Chapter 9

9

Zara

S itting up in the giant comfy bed within the fancy as hell penthouse, I admire the breathtaking view of the city from the ninety-sixth floor. Last night, it was awesome to see the buildings lit up, romantic even, but today it’s even better as I take in the iconic Central Park and Manhattan skyline.

Well, I survived my first night with Creed Ferraro.

His side of the bed is already neatly made as if he was never there.

When Creed told me I had to sleep in his room, I expected the worst and was pleasantly surprised.

He let me shower first, without any gawking, and gave me one of his white undershirts to wear to bed. Then, after I was done, he took a quick shower before turning off the lights and climbing into bed .

There was no pillow talk, no touching, not even accidental. We both just fell asleep.

Despite all that happened earlier with Izaiah, I slept better than I have in years because now I have something I didn’t before…hope.

Good riddance to that bastard.

Before I can throw the covers off my bare legs and climb out of bed, the bedroom door opens. Creed strolls in fully dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt underneath unbuttoned and open at the collar, which is apparently his standard uniform.

Here’s hoping he hasn’t changed his mind after sleeping on it. Losing out on the money that could help me get custody of Oriana would suck almost as much as my death.

“Good, you’re awake,” he says without even a hint of homicidal intent in his deep voice. “I’ve made arrangements for us with the City Clerk at ten and have confirmation from a judge who has agreed to waive the twenty-four-hour waiting period. A courier is on the way over from my attorney’s office with the prenup. It’s standard boilerplate with the details we discussed last night all laid out.”

“Okay.” So, he hasn’t changed his mind. Why am I surprised? It would’ve been much easier for him to kill me in my sleep than wait for me to wake up.

Creed stares at me as if waiting for me to say more. When I don’t, he speaks again. “My offer is more than generous for you, after what you did…”

Wincing at the reminder, I tell him, “It’s fine. I’ll sign the papers. I’m not going to try and take your money when this…ends.”

“I added an additional allowance of fifty million a year for every year I’m incarcerated to… encourage you to maintain your silence.”

“Fifty million a year? Wow. ”

“The penthouse is paid for, so you won’t have to worry about losing it while I’m gone. My financial team will keep up to date on all the other bills for utilities.”

“You’re that certain that you’re going to prison?”

“The gun charge has a minimum mandatory sentence. The DA has police cam footage of me possessing the firearm, so my attorney doesn’t see a way out of it.”

“I thought all you mafia guys bribed judges and DAs to avoid convictions and prison.”

“Usually, we do,” he replies. “But this DA is new, and she got elected by running on a zero tolerance for drugs and corruption platform. As for the judge, well, there’s no bribe that can override a mandatory sentence.”

“Hence the name.”

“Right.” He glances at the gold watch on his wrist. “Can you be ready in half an hour?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No, you don’t. Be ready to leave in half an hour.”

It’s odd, but despite his demand, he doesn’t seem as angry with me. Deep down, though, I know that hate is still there for the part I played in his brother’s death. It’s likely festering underneath his tan skin, a wound that will never heal. The best I can hope for is that we’ll both try to pretend it’s not there.

Nodding my understanding of our agreement, I slip out of bed and make up my side of it, fluffing the pillows and all.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” I face him again, finding his gaze lowered as if he was just staring at my ass. When his eyes return to mine, he lifts a single eyebrow in challenge.

I’m about to marry him to stay alive, and he’s going to give me a million dollars a month as an incentive. Of course, he gets to look at me whenever he wants, and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s likely expecting or hoping for more than just looking, since he’s a man and that’s a whole lot of money.

While the don may be a vicious murderer, I think he’ll keep his word about not hurting me or touching me without my permission.

And I can’t be upset about his gawking, since I did my own ogling last night when he came out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of snug, black boxer briefs. It was only for a moment before he killed the lights, but long enough to have his big, muscular, inked body tattooed into my mind.

A hard body carefully sculpted to intimidate his enemies and inflict violence.

The only way Creed could possibly get any hotter would be if he had Emilio Rovina’s blood on his hands when he tossed his corpse at my feet.

I’m definitely not the sweet, na?ve girl I was when I first came to the city seven years ago, that’s for sure.

Creed glances at my bare legs and upper thighs for several more seconds as if remembering I’m not wearing anything under his shirt before he turns to leave. I blurt out, “Wait! I need to make a phone call.”

“No. And my IT guys are working on making everything disappear from the Cloud.”

“That’s good to know, but um, could you at least make a call for me?”

“Make a call to whom?”

“My boss.”

“Your boss?” he repeats.

“Yes. Tell him I can’t come in today, that I quit. And… um — that I’m sorry I didn’t work a notice.”

“You’re serious?” Creed raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I might need that reference for another job someday,” I explain to the rich bastard. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying about not burning any bridges?”

He stares at me for a long moment. “Fine. What’s the number?”

He retrieves his device from his pocket as I tell him, “I don’t know his number! It’s saved in my phone.”

Sighing heavily, he glares at me. Creed then pulls a phone with a purple case out of his pocket. My phone. “What’s the name?”

“Steve Ricks.”

A few taps of his fingers, and a moment later, my phone is up to his ear.

“You’ll probably have to leave a message,” I warn him right before he speaks.

