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What’s one more?

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head, my gaze finding hers. There’s no judgment in her eyes and it’s such a relief, the words spill out of me.

“We’re in the mafia. Well, we’re more on the fringe of it. We work for a family, one that’s well-connected.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “You’ve already told me that. Well, not the fringe part.”

“Right. Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, noting that it’s shaking. Fuck, I’m agitated. This isn’t easy. “When I was younger, I used to go with the guys and we’d visit the ones who owed us money. Those poor suckers. They’d cry and plead. Beg us not to hurt them or their family.”

My chest aches with the confession but she remains quiet, listening. Which is what I need.

“Sometimes things would get—violent.” I pause, the words turning over in my brain. “I’ve hurt people, and I don’t like that.”

“Oh, Spence.” Her voice is the barest whisper, breaking my heart.

“I never killed anyone though. I couldn’t muster up the nerve. My father would always tell me it takes time. He didn’t make his first kill until he was twenty-six. I had a few years to go.” I laugh but there’s no humor in the sound.

“Your father…”

“Is decent when he wants to be, but yeah. He’s got blood on his hands. So do I.”

She touches my hands, bringing one up to her mouth so she can kiss it, and the gesture nearly breaks me.

“I don’t do that any longer. I’m an accountant now for the business.”

She drops my hand and bursts out laughing, as if what I said was a joke. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” I shake my head.

“An accountant?” Her laughter dies.

“Yeah. We have one set of documents we turn in, and then there’s another set.” I glance around, like I’m worried there is some sort of spy camera in this place. But I checked it already. My paranoid urges are making me want to search the car again. “You know what I’m referring to.”

“I think I do,” she says slowly.

“We move drugs, Syl. All kinds. Counterfeit money. Arms.” At her frown, I explain. “Guns. Ammo. Anything the family needs us to do, we’re doing it. It fucking sucks.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” She touches my cheek lightly and I lean into her hand, my eyes falling shut for the briefest moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for not running away from me.”

“As if I would.” She smiles.

I smile too. God, this woman.

What did I do to deserve her?

THIRTY-EIGHT

SYLVIE

One yearlater

I’m gettingmarried today at our family estate in Long Island, and it’s the wedding of my dreams, thanks to the man of my dreams.


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance