Tapread-v1

11 p.m. means Harper’s sports bar is officially done for the night. The final stragglers—glassy-eyed and loud—are stumbling out while I make my rounds, wiping down sticky cocktail tables and gathering abandoned glasses. I cut toward the back, dump everything into the dish pit, and tug at the ridiculous shorts that keep creeping up my thighs. The uniform is a joke. “Hurry it up, Mari,” Samuel calls, impatient as always. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” “Almost finished,” I answer, scrubbing the counter and bar top until they shine. When my side work is finally done, I clock out and meet him at the front. “About time,” he sneers. I roll my eyes and start the walk home. I hate walking at night. I also don’t get the luxury of options. Mom and her boyfriend don’t have a car. They don’t have jobs either. Harper’s money keeps the lights on and food in the kitchen while I’m trying to survive college. A year and a half left until my bachelor’s degree. After that, I can dump this place and find something that doesn’t chew me up. Footsteps ahead wobble in and out of rhythm. Two men are coming down the sidewalk, swaying like the street itself is moving. “Well, hello, gorgeous,” one of them slurs. The other leans closer, grinning. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing out alone this late?” They start angling in, trying to box me between them. I step back fast, keeping space. “I’m just minding my business,” I say, shoulders tight, stance ready. “Fiesty,” one mutters, amused. “Let’s have a little fun,” the other says, voice turning mean. “Teach her something.” He reaches for my arm. I move first—one clean punch to his nose. He yelps and recoils. “Ow—bitch!” The second one dives at me and slams me down. My knee and elbow scrape concrete hard enough to sting through the adrenaline. I jam my elbow into his ribs. His grip loosens. When I scramble up, he catches the bottom of my shirt and yanks. Fabric tears. The lower half rips away in his hand. I swing again, driving my elbow into his nose. A wet crack snaps through the air, and he stumbles backward. I pivot to run— —and the first guy nails me with an open-handed slap across the face. Heat blooms across my cheek. Copper floods my mouth. I kick his kneecap outward and follow with a vicious punch straight into his throat. He drops to his knees, hands clawing at his neck. That’s my opening. I sprint. Adrenaline is roaring through me, keeping the pain at bay, but I can still feel blood tracking down my arm, my leg, my neck. The night air hits it and turns everything cold. My little house finally appears ahead. I push harder anyway. Behind me, their footsteps thud and scrape, and their voices carry—obscenities, threats, fury. I take the front steps in a single leap and smash through the door. The second I’m inside, I slam it shut and throw the deadbolt. My forehead rests against the wood while I drag air into my lungs. “Mari?” My mother’s voice sounds thin, shaky. I turn— —and stop. Eight men stand in my living room in crisp black suits. One has a gun pressed toward my mom’s head. Another has one aimed at Curtis. The rest are poised, hands near their weapons, eyes fixed on me like they’re waiting for a word to become a shot. My gaze sweeps the room until it catches on the man lounging on the couch in front of my mother. He sits like he owns the space—one leg thrown over the other, posture casual, attention razor-sharp. Gray eyes lock onto me and don’t let go. It’s the kind of stare that pins you in place. He’s beautiful in a dangerous way: sharp jaw, olive skin, dark hair, and those pale eyes made even more striking by everything else about him. I hate that my breath catches. His gaze drags slowly over me. Something in it darkens. “Mari, what happened to you?” my mother blurts. “What is going on?” I force myself to look away from him. My eyes drop to Stella and Curtis, then to my own ripped, filthy clothes and scraped skin. I look back at my mom. “Nothing,” I lie flatly. “What is this?” The anger in my voice isn’t for the guns. It’s for her. For Curtis. For dragging me into their mess again. “Oh, well—” she starts. A violent pounding interrupts her. The front door shudders. My stomach drops. No. No. “You stupid bitch!” a voice screams from outside. “Open up! We’re gonna teach you a fucking lesson!” The banging keeps coming, louder, crazier. Curtis laughs under his breath, delighted. “Guess we’re not the only ones with problems.” He sneers. “I knew you weren’t an angel.” My head snaps toward him. “Fuck you,” I spit. “My ‘trouble’ isn’t because I’m a useless idiot like you.” Then I face the door again. One suited man stands closest to it, watching me like I’m a weapon he hasn’t decided to trust. My eyes flick to his holster. I hold out my hand. “May I?” His brows jump. He glances at the man on the couch, waiting. A silent permission must be given, because the guard draws the handgun and places it in my palm, grip-first. “Thank you,” I say, polite out of habit. I drop the magazine—loaded. I slide it back in and rack the slide, confirming a round is chambered. My fingers find the deadbolt. On the other side, the men keep promising pain. I flip the lock and yank the door open, raising the gun in one smooth motion until the barrel points straight at the first man’s face. “And what lesson is that supposed to be?” I ask, a smile pulling at my mouth. In the edge of my vision, another gun is already trained on them too. Backup. “Oh—hey, we don’t want trouble,” one stammers, both of them lifting their hands and retreating a step. I let my smile sharpen. “Funny. You didn’t get the message on the street, and you followed me home. Sounds like you were begging.” My teeth grind. “And since I’m the one holding the gun, only my opinion counts.” Behind me, a deep voice slides through the air. “Are they why you look like this?” “Yes,” I answer without looking away from the two men. “Kill them,” he says. The command lands like a switch flipping. I don’t hesitate. I pull the trigger. At the same instant, the guard fires too. Both men crumple on the porch. Blood bursts upward—hot spray across my face, my hands, the gun. I exhale hard, like my