“Is this Steve? I’m calling for Zara Riley. She won’t be able to make it in today or any other day. That’s right. She quits.”

“Creed!” I hiss while my fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt. He’s rude and abrupt. “Apologize!”

“Zara is…sorry,” he grits out while his blue eyes lock onto mine. “It wasn’t her decision to quit. It was mine.” There’s a pause and then. “This is Creed Ferraro. And if she ever needs a reference from you in the future, it better be a glowing one.” With that he ends the call. “Satisfied?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else before I go?”

“Yes.” My gaze lowers to his pants. “How are your, ah, stab wounds this morning?”

“Should I say they’re excruciatingly painful and ask you to kiss them better?”

“Ha! No. But if you’re joking about them, they must not be too awful.”

“They’re not. Now, will that be all?”

“Just one last question — What am I supposed to wear today?”

“What do you think?” he asks over his shoulder as he turns to leave. “A wedding dress. ”

“Oh. Is my fairy godmother on her way over to conjure one up from your tees and suits?”

Creed smiles. His lips lift at both corners, making him undeniably more handsome. “A bridal boutique is bringing a few dresses over for you to choose from, along with several pairs of shoes and…undergarments. That’s another reason you should hurry.”

The door shuts behind him, leaving me standing in his bedroom wearing nothing but his tee and trying to imagine myself putting on a wedding dress and marrying the mafia don in just a few hours.

Thirty minutes later, I’m showered and dressed. My curls are only half dry but pulled up in a tidy bun with a few loose strands hanging around my face.

With more time, I would’ve liked to let my hair air-dry and have the curls fall over my shoulders and the ivory gown, but I didn’t want to keep Creed Ferraro waiting a minute longer than he demanded.

He stands in the living room, waiting for me with an older man, who’s wearing a navy suit. When they see me, both of their eyes widen, making me glad I choose the gown that looks like it was poured on me. With the V-neckline, lace corset top, and slit to my upper thigh, I feel like a sexy and fierce bride rather than the innocent and demure girl I was when I first came to the city.

But the long, drawn-out silence is nearly deafening. Maybe I made the wrong choice.

“Well? What do you think?” I prompt the don with a hand on my hip. I stupidly hope that Creed not only approves of my dress choice, but that it makes him have dirty thoughts. Wanting him to want me seems like the only way to regain some of my power in this drastic imbalance .

“You’re…it’s…perfect,” he finally stammers.

I was expecting ‘pretty’ or maybe ‘beautiful’ but ‘perfect’ is even better. I smooth my palms down the skirt while trying to come up with a response to his compliment. “Good. It was the first one I tried on, and it fit.”

After a few more seconds, the other man clears his throat. Creed straightens his suit jacket. “Zara, this is Lorenzo, my…advisor and security manager. He’s going to be our witness for the ceremony.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” The man looks ten or more years older than Creed with the same dark hair and a tidy beard. He doesn’t stare at me like Creed’s pervy cousins, so I feel comfortable enough to offer him my hand to shake.

Or maybe I just feel more confident now that I’m wearing a gorgeous dress that probably costs more than I make in a year.

Made.

I won’t miss working the long hours, I will miss the freedom of supporting myself and not depending on anyone else. I’ll save the majority of my million a month in a personal account, just in case.

“You make a beautiful bride, Zara,” Lorenzo says with a warm smile. “Now, tell me the truth. How in the world did Creed manage to convince you to marry him ?”

He makes it sound like I’m too good for the don, when he’s the powerful, ruthless, filthy rich man who could probably have any woman he wants.

“He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I reply, completely serious.

A big belly laugh bursts from Lorenzo. He doubles over through the cackles that go on and on. Creed shakes his head in warning, but does so with a half-grin on his face.

When Lorenzo eventually straightens and stops laughing, he swipes the tears from his face, then slaps his palm on Creed’s back. “She’s a good one, boss. Where did you luck up and find her? ”

“Carmine,” Creed replies, all traces of humor absent from his face and voice. “He actually introduced us.”

“Really? Wow. That’s such a shame. He should be your witness, not me. I hate he can’t be here with you today.”

“Me too. Carmine told me to be sure and thank him profusely in my wedding toast for not snatching Zara up first. Somehow, he knew I would end up marrying her.”

I know he’s lying, but damn, he’s really freaking good at it. I make a note to remember that.

“Grab something to eat, and then we’ll head out — that is, if you’re ready?” Creed asks.

“Yes, I’m ready and I’m not hungry.” We may as well get this over with.

I don’t remember if, as a little girl, I ever dreamed about my perfect wedding day. Once I moved to the city, all those dreams, along with any others, faded away. I quickly learned hard lessons about trusting men. They’re manipulative assholes who enjoy convincing me to do all sorts of shit — things that required self-medication before and afterward.

“We’re not leaving until you have breakfast,” he demands.

I am starving, actually, even feeling a little lightheaded. I concede and let him show me to the breakfast buffet in the dining room.

That’s how I know Creed is going to be…different from the others. I’m different, too, now. I’ll never let anyone hurt me that way again, not even Creed Ferraro.

He’s the most powerful man in the city. The most dangerous.

And he’s going to be my husband.

I’m not afraid of him, even though I know I should be.