ringing in my ear—I might as well make some effort to prove to her that, so long as she respects me as her husband, she'll want for nothing as my wife.

Except, perhaps, her freedom…

Vin narrows his gaze on the door.

He scowls. "My job is to watch your back, boss. Not some murderous twat."

"That murderous twat is my wife, Vincent."

And I'm sure he's dying to get me to explain just what the hell I'm thinking.

He did while we were in the car. Even if I did feel inclined to explain myself, I wasn't going to do that with Savannah absorbing every single word we said. I have no illusion that, just because she chose the option I wanted her to, she's lost her desire to kill me.

She's not the first. I doubt she'll be the last. But, usually, when one of my enemies tries to take me out, I at least understand why. Either because they're a rival, they want to move in on my territory, or it's an attempt at revenge because of something the Dragonflies did.

What's Savannah's story? I saw the look in her pretty brown eyes before she stabbed me. They went from heavy-lidded and seductive to full of hate in a heartbeat. In that moment, she wanted me dead more than anything else in the world.

At first, I thought she might be a hired assassin. The mysterious man behind the snowflake might've put her up to it. I doubted it was Lincoln; that's not his style. But there are countless wannabes who think that, if I'm gone, they can step into my shoes. Putting a woman in front of me who's that stunning… I'm only human. I'm only a man. She's just my type, and when she went for blood, I was done for.

She's already occupied my thoughts these last few months just because she was watching me so closely. I hesitate to call it an obsession, but when I stroked my cock to thoughts of who she might be, why she was always there… I was already attracted to her.

Then she tried to kill me, and she handed me the perfect opportunity to finally make her mine.

I meant what I told her before, though. This battle between us, it's between us. If she targets Vincent of Genevieve? She's dead. If she tries to escape me and her punishment? She'll regret it.

But if I can wear this woman down, find out what it is that had her willing to throw her life away if only to take mine… that's exactly what I'm going to do, and that's no business but my wife and I.

My cousin doesn't get that yet.

"That's my point. This girl knifed you with your own fucking knife and you marry her? You know I've never once doubted you, but?—"

My cousin doesn't get that yet—but he will.

I give Vin a small smile. "Then I'd suggest you don't start now. I'm still the head of this Family. I make the decisions. I give the orders. I expect you to do what you're told."

In the entire Family, there are two people who get a pass on talking back. Both have Libellula as a surname, but I mean it when I say that I'm in charge—and they know it.

Vin nods sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry."

Better. "I have a couple of arrangements to take care of. Stay here. Make sure she doesn't leave this room. You can head to bed when I get back."

"You don't want me to help?"

Normally, I would. Vin is the one I rely on for everything—but, right now, the most important thing to me is for him to keep an eye on Savannah.

Genevieve is upstairs, annoyed with me and probably still thinking it's hysterical that I married Savannah after she proved to be one of the first people ever to stand up to me and get away with it. Inside my room, my wife is probably already plotting her escape. I need my cousin right where he is.

"Trust me, Vin. You already are."