body has been holding its breath for hours. My thoughts are moving too fast to catch. “Clean it,” the man on the couch says, calm as if he’s ordering a drink. Four men move immediately, lifting bodies, wiping blood, erasing evidence. I tear another strip from my ruined shirt and wipe the handgun clean as best I can. Then I offer it back, handle-first. The guard takes it carefully, eyes wide, stunned. I don’t blame him. I’m shaking inside. I just killed someone. I didn’t even think. It was the voice. That voice had weight. Power. And it was both terrifying and magnetic. I turn fully toward the man on the couch. He watches me like I’ve entertained him. A slow, pleased grin spreads across his mouth. Admiration glints in his eyes. One eyebrow lifts. I break away first and face my mother again. “You were explaining?” I ask, dripping contempt. Stella and Curtis stare at me like I’m a stranger. “What have you done?” my mother whispers, trembling. I cross the room and drop into a chair, hissing when it pulls at my scraped skin. “We are not making this about me,” I say. “What did you do this time?” I glance down at grit ground into my cuts. My mother can’t seem to speak. So the man on the couch does. “They owe me money,” he says. I nod once, unimpressed. “That tracks.” I reach for my checkbook automatically, already bracing for another bill I’ll have to pay because they can’t be adults. I know I have at least fifteen hundred in my account. “How much?” “Five hundred thousand.” Everything in me freezes. My heart drops so hard it feels like it hits my stomach. I whip my head toward my mother. Rage pours in, hot enough to lift me to my feet. “What the fuck?” I shout. Mom goes pale. Curtis’s face twists with anger. “Don’t you raise your voice at me, you ungrateful little bitch.” I laugh once, sharp. “Shut the fuck up. Nobody asked the peanut gallery for commentary.” A couple of the suited men actually snicker. I turn back to Stella. “What did you spend five hundred thousand dollars on?” My pulse hammers. Curtis spits the words like poison. “None of your fucking business, little girl.” A growl claws out of my throat before I can stop it. My eyes slide to Logan. His gaze lifts from Curtis—cold, flat, lethal. Then it shifts to me, and it softens. We hold that look for a beat too long, both of us measuring. I let a smirk tug at my mouth and look back at Curtis. “You’re right. Not my business.” My voice turns sweet. “And if it’s not my business, it’s not my debt. He can pull it out of your ass.” I start toward the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower and mind my business.” “Marianne—wait,” my mother pleads. “We need you. Please. I’ll tell you.” I stop by the couch, close enough to feel the man’s presence like heat. I look at Stella. “Go on.” Her mouth trembles. “We gambled a lot. And the rest…” Her eyes flick away. “We spent on drugs. I’m sorry, Mari. But there’s still a way to fix it.” My stomach tightens. I already hate the shape of that sentence. “How?” I snap. “I don’t have half a million dollars.” She gives me that soft, practiced smile—fake enough to curdle my insides. “Mr. Logan needs a virgin bride,” she says, voice too hopeful, too eager. My gut twists. Of course. I turn and look down at him. “You’re Mr. Logan?” I ask, distrust sharp. He gives a short nod. His gray eyes stay on me, unblinking, pulling at my attention like gravity. I force myself to look away and glare at my mother. “So you’re bargaining me? Selling me like I’m something you can pawn?” The hurt in my voice surprises me. She rushes forward with her words, desperate. “Please. I’ll fix it this time. I swear. Don’t let me die. I’m your mother.” I know she’s lying. She always lies. She has been an addict for as long as I can remember. And still—some stupid part of me doesn’t want her dead. “Are you?” I ask, crossing my arms, tilting my head. “Of course,” she insists. “I love you, Mari. This is the only choice left.” Her sadness is staged. We’ve done this performance before. Curtis snaps, impatient. “Just do it, you stupid bitch.” My eyes go back to Logan. He doesn’t look away from me—except when Curtis speaks, and then something in Logan’s focus sharpens, predatory. He’s dangerous. That much is obvious. But the danger doesn’t feel aimed at me. His expression holds layers I can’t read yet, and I feel an awful, undeniable pull to peel them back. “How do you even know I’m a virgin?” I demand, turning to Stella. “I’m twenty-one.” She gives a nervous, breathy chuckle. “You’ve never brought a boy home, so…” I tilt my head. “That proves nothing.” Curtis lets out a dark laugh. “For god’s sake. We called your doctor. You think we didn’t know he’d come? We also knew he wanted a bride. This was planned, sweetheart.” My skin crawls. “What?” I snap, fury and violation crashing together. “That’s confidential. You can’t do that. How did you do that?” Curtis laughs like it’s funny. “We did.” I stare at him with pure hate. Logan waits, patient as a judge. He tips his head slightly, a silent prompt. I pull in a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll do it—on one condition.” Logan’s brow lifts, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. “And what condition would that be?” I lean forward, bracing my hands on the back of the couch on either side of his broad shoulders. I bring my mouth to his ear. “I want Curtis dead,” I whisper, low enough that only he can hear. “He’s poison for my mother.” Logan turns his head, lips brushing my ear as he answers. “Deal.” His arm hooks around my waist and yanks me down. In one swift motion, I’m seated in his lap, and he already has his gun out. A single shot. Curtis takes a bullet between the eyes. The sound cracks through the small house and makes my ears ring. I watch his body fold and hit the floor like it’s suddenly made of nothing. A scream tears through the ringing. “No!” my mother shrieks. “Mari—what have you done?” She’s crying for him. For that. “I freed you,” I say, quiet and flat. Logan’s mouth brushes my ear again. “Pack a bag. You’re coming home with me. Now.” He frowns, tugging lightly at the hem of my shorts, inspecting the mess of my outfit like it offends him. “Not dressed