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It felt exceptionally odd and rather dramatic to be walking around Cristian’s office in a white gown. But I wasn’t in a rush to take it off. I never imagined I’d be that woman, the one who loved the white dress. But it wasn’t even about that. It had more to do with knowing that when I took it off, everything would change, totally and irrevocably.

I wouldn’t wear a white gown again. I would never be innocent—though I never truly was. I’d be complicit in all types of crimes. I’d probably have to distance myself from Jessica and Aiden to keep them safe.

Being a mafia bride was the simplest part of my life right now, so I was dragging it out a little longer.

My eyes found the portrait on the wall.

Isabella was staring at me.

I wondered if she would always haunt my marriage. If I would always hate her because she owned a part of Cristian I’d never get to know. A part that was buried and rotting in her grave. A graceful woman would’ve been at peace with what they had. Would’ve been glad Isabella had existed for Cristian in that time, setting him on the path that would eventually lead him to me.

I was not a graceful woman.

I was jealous. Vengeful. If I could erase their past, I would.

But there was one thing I was thankful for. Isabella’s death was the reason my husband was so ruthless and cruel. Why he was without mercy. Why his soul was charred and blackened.

Yes, I should be thankful for her.

I was thankful she was dead, at least. If it weren’t for that, I’d likely still be with Pete. Still trying to live a lie while I rotted from the inside out.

As I made my peace with Isabella Catalano, the door opened. I turned, expecting my husband, my fingertips tingling with expectation.

But in walked the very last person I expected at the Catalano estate. On our wedding day.

Detective Greg Harris.

He walked into the office confidently. Like he owned it.

My entire body tensed as I took him in.

His eyes flickered over me. “Well, don’t you make a lovely bride.” It was almost a taunt. His tone was bitter.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, eyes darting to the door. Cristian would come in at any moment. My eyes narrowed at Harris. “How did you get in here?”

He chuckled. “I’m still a police officer with a badge. A warrant.” He tapped the breast of his cheap suit.

“There is no way you have enough evidence for a warrant,” I argued with more confidence than I had. I hadn’t given him any information that would hold up in court, not even enough for an arrest in the first place. Especially since Cristian and I were married now, and we were both protected under spousal privilege.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I have one that looks mighty convincing right now, and if I find anything incriminating, everything can change.”

My skin went cold and sirens went off in my head. Something was off here. Harris’s eyes were bloodshot, in and out of focus. His shirt was wrinkled, and he was swaying ever so slightly. It was like he was wired. Something inside of him had snapped.

Cristian kept a gun in his office drawer. Always. Loaded. He’d let me know the locations of all of the weapons around the house. Of which there were many. He drilled me on their locations constantly. Cristian did not want another one of his women to die in this house.

Though Isabella hadn’t been a woman.

She was a girl.

A hopeful girl in love, certain of her happily ever after.

A stupid girl.

“I don’t know what you think you can gain with this visit.” I took a step toward Cristian’s desk. “It’s over. We’re done.”

Harris watched me like a hawk. He was armed, his gun strapped to his belt. It wasn’t pointed at me. Even he wasn’t that stupid or suicidal.

“Does your husband know of our relationship?” he craned his neck, eyeing me. “Of course, he doesn’t. You wouldn’t be breathing if he did. And if you think you’re safe now that you share his last name, how about we test that theory and wait for your husband?”

Instead of answering, I acted. Quickly. There was no room for hesitation. Not anymore. The gun was in my hand and pointed at Harris’s head in the next instant.

“Are you going to kill me, Sienna?” Harris jeered. He moved toward me without drawing his own gun. Was he insane? Or did he truly think that because I was a woman, I wouldn’t dare get into the dirty business of murder.

“I’ll ask you once more to leave my house.” My words came through gritted teeth.

“This isn’t your house,” Harris seethed, still advancing, quicker now.

“Yes, it is,” I replied. Then I pulled the trigger. My aim was true.


Tags: Anne Malcom Erotic