KINSLEY

"Did you do it?" Shayleesmiles as I prop up my phone on a stand.

I stare at Shaylee and Faye on FaceTime. "Yes, I'm at my soon to be husband's home."

My stomach twists in knots.

"I can't believe you went through with the process of marrying a stranger." Faye shakes her head.

I clear my throat. "Well, he's not a stranger."

Their eyes narrow. "You know him?" Shaylee gasps.

"Is it that rich new doctor at work?" Faye asks. "You might like having sex again if it's him."

She sticks out her tongue.

Shaylee and Faye's laughter fills the basement while they talk about me riding his pretty face.

"Girls, it's not him," I say.

There's a beat of silence.

"Then I've got nothing," Faye sighs.

"Don't keep us in suspense. We want to look him up," Shaylee urges.

"Nick Pitucco," I blurt out.

Their faces fall.

"He signed up to find a wife?" Faye asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"I thought he was married to that witch." Faye's expression contorts into a look of disgust.

"She's..."

"...gone," Shaylee interjects.

"The article says Nick Pitucco's fiancée Norah Aiello and her bodyguard were killed in a car crash. Her Suburban careened off a cliff and caught fire."

Shaylee"s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "But this happened eleven years ago."

I sink onto the stool, stunned. "What?"

"It happened around the time... You know when you were hurt," she chokes out. Tears pool in her eyes.

"Why didn't Nick marry someone else?" I mutter.

"It's clear he still loves you," Faye adds.

"You have to admit, this is the perfect way to get you to comply with his lifestyle." Shaylee shrugs. "How else could he have persuaded you to be with him?" She adds.

"Does he know what happened to you?" Faye asks.

A lump forms in my throat. "I don't know. We haven"t had a chance to talk yet. I"ve been avoiding him..." I reach for my phone and switch the camera to frontward facing.

"By hiding out in my state-of-the-art research lab. He stayed up for two days, getting it built just for me." I continue, giving a tour of every small detail.

"Yeah, I'd say it's clear he still holds a torch for you," Shaylee says.

I flip the camera again and stare at my best friends. "My wedding reception is next weekend."

"Bitch, is this your way of inviting us?" Shaylee bites out.

I burst into laughter. "I'll send you both invitations."

"Just bring them to work tomorrow," Faye says.

"I'm not coming back to work for a couple of weeks. I took a leave of absence. I'd like to focus on my mom's research."

I had a conversation with my mother earlier. She was thrilled about the in-home nurse I hired for her. It brings me peace of mind knowing that she is being taken care of while I focus on my research to find a cure.

Faye frowns. "We'll settle for FaceTime calls."

A smile lifts my cheeks. "I love you both."

"Love you too," Faye and Shaylee reply in unison.

I disconnect the call and drop the phone on the counter.

Why didn"t a wealthy tech mogul choose me to be his wife? Am I just too ordinary?

Am I that simple? Instead, I'm tossed into the mafia world without a pool floaty. Being with Nick is exciting yet, intense and addictive. We went our separate ways because he's in the mafia. At the time, I didn't know he was the boss. Maybe I thought when Axe had called him boss, he meant it as a term of endearment. Or because he works for him, he's the boss. Not that he's the mafia boss.

But let"s not forget the other reason you walked away: her. The ice princess. Fucking cunt.

"Push it down, Kinsley," I mutter aloud.

Rubbing my temples, I survey the room. I take in every detail, trying to wrap my mind around how he managed to acquire all this furniture and equipment in just two days. When I spoke to the vendors earlier, they estimated it would take at least two weeks for my medications to arrive. Maybe I can ask my soon-to-be husband, who happens to be a powerful mafia boss, to use his influence and speed up the process? Is that too much to ask?

Yes, very wrong, Kinsley.

Fuck that. I'm asking him. I don't want to wait any longer to save my mother's life.

I'm still not clear if Nick knows what had happened to me eleven years ago.

What does it matter? Why do you keep rehashing that time in your life?

The ice princess bitch is dead. How didn't you know that?

Probably because you transferred to Yale. Thanks to my guardian angel, I have an ivy league education.

I should play the song, ‘Ding dong! The witch is dead.'

A smile curls my lips. Time to tour the mansion. My new home.

In my stilettos, I strut up the steps, wondering if I"ll have to wear fancy dresses every day. My fingers interlace behind my back, I explore the hallway lined with cream-colored walls that gradually darken like the shade of a pecan.

My attention is drawn to a painting of a woman lying in bed, her silhouette defined by the navy sheet covering her lower half. One arm lies casually behind her back, while her face remains hidden. My nostrils flare when I take notice of the glistening diamond bracelet adorning her wrist.

This man is really trying my patience. I check my surroundings. Where is he? Maybe he's in his office. He has to have an office, right?

Without wasting any time, I make my way down the hall and enter a spacious party area. As I take in my surroundings, I let out an audible gasp. In the center of the room stands a beautiful wedding altar covered in pink and white flowers.

"Oh, my gosh, it's my wedding venue," I mutter under my breath.

A man"s polite cough breaks my reverie. "Do you need any assistance, Ms. Levon?"

I glance back and grin. "No, Wendall, I'm just taking in my new home. Is this where Nick and I will be tying the knot?"

"That"s correct, the day after tomorrow."

I feel a bead of sweat form on my forehead. He wants sex tonight and in two days. Damn.