like this.” His eyes pin me. “Where were you coming from like that?” I glance down. Two top buttons on his shirt are undone, showing a strip of hard chest. My throat goes tight. “Work,” I whisper. What is wrong with me? “You won’t be going back,” he says, voice firm. “Leave the uniforms.” His fingers lift and wipe the blood from my bottom lip with a gentleness that doesn’t match anything else in this room. I nod, dazed. “Can I shower first?” He smiles and nods like it’s the most reasonable request in the world. “Yes. Call for me when you’re finished. We’ll handle your wounds.” The words throw me. No one worries about my wounds. Is he serious? I stand, and his hand stays on my hip as I rise, trailing there until I’m fully upright. Behind me, my mother is unraveling. “How could you, Mari?” she screams, sobbing. “I loved him!” I kneel in front of her and meet her eyes. “No,” I say, cold and certain. “You loved the drugs. You loved the high. You didn’t love him.” My voice hardens further. “And you don’t love me either, or you would’ve gotten sober a long time ago.” Then I stand. Even when I don’t want them, tears spill down my cheeks. They keep falling in the shower, and they don’t stop when I step out and dry off. They come again in quiet waves as I wrap a towel around myself and walk into my bedroom. Logan is already there. Sitting on my bed. Waiting. Chapter 2 Bringing You Home Marianne’s POV I flinched when I realized he was right there. Logan looked carved out of marble—rigid shoulders, unblinking posture—but his gaze wasn’t cold. His eyes tracked over me, slow and thorough, and a hot flush chased up my skin. A small first-aid kit rested in his hand like he’d been carrying it the whole time. He motioned toward the bed. “Sit.” His voice was low, weighted with feeling. I nodded and crossed the room on shaky legs, lowering myself onto the mattress. Tears kept slipping down my face without my permission while he knelt and began working ointment into the scraped skin on my knees. “Are you crying because of me?” he asked, gentle. Then he looked up, expression tight. “Because if you are… I swear I’ll take care of you. Properly.” I shook my head. He rose and brushed the wetness off my cheeks with his thumb. “Then why, precious?” he murmured. Something in me snapped. The quiet tears turned into ugly sobs. Logan pulled me in fast, folding me against his chest. One arm held my head there, steady, while my fingers clenched the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright. “She’s never loved me,” I cried. “Why? What did I do wrong?” “Hey.” His voice softened into a hush as he stroked through my hair. “It isn’t you, sweetheart. It’s the drugs. They twist people into someone else.” He stayed like that until my sobbing hiccupped itself smaller. Logan eased back and wiped my face again, slower this time. “Don’t let them see you like this. You’re going to be their Queen.” His tone stayed kind, but the command underneath it was unmistakable. “If you need to fall apart, you do it with me. Understand?” “Yes,” I whispered. “Good girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then he returned to the cuts on my elbows and along my arm, careful, controlled. When the alcohol stung, I hissed through my teeth. “I’m sorry, princess,” he said, like it pained him to cause it. I forced a small, reassuring smile. He leaned in to treat the split on my lip, his jaw tightening. “I should’ve tortured those fuckers,” he said, the words dark with poison. I caught his wrist gently where he was dabbing ointment. His hand stopped, and his eyes locked onto mine. “They’re dead,” I breathed. “That’s what matters.” His thumb swept my cheek, softer than I expected. “You’re right.” He straightened. “Get dressed. We’ll be leaving soon.” I nodded and went to my dresser. I grabbed jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and underwear, then disappeared into the bathroom to change. Once I was dressed, I collected the few personal items I couldn’t bear to leave behind. When I stepped out, Logan stood near my bed with one of my suitcases open, packing it with brisk efficiency. “I’ll get you more clothes,” he said casually, lifting one of my college books. He paused, brow rising. “You’re in college?” I slid my toiletries into the suitcase. “Yes.” I glanced up. “Will I be able to keep going?” Something complicated flickered over his face as he stared at me. “Yes,” he said at last. “Under certain circumstances. We’ll talk tomorrow—after you’ve slept.” He tossed the book onto the bed and came closer. His fingers reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You look worn out,” he whispered. I let out a sad little breath. “Do you live far?” A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at his mouth. “No. Twenty-five minutes, maybe.” I swallowed hard. “You promise I can stay in school?” The question came out small, suspicious despite myself. Logan cupped my face in both hands, steadying me. “I promise you can stay.” His voice sharpened in quiet conviction. “And from now on, when I give you my word, you’ll know it holds. My word is everything. I don’t want you doubting me.” “I’m sorry,” I stammered, shaking my head. “No.” He softened again. “You don’t have to apologize. I get why you need to hear it. That’s why I’m saying it now.” His eyes searched my face, as if he was memorizing it. Then he offered his hand. “Come on, princess.” I let him take mine. He carried my bag in his other hand and led me downstairs. Four of the men from earlier still waited below. My mother sat on the couch, still crying. As Logan and I approached, she lifted her head. The look she gave me was pure hatred—disgust swimming in her eyes. “This is your fault, Mari!” she shrieked. “I fucking hate you!” Pain tore straight through my chest and lodged in my throat. Tears surged up, ready to spill, but I forced them back—Logan’s warning ringing in my ears. I drew a long breath and steadied my voice. “Well, I love you,” I said. “That’s why I chose what I chose. Maybe one day you’ll get your shit together… and you’ll forgive me.” I didn’t wait for her response. I walked past her without looking back and headed out the front door toward a