Savage Mafia King (Vicious Heirs #3)

Chapter Four—Isabella

By the time I climb out of Marcus's car and take the stairs two at a time to my place, I'm exhausted.

Tonight has been a lot. Even more than I thought it would be. The way people looked at us at the fundraiser, it's like they could hardly believe their eyes. And I don't blame them. Hell, I can hardly believe that really happened, either. It doesn't feel possible, like my whole world is falling apart, everything I've worked so hard to build just dropping away before I can get a handle on it.

But then... at the same time, at least he seemed to carry himself with some kind of dignity and decency. He fit into that crowd better than I thought he would, carrying easy conversations with everyone we encountered. He never seemed out of place, which surprises me, given the circles he usually moves in. Maybe this is going to be easier than I thought, after all.

But the feel of his hands on my body, of his skin against mine, it's enough to make my head spin. He's so strong, so powerful, and I know he could pretty much do anything he wanted to me at a moment's notice. It's not exactly relaxing, but it is a little... I don't know, exciting.

All the guys I've been with before, they've been so gentlemanly, so careful with me, treating me as though I'm some sort of china doll they might break with a single wrong move. But not him. No. I get the feeling he would be happy taking complete and utter control, showing me just how much he wanted me, leaving no shadow of a doubt behind.

If that wasn't all some kind of act, of course. Which it very well could have been. I can already tell from the looks we got that people are going to be talking about this a whole hell of a lot, and I don't know what to make of it, how I feel about knowing he's going to be known as my new partner.

A man like him...?

I push it aside. Right now, I just need to get some sleep.

I turn on to my floor at the top of the stairs, and when I see who's waiting for me, my heart sinks.

"Blake," I mutter as I make my way toward my brother. Even in the dim light of the corridor, I can see he's fuming. "What are you doing here?"

I already know the answer. I unlock the door, and he storms inside ahead of me.

"You were out with Marcus Silva tonight?"

"How do you even know about that?"

"So it's true?"

"What does it matter who I spend time with?"

"You know why this matters," he snarls at me as he rounds on me. "He's a Silva. He's a rival. You shouldn't be anywhere near him—"

"I'm doing this for you, Blake!"

That stops him in his tracks. He stares at me, clearly not quite able to wrap his head around what I'm telling him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I take a step toward him, giving his hand a squeeze. Much as my brother and I might fight sometimes, I really care about him, and I hope he knows that.

"Because of what happened with O'Toole," I explain softly. He stiffens when I mention that name and draws away from me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... I mean I'm doing what I can to keep you safe," I reply. "We're not in a real relationship or anything, we're just putting on an act to make it seem like we're working together. That way, any retaliation against our family is less likely because they would have to go through the Silvas, too."

"And what does he get out of it, exactly?"

He sounds suspicious. He has every right to be. He knows as well as I do that there's little in the way of a favor in this business. Everyone is out for themselves, looking to get their hands on something or someone they want.

I don't reply for a long moment, and he fills in the blanks for himself.

"You're letting him get close to you, aren't you?"

"It's not like that—"

He lets out a snort, dismissive. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Isabella. I can handle the O'Tooles myself. Whatever they got themselves into—"

"I can't lose you!" I exclaim. "I can't just… I can't just stand by and let something happen to you, Blake, you know I can't. You're all I have left. All the family I have left in the world."

That seems to trigger something in him, a small swell of recognition. No matter what we go through, we've always been together, and that has been my one saving grace in the face of so much of the pain we've endured together.

"That doesn't mean you need to let someone like him close to you," he shoots back, drawing himself further away from me. "Don't you see how dangerous it is? You know what he's involved with, right? The boxing, the gambling?"

"Of course I do," I reply defensively. "I-I didn't walk into this with no idea, Blake. You need to trust me. I'm working with him on this because I think he can really help me. Help us."

"We don't need help." His voice drops slightly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Suddenly, there's something about him I don't recognize. I know logically that this is my brother, standing before me, but there's something about the way he carries himself that makes him seem like someone else entirely.

"It's not going to be for long," I promise him. "Just enough for people to believe that we're serious about this. And then—"

"And then, you've already let him into our lives. And getting rid of him isn't going to be easy."

A shiver runs down my spine as those words sink in. I suppose, on some level, he's right. I want to think I'm in control here, but Marcus wouldn't have agreed to all of this unless he could handle it exactly as he wanted to. And there might be more going on behind the scenes than I'm entirely aware of, more than I'm ready to take on.

I can still remember the way his hands felt against me, the pressure of his fingertips against my skin, holding me to him, gripping me tight like all he wanted in the world was to have me right there in front of him.

I brush the memory aside.

"It's just for the time being," I promise my brother. "And besides, it'll do us good to work with the Silvas. With everything that's going on with the O'Tooles..."

"Nothing is going on with them. It's fine. It's dealt with. They lost one of their guys, he's locked up, but that's the end of it. Just because the raid took place in one of my restaurants doesn't mean they're going to hold me accountable."

My ears prick up. The raid took place in one of his places? That really doesn't sound good. Isn't he worried? Isn't he freaked out?

"How did the cops know that something was going on there?" I ask, curious. Is there someone working for him who knows more than they're letting on?

He shrugs. "Just a lucky guess."

The way he says it, he doesn't want to talk about this any longer. Fine.

I nod to the drink cart over by the window. "Do you want something to drink while you're here?"

He shakes his head. "I should go."

I feel a pang in my stomach. I don't like there being any problems between us. It gives me reason to worry.

"Blake, I promise you, I know what I'm doing in all of this," I swear to him as I go to fix myself a drink. I've avoided having anything alcoholic tonight, not wanting to let my guard down even for a moment around the rest of the people at the event. I felt as though one wrong move would expose me completely, and that's the very last thing I need.

"I hope so," he replies, and he eyes me for one more moment before he stalks to the door and leaves me alone in my penthouse once more.

I close my eyes, my head sinking down to my chest as I try to process what has just happened. I should have known that there was going to be some blowback from my brother. As much as he might like to try and convince everyone that he's totally in control, the truth is that when things get away from him, he despises it. He wants to have every little thing functioning precisely as he thinks it should, and right now, I pose an awkward question. I'm his family, and he knows damn well that he can't just tell me what to do, but he hates the thought of letting Marcus anywhere near this family.

I head to the balcony with my glass of wine, inhaling a deep lungful of the cold air. Goosebumps appear on my bare arms, but I ignore them. I can't help but think of what Marcus said to me when I climbed into the car. He told me I looked beautiful.

And he wasn't doing that for anyone to hear it. He wasn't saying that because he thought it was the right thing to do, to keep up this game that we're playing together. No, he said it... he said it because he meant it.

My breath hitches at the thought. I don't know what to make of that. Of course, the sensible part of me tells me that he's just playing some crazy game, that all he's doing is trying to wrap me around his little finger. Maybe just to prove to himself that he can, that he can push me into a corner where I have no choice but to submit to him.

And yet, even knowing that, there's a part of me that craves more. I can only imagine everything he would do to me, given the chance. The way he would touch me, rough and commanding, the way he would toss me down onto the bed and clamber on top of me, that wolf-like smile all over his face.

I throw back the rest of the wine and head to pour myself another glass. I need to get a little tipsy tonight, to forget about him, to forget about the way his hands felt on me, to forget about the way it made me crave more.

My mind drifts to my conversation with Blake. I suppose, in some ways, it's a good sign that he's already found out because it means the news has spread quickly. I'm glad that that part of the plan is working, at least. But that doesn't mean I particularly like arguing with my brother, nor do I like the revelation that one of our family restaurants—the place we've used as a front for as long as I can remember—was the locus for the raid that got one of the O'Tooles arrested.

It raises questions for me, about how they found out. Why they knew to go there, specifically. Is there someone working for us who has been spilling the beans? Snitching on us behind our backs? I don't know. But I don't like the thought of it, especially not when we're in the midst of building a tenuous new alliance with the Silva family.

I kick off my heels and sink down onto the couch with a sigh. I know the day to come is going to be even more intense as people hit me with a million questions about what's happening between Marcus and me, demanding to know why I would even associate myself with a man of his standing.

I'm just in the process of forming some answers to those questions when my phone rings shrilly. I grab it and answer it, expecting it to be Blake with something else to say about everything that's been going on.

"Isabella?"

Instead, it's a voice I don't recognize—at least, not from recent memory. But it stirs up something deep down inside of me, some memory of passing my father's office when I was a little girl and hearing voices inside.

"Hello, who is this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"It's Talia McTominay," she replies calmly. "I worked with your father for a long time. Long enough to know that he would be furious if he knew that you were associating yourself with the Silvas."

She spits that name at me, the disdain clear in her voice. I roll my shoulders back, gathering myself. I've dealt with sorority girls for the last few years. If this woman thinks she's going to scare me like this, she has another thing coming.

"And what about it?"

She sucks in a sharp breath. She might have expected me to just roll over and take this, but I'm not that girl, never have been, never will be.

"You should be careful about who you align yourself with so publicly," she warns me. "You should think about how it could impact your family name. Or your family alliances."

It's a threat, a blatant one. She might not be coming right out and saying it, but she doesn't have to.

"I've considered that, thank you," I reply. "But I appreciate your concern."

I hang up the phone before she can say another word, and when I do, I find that I'm trembling. I can't believe she would talk to me like that. Is it really that bad that I'm willing to consider working with another family like this? It's just for a while. And it's not even real. Once the heat has died down around my brother, I'll be able to move on, and it will be like none of this ever happened.

I rise to my feet and head to the bathroom, where I start running a hot, steamy bath. I feel like I need to scrub the memory of this day off of me, get some sleep, and get on with my life. I have classes tomorrow as well as a meeting at the sorority house, and the last thing I want is to look a mess. If I do, people will assume I went home with Marcus, spent the night with him.

Not that that would have been a bad thing.

I slip into the bath, letting the water rise up to my chin, and close my eyes. All of that can wait. For now, I just need to clean myself off and get to bed.

And hope that the weight of all of this doesn't get to be more than I can bear.