I quickly kick off my stilettos. "Thank you, Wendall. Oh, could I also have a glass of white wine?"

"Absolutely, consider it done. Please continue exploring your new home. Your wine will be brought to you shortly."

"Thanks."

I'm getting married in two days, but I'm not having a wedding reception until next week. Our wedding is last minute. Maybe he needs to give the other bosses proper notice, that's why the reception is a week away.

My brows lift. I remember Nick had said one of the mafia families was the Magarellis. It dawns on me that I met a woman named Nadine Magarelli. Is she in the mafia? I make a mental note to Google her on my phone when I return to my lab. Just as I move toward the stairs, Wendall calls out to me.

With a quick turn on my heels, I can"t help but grin widely. He hands me the icy glass and I let out an audible sigh of relief. "This is just what I needed," I exclaim with gratitude to Wendall before making my way up the stairs.

"You're welcome, Ms. Levon," he responds dutifully.

I sigh and peek at him again. "Again, please call me Kinsley. I know I'm here for a short time, but it's no need to be so formal."

His chuckle echoes through the foyer.

My brows lift.

"Have you seen The Godfather?" he asks suddenly.

"No," I reply honestly.

"Well, start with that, then Goodfellas and The Sopranos. That should give you an overview of how the mafia operates." He says it casually, as if discussing the weather.

My heart jumps in my chest and nausea rises in my throat. What have I gotten myself into?

"I'm going to kill Nick," I blurt out without thinking.

The maid who is dusting a nearby table stares at me with shock written all over her face.

Wendall's dark brows have jumped to his hair line.

"I'm not going to kill him for real," I bite out.

"Watch the movies right away," he urges before walking away.

The maid shakes her head and returns to dusting.

Everyone's so touchy.

I continue up the stairs. A chill runs up my spine as I approach the oversized mahogany doors to the master bedroom.

Turning the doorknob, I tip toe along the plush black and white oversized rug covering the mahogany floor. The walls are black. The king-sized bed is a charcoal gray. My gaze sweeps the room. The furniture is a darker shade of gray, too.

My heart squeezes in my chest for Nick.

He's an unhappy man. All because of you, Kinsley.

I lift my head high.

He held out the truth. That isn't my fault.

I place my shoes on the floor next to a gray chair. Moving closer, I pick up the t-shirt resting on the pillow. My heart aches as I realize he kept it. Fighting back tears, I force myself to push down these overwhelming emotions. My gaze wanders over to the man lying in bed.

His broad muscled olive complected chest is partly hidden by the sheet. In his hand, he holds something tightly. I squint my eyes and realize they are my panties. Holding back my feelings again, my eyes move over his face, that seems chiseled from marble.

He"s aging gracefully; at thirty-four. The man is deliciously gorgeous.

And now, I"m supposed to sleep with him. Correction: fuck him, Kinsley.

Why isn't life fair?

His cute, pointed nose had slid along my slit countless times, each one just as pleasurable as the last.

It was like it was his sole purpose in life to please me, as if he was put on this earth for that very reason. But I still can"t wrap my head around what makes me so special to him.

As I continue to gaze at him, memories flood back of his chiseled jawline and those sinful lips that have left their mark on every inch of my body.

How am I supposed to sleep with the man I love? I mean loved. We've been a part for many years. The spark is gone.

You little liar. If the spark is gone, why were your panties wet earlier?

I force myself to take a sip of wine, trying to push away the urge to run my fingers through his silky, jet-black hair tousled in the sexiest way.

And those long lashes. Oh, how many times have I kissed them in between murmurs of affection. And when he gazes at me with those intense green eyes, flecked with hints of black, it"s as if he can steal my breath away all over again.

I continue holding onto the t-shirt as I enter the walk-in closet, my curiosity piqued. My jaw drops when I see what"s inside.

What in the world?

Whose clothes are these? Tossing the t-shirt over my shoulder, I examine a gold formal gown, noticing it's my size. I check a few more labels and they all match my exact size.

Suddenly, it clicks - my file at the Wife for Hire Agency contained all of my measurements and preferences.

Would another wealthy husband have done the same if he knew I was moving into his home? It"s hard to say.

But knowing Nick, it doesn"t surprise me that he would go to such lengths. That"s just the type of man he is. He often spoiled me with clothes and jewelry. The corner of my top lip twitches at the thought of the jewelry.

Instead of using the master bathroom, I make my way down the hall to one of the many guest bathrooms. After flipping on the lights and locking the door, I let out a sigh of relief. I gulp down the last bit of my fruity wine and place the glass on the counter.

Standing in front of the oversized mirror, I slowly inch backward until I feel the cold wall press against my body. My hands shake as I fiddle with the zipper on the back of my dress. I finally manage to get it unzipped. A feeling of repulsion claws up my throat.

Music. I need music. But of course, I forgot my damn phone. My eyes catch sight of an iPad built into the shower wall and I let out a relieved exhale. Thank God. As I scroll through the song options, searching for something to numb me during this excruciating process, I unhook my bra and toss it carelessly to the floor.

The intense notes of a classical piece engulf me like a suffocating cocoon. With shaking hands, I peel the pretty dress off my body, fling it angrily to the side.

"What will you say to him about that?" I mutter, pointing at the long, jagged scar that runs vertically along my torso, a constant reminder of the trauma I"ve endured.

Maybe wait for his reaction. If he says, it"s worse than I thought. I might stab him in the eye.

So much for not killing Nick.