black SUV. By the time I reached it, my legs felt wrong—heavy, untrustworthy. I stumbled at the door. Logan’s arm wrapped around me immediately, warm and solid, as he opened the back door. He lifted me into the seat like I weighed nothing and climbed in after me. His arms closed around my body, broad and protective. “You’re safe now, precious. You did good,” he murmured into my hair. And just like that, the dam broke. I clung to him and cried into his chest, smothering the sound against him. Logan’s POV I kept Mari pinned gently to me while her sobs shook through her. My fingers moved through her hair, then traced slow lines up and down her back. I’m aware Callum—my right-hand man—can hear every broken sound from the driver’s seat. Callum is also aware that if he ever repeats a word about what happens back here, I’ll kill him myself. That’s why I told her she was safe. I’m proud of her for holding it together until we reached the car. I’d been certain she’d shatter the moment her mother spat out “I hate you,” because even I had felt that confession like a blade. “Shh,” I whispered into her ear. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s okay.” I’d known she was strong the instant she burst into that living room. When I’d ordered those men dead earlier, I hadn’t expected her to be the one to fire. That instruction had been for my men—never her. And yet she pulled the trigger, no hesitation, no second thought. That was the moment I knew I needed her as my wife. I’d said long ago I was looking for one. I just hadn’t expected Stella to offer up her daughter’s virtue so eagerly. I also hadn’t expected Mari to agree. I still don’t know why she did—whether she was trying to save her mother’s life, or simply claw her way out of the cage her mother built around her. Either way, I will treat her like a Queen. My men will show her nothing but respect. I will give her the loyalty and care she’s been starved of. She affects me in a way no woman ever has. Her beauty, her touch—my pulse spikes, my skin lights up. Even her conditions for marrying me had caught me off guard. But what surprised me most was how ready I had been to kill Curtis because she asked. Like something in me had clicked into place. Usually, my men handle the trigger unless it’s necessary—or personal—like someone who’s hurt my family. The feeling I’d had when she demanded Curtis’s death was the same as that. Only worse. More intense. Her sobs thinned out, breath smoothing into something even. Her head grew heavy in my hand. I looked down. She was asleep. My chest dropped as I realized she’d cried herself into sleep on her first night with me. Even if it wasn’t my fault, it still hurt to see. I brushed hair off her face and ran my thumb gently over the bruise forming on her cheek. Her eyes were swollen and red. And her lip—fuck. It was puffed up, the split pushed forward by the swelling. I know she fought. One man’s nose had been bent and bleeding; another had a broken nose too, and he’d been limping from a shattered kneecap. I’d seen it the second she yanked that door open and faced them. No one had needed to explain what they’d been trying to do. I’d known. Because I wanted her the instant I saw her. And that doesn’t happen. Not with anyone. “Boss,” Callum said, snapping me out of it. “We’re here.” He climbed out, came around, and opened my side of the back door. I scooped Mari up carefully and stepped out with her secured against me. The villa sat quiet under the cool night air. It was late—most of the house asleep. The only movement came from my men and the guards posted outside. Callum held his arms out. “I’ll take her, Boss.” I angled my body away so he couldn’t even graze her. “You won’t touch her,” I said flatly. “Ever.” His hands lifted in surrender as he stepped back. “Yes, Boss.” “Bring her bag to my room.” I nodded toward the SUV. “Yes, Boss.” Mari shifted in my arms, half-asleep, then looped her arms around my shoulders and tucked her face deeper into my neck. A soft hum vibrated from her chest. A crooked smile pulled at my mouth. Fuck. Adorable. I carried her to the front entrance. Sullivan—my younger brother and second-in-command—met me there with his arms open. “Brother, you’re back.” Then his gaze dropped to Mari, and his brows drew together. “Who’s that?” “Your future sister-in-law,” I hissed. “Keep it down. She’s asleep.” His face twisted into shock, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “All I know is her name—Marianne. She goes to the university here, and her mother is Stella Marlowe.” I started for the stairs. “Find out everything you can.” I paused just long enough to add, “And draw up a marriage certificate. I want us married by the end of tomorrow.” Then I took the stairs before he could argue. Mari mumbled against my neck, “Hmm… what’s going on?” “Shh,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep. We’re home.” She hummed again and relaxed. God, she’s precious. Inside my room, I lowered her onto the bed. Her suitcase already sat by the bedroom door. I didn’t go through it—I simply slid it into the closet and pulled one of my shirts out for her. Back at the bed, I eased off her shoes and socks, then carefully tugged her jeans down. I groaned when I saw the black cheeky panties. Her tan lines sat low along her thighs—she wears shorts when she swims. I pulled her shirt up and off next. A tattoo curved along her hip: the phases of the moon. Fuck. Sexy. Holding back was harder than it should’ve been. She lay there in nothing but her underwear on my sheets, skin smooth, warm, entirely unaware. I slipped my shirt over her carefully, hands controlled, because if I let myself feel too much, I won’t stay a gentleman. Then I noticed the faint stretch marks on her thighs and bit my lip. Fuck. I tucked the blankets around her and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, bambina (baby),” I murmured. I went into the en-suite and turned the water cold. I need it. My hormones were raging—my cock hard like I was a teenager. I wrapped my hand around myself with a quiet groan when Mari’s body flashed in my mind. Fuck it. I stroked, slow at first, then harder—base to tip and back again—my throat catching on a guttural sound. Her face replaced everything: brown hair, blue eyes, those full lips. “Ahh,” I groaned under my breath as the image of her mouth wrapped around me hit. Fucking hell. A few more strokes and I came hard, one hand braced on the shower wall as my body jolted. “Fuck,” I muttered. I washed off quickly, pulled on sweatpants, and climbed back into bed. I wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back until she was flush to my bare chest. She hummed and snuggled closer. A smile settled on my mouth. I’ve never felt this content—ever—as I do right now. She smells like vanilla and strawberries, and it drives me insane… yet somehow it calms me, too. When I woke, sunlight was slipping through the curtains in pale strips. Marianne was still asleep in my arms. I pulled her closer and buried my face in her hair, breathing her in. She stirred, fingers gliding down my arm until her hand rested over mine. “Good morning, bella (beautiful),” I rumbled, voice rough with sleep. She shivered against me, and I smirked. She turned enough to face me, humming softly, and then she smiled—gorgeous, unguarded. “Good morning,” she said. I couldn’t stop my own smile. “You’re so beautiful.” Color rushed into her cheeks. She turned her face into the pillow like she could hide from the compliment. I chuckled and tightened my hold, nuzzling into her back. “We’ve got a big day, precious.” I spoke quietly. “When do you have class again?” “Tomorrow,” she said. “Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.” “What time?” “Nine to twelve.” Her voice was smooth, still sleepy. Mari sat up and looked around like she was orienting herself. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, small and uncertain. I grinned and pointed to the door on her side of the bed. She stood—and then froze. She was only wearing my shirt. She gasped and whipped around to face me, yanking the hem down her thighs with both hands. “Uh… did you change me?” Her voice jumped higher. I arched an eyebrow and propped myself up, leaning lazily on one hand. The blanket slid down my body, exposing my bare chest. Her eyes dropped—dragged over me—and she swallowed hard, stepping back. “I did,” I said simply. Her gaze snapped up, flustered. “We should… set boundaries,” she choked out. “Until we’re actually married.” I stood and took a step toward her. “And what kind of boundaries are we talking about?” She backed up a step. “Uh—well. Not seeing me naked would be one.” “You weren’t naked,” I said, taking another step while she retreated again. “You were in your undergarments.” “Close enough,” she shot back, stepping away once more. “Is it?” I asked, head tilting, the smirk returning as I closed the space. Her back met the wall. “Yes,” she whispered. I braced my hands on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her. “I’m not sure it is,” I murmured, bringing my face closer. Her palm came up to my chest, stopping me. The second our skin met, a shiver ran through both of us. Her eyes closed as she let out a shaky breath. I wanted to know what she’d do if I pushed closer—so I did. I stepped in until my hips lined up with hers. She didn’t shove me away. She only opened her eyes. The innocence in that blue stare was obvious. She likes this—too much—and it scares the shit out of her. My hand dropped to her jaw, cupping it carefully. “I only put my shirt on you,” I said softly. “Nothing else. You have my word.” My thumb brushed lightly near her cheek. “And even after we marry today, I’ll respect your boundaries until you’re ready.” Her lips parted, breath catching—and my attention snapped to her mouth. “I want to kiss you, Marianne,” I whispered. “Tell me not to, if that’s not what you want.” I brushed my lips against hers. She didn’t refuse. So I closed the distance and kissed her—slow, deep, and deliberate. The hand she’d used to clutch my shirt slid up to my bicep. My other hand left the wall and wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. My tongue swept along her bottom lip, asking. When she opened for me—when her tongue met mine—knuckles rapped against the bedroom door. I groaned. Mari shoved at my chest, breaking away. “Where are my clothes?” she asked, frantic. I chuckled and framed her face with my hands. “Relax, sweetheart. They’re in the closet. There’s a door in the bathroom that connects to it.” I kissed her lightly. “Go get dressed, love.” I walked to the bedroom door and waited until I heard the bathroom click shut. Then I opened up. Sullivan stood there, concern written all over him. “What is it?” I asked, irritated. “It better be important.” His expression broke into a grin. “We were worried. You never sleep this late.” “Well,” I said flatly, “I’ve never slept that well either. We’re fine. We’ll be out soon.” I closed the door in his face. In the closet, I noticed her bag had been opened. Good—she’d found what she needed. I pulled on blue jeans and a black shirt. When I stepped out, Mari sat on the edge of the bed holding my shirt in her hands. As soon as she met my eyes, she blushed. “I didn’t know what to do with it,” she mumbled, standing and offering it to me. I laughed and took it, tossing it onto the bed. “You could’ve dropped it on the bathroom floor. I wouldn’t have complained.” Her head shook fast. “I can’t do that.” “Alright.” I took a step closer. “There’s a basket in the closet for next time.” She looked up at me, nerves flickering. “Ready to meet my family?” I asked, smoothing her bangs back. Her long dark curls had been French braided down her spine. She wore jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and Converse—simple, and somehow it made her look even more striking. Panic hit her face. “What if they don’t like me? How many people are there? I don’t even know your last name—um—” I cut her off by kissing her. Slowly. Until her shoulders loosened and she kissed me back. When I pulled away, I held her cheeks and ran my thumb along her bottom lip. “First—they’re going to love you. Second—it’s my mom and three younger brothers. My dad died two years ago.” I continued calmly, “There are maids here, and my men. And my last name is Brennan.” “Logan Brennan,” she whispered. The sound of it sent a shiver through me. “I know you’re Marianne—Mari,” I said, “but I don’t know your last name.” “Carhill,” she answered. Then she glanced down at my chest, voice smaller. “Logan… what do you mean, ‘your men’? What do you do?” Her stomach growled mid-question. I chuckled. “Mari.” I lifted her chin so she’d look at me. “I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know—in time.” My tone stayed gentle. “There are things I can’t tell you yet for your safety, and things I can. But it all waits until after breakfast, okay?” She nodded, meek. “Okay.” “Okay,” I echoed. I kissed her once, soft, then laced my fingers through hers. “Time to meet my family, bambina (baby),” I said, leading her out. Chapter 3 Meeting the family Logan’s POV Mari’s nerves were there if you knew where to look, tucked behind that calm little mask she wore. The moment we stepped out, her eyes swept the property like she was cataloging every color and corner. The villa leaned Spanish in its bones—warm stucco, arched lines, and a palette of yellows and greens that made the whole place feel sun-soaked. “Wow,” she breathed, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. A grin pulled at my mouth. “You like it?” She nodded, voice quiet. “It’s beautiful.” “So are you.” I held her gaze on purpose. Pink rushed into her cheeks and she turned away like I’d cornered her with the compliment. I kept walking with her, letting the anticipation build. “Wait until you see the gardens and the vineyards.” Her head snapped back to me. “You have a vineyard?” “We do.” Pride hit my chest, steady and familiar. “And our own wine company.” “Wow,” she said again, like the word was all she had for it. “That’s… amazing.” The dining room came up next, and the second we crossed the threshold, I clocked the vibe: tight shoulders, wary faces. Ma sat at the table with my brothers—and a surprise I didn’t want. Zelda. My advisor’s daughter. Why the fuck is she here? Ma shot up so fast her chair scraped. Before Mari could even react, my mother was on her, hugging her like she’d been waiting years. “Oh, Mari, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Can I call you Mari? You’re so pretty—my son is going to make you so happy. Call me ma—” “Ma,” I cut in, sharp. She blinked, then laughed it off, delighted with herself. “Sorry. I’m just excited.” Zelda slid in with her nasal voice, all practiced sweetness. “Logan, it’s so good to see you.” She stepped into me and looped her arms around my neck. I didn’t hug her back. Instead, I tightened my hold on Mari’s hand when she tried to ease her fingers out of mine. “Don’t touch me, Zelda,” I snapped, shoving her off with barely-contained irritation. “Since when are you allowed to touch me?” Her sneer faltered into surprise. Then her gaze flicked to Mari and twisted—jealousy, anger, both. “But she’s touching you,” Zelda protested. I pulled Mari in, arm locking around her waist like it belonged there. “She’s my wife. She can touch me whenever she wants.” Mari turned to her with a small, polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Zelda. I’m Marianne.” Zelda’s jaw went hard. “Nice to meet you too,” she said, each word shoved out through clenched teeth. “Perfect,” I said, letting a smirk show. “Now sit down. My wife’s hungry, and I’d like to get her fed.” Zelda had always had that ridiculous school-girl crush on me—loud, obvious, not returned. She was too stuck up, too wrapped around money and appearances to interest me for a second. I guided Mari to the chair beside mine and pulled it out for her. She paused, surprised, then gave me a smile so soft it went right under my skin. “Thank you,” she whispered. Once I sat, I leaned in and murmured against her ear, “You’re welcome, precious.” Heat flushed across her face so fast it made me feel absurdly satisfied. Across the table, all three of my brothers were staring like I’d grown a second head. Miles, the youngest, finally spoke. “You going to introduce us, brother?” “Yeah.” I nodded. “Mari, these are my brothers—Sullivan, Connor, and Miles. Boys, this is your sister-in-law, Marianne.” Mari’s smile stayed steady even with nerves tugging at the edges. “It’s nice to meet you all.” Connor grinned. “Nice to meet you too. Logan’s never brought a girl home, so… you’ll have to forgive the shock.” Mari chuckled. My head turned so fast it almost hurt. I hadn’t heard her laugh before. It sounded like music—light, clean, effortless. A petty part of me hated that Connor got it out of her first. Conversation eased into something normal after that. While everyone talked, I loaded Mari’s plate—fruit, biscuits, meat, eggs, gravy—like I was trying to make up for every meal she’d ever skipped. Her hand brushed my thigh. My breath caught. I shut my eyes for a beat, forcing air into my lungs, then opened them and met her gaze. “I can’t eat all this, Logan,” she whispered, cheeks pink. “Then eat what you can, love.” I tucked her bangs back so I could see her whole face. She blushed again, deeper, and it hit me like a reward. Zelda ruined the moment with a blunt, disgusted burst. “So what happened to your face?” I shot Zelda a glare, then looked at Mari. Mari’s expression went careful, like she was trying to decide whether Zelda was curious or hunting. “You don’t have to answer that, amore (love),” I murmured. Mari frowned at me, then softened. “No, it’s okay.” She turned back to Zelda. “I was attacked on my walk home from work. I was lucky enough to defend myself and get away.” Ma gasped. “Oh no, sweetheart… that’s awful.” Zelda tilted her head, fake-sweet. “And what happened to the men who attacked you?” Mari went rigid beside me. Her eyes iced over. “To hell if I know. Or care.” God, I loved it. My body reacted instantly—an ugly, inappropriate jolt. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Nor should you, bambina (baby),” I said, voice final, slamming the door on the topic. Zelda’s face drained when she realized Mari wasn’t an easy target. Stupid bitch. Mari still held tension in her shoulders, so I put my hand on her thigh. She startled, then covered my hand with hers and let herself breathe. “I need to talk to you after breakfast,” Sullivan said, drawing my attention. I gave him a short nod. As Mari ate, she traced slow circles over the back of my hand—maybe for her own nerves, maybe without thinking. Either way, it settled me. I mirrored it, rubbing calm circles on her thigh. Half her plate in, she set her fork down. “You full?” I asked. She nodded. “Yeah.” “Good.” I smiled and brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. Then, keeping my voice low even though everyone could hear, I asked, “I have to handle something quick. Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. You okay here with ma?” For me, the room narrowed to just her. “Yes,” she said, smooth as silk. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.” Her fingers slid up to gently stroke my forearm. I kissed her forehead, then leaned in to her ear. “I’ll show you around when I get back. I promise.” A soft kiss landed on her cheek. I rose from the table and Sullivan stood with me. “You two,” I told Connor and Miles, “get your butts to work.” “Yes, boss,” they answered, dripping sarcasm. I gave them a look. They bolted. Mari burst into giggles. Ma joined her, laughing hard. When Mari looked up at me, it only got worse, like my face was fueling it. I didn’t even pretend to resist. I leaned down and covered her mouth with mine. The giggles cut off instantly. Her hand came up and gripped my wrist where I held her face. When I pulled back, her cheeks were stained a deep crimson. “Your giggles are absolutely adorable, amore (love),” I murmured. Her blush darkened, and my smirk widened as I left the table with Sullivan. “You two seem pretty acquainted already,” he said as we headed toward my office. A smile tugged at my mouth. “She’s fucking amazing,” I muttered, shaking my head like that would knock the feeling loose. It wouldn’t. Something about her kept pulling me in. Sullivan’s brow lifted. “Is she now?” “Yes.” I sat behind my desk. “What do you have?” He shut the door and handed me a manila envelope. “Her last name is Carhill.” “I know that.” Impatience was already crawling under my skin. “The marriage certificate?” He rolled his eyes. “Damn, Mr. Impatient. Yes—certificate’s in there, along with everything I found.” He took a seat. “She’s clean. No police record. Started working at sixteen at Harper’s sports bar—dishes, bussing tables. At eighteen she moved to cooking. She only started bartending recently, once she turned twenty-one. She’s halfway through her third year of college. Double major. Agriculture and architecture, ironically.” My eyebrows lifted. Double major. “First two years were scholarship—4.0 GPA,” he continued. “She used her job money for books. This year she had to apply for financial aid. She’s been making monthly tuition payments.” “Pay it off,” I said, flipping through the folder. “Next year too.” Sullivan stared. “What? Logan, are you sure?” “Yes.” I didn’t look up. “And she needs a bodyguard to escort her to class.” “Logan—” “I promised her something.” My voice cut him cleanly. “I’m keeping it.” He exhaled, defeated. “Yes, Boss.” I kept reading until I hit her medical file. One sheet of paper and my blood went molten. Five hospital visits in the last year. Cuts. Burns. Broken ribs. A fractured femur. Curtis. That motherfucker. Mari’s words echoed—He’s poison to my mom. But he’d been poison to her too, in ways that made my hands want to break things. How long had that been going on? What else had he tried? Now I wished I hadn’t killed him. Death was mercy compared to what he deserved. Sullivan’s voice cut through the noise in my head. “So how are you doing the wedding, brother?” I blinked, forced my focus back. The question took a second to land. “I’m getting her a dress,” I said slowly, thinking it out. “A good one. And a ring—something that matches Mom and Dad’s bands. Ceremony… probably right here in the office. You, the boys, ma. Simple. Best option.” Sullivan studied me, one brow up. “I’m trying to keep her safe as long as I can,” I explained. “Especially since she wants to finish college.” “And for safety purposes,” he pressed, “are you going to tell her about Felix?” Concern edged his tone. I couldn’t tell who the concern was for. “Yes,” I said without hesitation. “If she doesn’t know, she’s in more danger. If she does, she’ll watch her surroundings.” “That could scare her, Logan. Make her paranoid. She might even run.” He sounded irritated now. “You not worried about that?” A slow smirk stretched across my mouth. “I’m not worried about shit, brother. Ask my men about last night—you’ve got my permission.” Sullivan’s jaw tightened. “You’re pretty relaxed about all of this.” “And you will be too once you do what I told you.” I shut the folder. “My bride is a fucking Queen. You’ll see.” He went silent, shock stealing his words. I shifted gears. “What’s happening with Felix?” Sullivan’s face hardened. “Nothing lately. Radio silence. Which means one thing—he’s planning something big.” “Then we figure out what,” I said. “When’s the next export?” “Friday. Everything’s set.” “Good. Double the security anyway.” I pushed up from my chair. Sullivan frowned. “Where are you going?” “To find my beautiful bride,” I said, cool and certain. “Show her around. Get to know her. Something better than this.” I gestured vaguely at the office. He huffed, frustrated, as I passed him and left. I headed back toward the kitchen. That’s where I’d left Mari with Ma. I found her at the counter with my mother, rinsing fruit. Mari listened quietly while Ma went on one of her full-volume trips down memory lane—my childhood, my attitude, the way I’d apparently been a handful from birth. Mari giggled as I came up behind her. Across from her, Zelda sat and stared like she wanted to carve Mari’s eyes out. I couldn’t stand that woman. Maybe this would drive the point in deeper. I slid my arms around Mari from behind and pulled her back against my chest, dropping my face into the curve of her neck. She gasped and jumped. “Oh—Logan. You scared me, goodness,” she panted, one hand pressed flat to her chest while the other found my hand resting on her stomach. “I’m sorry, amore (love),” I whispered. I kissed her neck slow, and her head tipped to the side without her meaning to. “Ready for your tour, bambina (baby)?” I murmured, dragging my mouth upward to her ear. Mari shuddered, then glanced at Ma like she was silently asking permission. Ma smiled. “Go on, honey. Zelda can help me finish.” “What? I don’t—” Zelda started. “You will help me, Zelda,” Ma said, voice iron. I bent close to Mari’s ear. “Come, bellissima (gorgeous).” I took her hand and led her out, leaving the rising argument behind—mostly Zelda whining while Ma shut her down. “I want to start inside,” I told Mari, smiling. “If that’s okay.” “Okay,” she chirped, brightening, and hooked her free hand around my bicep. Chapter 4 — You’re Going to Belong to Me Marianne’s POV Logan took his time walking me through the villa’s interior. Everywhere I looked, the house glowed—soft yellows and greens on the walls, stained-glass fixtures throwing colored light, and portraits that looked like they’d been lifted straight out of the late 1700s. “This is unreal, Logan,” I said, tipping my head back to meet those hypnotizing gray eyes. “When was it built?” He let out a quiet laugh, and my stomach flipped like it had a mind of its own. “1889,” he told me. “My great-great-grandfather built it. He wanted something the family could keep—something that would outlast him.” Pride sat plainly in his voice. “He pulled it off,” I murmured, still stunned. “Logan, I’ve honestly never seen anything like this,” I squeaked, trying to process room after room. A game room. Two sitting areas. A theater. A dining room so big it felt like it belonged in a museum. Then he guided me down a grand hallway, straight toward two towering oak doors waiting at the far end. Logan’s mouth curved as he opened one for me. The space beyond stole my breath. A ballroom. Massive. Vaulted ceilings, and a crystal chandelier hanging like a frozen waterfall of light. “Holy shit,” I breathed, turning in a slow circle as if that would help my brain accept the size of it. My smile had barely formed before Logan’s arm slid around my waist. He spun me to him and pulled me flush to his chest like it was the only place I belonged. “Do you dance, amore (love)?” His voice dropped low, and my heart stuttered. I gave a nervous little laugh. “Not even slightly.” Logan burst into a rich, deep laugh that made me forget how to inhale. His head tipped back, shoulders lifting as he laughed, and I felt it—felt his chest vibrating under my palms when I set my hands there. Why am I like this around him? I felt… happy. Grounded. Protected. Like I mattered. And none of it made sense. My mother had sold me—no, traded me—for her debt. Was that his idea? Hers? Had he wanted me as a wife from the start? Or had he been surprised, too? “If you’re worried about the dancing,” he said, the amusement fading into concern, “I can teach you, dolcezza.” “I believe you,” I admitted with a small smile. His mouth brushed close to my ear. “So tell me,” he said softly. “What’s going on in that beautiful head?” The fear I’d been swallowing rose anyway. “Did you ask my mom for me?” My voice came out thin. He pulled back and studied my face, like he was reading every flicker of emotion. “No,” he said. Then, after a beat, “But if she hadn’t offered… I would have.” My pulse jumped hard enough to hurt. “Why?” I whispered. Logan’s fingers curled under my chin, his thumb settling beneath my bottom lip as he tipped my face up. “Because I’ve never met anyone like you,” he murmured. “No woman has ever caught my attention the way you did—seconds after walking through my front door. But you did.” I stared at him, stunned into silence. How? I was nobody. A girl from a drug-soaked house who worked herself raw just to eat. I didn’t understand what there was to notice. “Hey,” he whispered, dragging my focus back. Vulnerability softened him as he tilted his head. “Can I ask you something?” I nodded. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked. I lifted my shoulders and slid my arms around his neck. “Should I be?” I tried to make it playful. A slight frown touched his face. “I had men in your house with guns, Marianne,” he said, like the words tasted bitter. “They didn’t point them at me,” I argued, shrugging. “And someone even handed me one.” “Mari.” His voice turned stern as his hand tightened at my waist. “It’s complicated, Logan,” I sighed, pouting before I could stop myself. His thumb dragged firmly across my lip. “Explain anyway,” he ordered. I dropped my gaze to his chest, and he lifted my chin again. “Last night,” I said quietly, “when I looked at you… I didn’t see danger. I didn’t feel threatened. I felt…” I swallowed. “Safe.” “You were,” he said, gentle but absolute. “From the second you came through that door.” I shook my head, words stumbling out. “I feel… different with you. Your family is… amazing. I don’t know. I just—” “I feel different with you too,” he admitted, softer now. “You pull things out of me I didn’t even know were there.” Something in my chest lifted—relief, joy, terror, all tangled. Before I could think too hard, Logan leaned in. His lips brushed mine once, tender, and then he kissed me fully—slow, deep, deliberate. My hands stayed at his neck as we moved together. When his tongue swept my bottom lip, I opened for him without hesitating this time, meeting him instead of retreating. The kiss shifted—harder, possessive. His fingers threaded into the hair at the base of my neck and tightened, and a quiet moan slipped out of me. I slid my fingers into his black, silky hair, tugging just enough. Logan groaned and hauled me closer by the waist. Heat coiled low in my body as his palm flattened over my hip and then gripped it roughly. A needy sound tore from my chest before I could swallow it. “Seriously? In the ballroom?” The interruption hit like a slap. That familiar nasal voice—Zelda. Logan let out a frustrated sound as he broke the kiss, turning to glare at her. I whimpered without meaning to, and his attention snapped back to me for a second—eyes dropping to my mouth, then lifting to meet mine. There was a warning in his gaze that made my breath catch. His pupils had blown wide, his smoky gray darkened into something dangerous, and my body wanted to understand exactly w...