Reign (The Syndicate_ Crime and Passion Book 2)(3)

The key itself was probably a waste. I probably could have left the front door wide open without worry someone would come in.

One of the benefits—the precious few benefits—of having a mob boss for a father.

Former mob boss, I corrected myself.

No one had told me what was happening with my father’s business, at least not directly, but he was no longer in power, his fate resting on his ability to accept that fact. My stomach dropped, but I ignored it, kept myself intent on getting inside.

After I entered the house, I slammed the door shut and then put on the chain lock, grateful to finally have a chance to shut out the rest of the world.

It wouldn’t last.

It never did, but I needed these moments, and I would take them.

I moved through the living room of my ranch-style house, taking solace in the familiar, comfortable surroundings. This was the only place in the world that was mine, the only place where I could simply be Daniela. Not Santo’s daughter. Just Daniela Carmelli.

That thought brought me up short.

I wasn’t Daniela Carmelli anymore.

I laughed out loud, the sound unhinged, broken, but I couldn’t stop it. I’d signed the papers, said the I dos, but I didn’t know my own last name. It really had come to this.

But what did it matter? I’d thought the Carmelli name would protect me, and yet, here I was.

I sank to the floor, satin and tulle pooling around me.

A perfect end to this nightmarish day.

I’d married a complete stranger, essentially given myself to a criminal organization that would like nothing more than to see me and my family dead. Why should something like a last name matter?

At least I knew his first name.

Sergei.

I lay back, the woven rug rough against my bare arms. I didn’t attempt to move, though. I needed the friction, that little flare of pain to keep me grounded in this moment. Aware.

It would be easy, oh so easy, here, in my own little world, to pretend that today hadn’t happened. And for an hour, maybe two, I could, would be able to go on like everything was the same.

But it wasn’t.

The heavy dress, the ring that now weighed down my finger were proof of that. The ceremony had unfolded like a dream, nightmare really, but those were facts.

I belonged to the Syndicate now, belonged to him, and there was no way out.

That thought made me sit up and propelled me off the floor, the burst of nerves that exploded through me making it impossible for me to stay still.

I had every reason to be nervous.

The Syndicate, that awful man Maxim, were one thing, but my new husband… I shivered.

For all of the wrong reasons.

Because as terrible as the day had been, as angry and afraid as I had been, I couldn’t stop myself from remembering him.

He was impressive to look at, tall, broad, heavily muscled. Handsome by any measure of the word.

Not too shocking in itself. I’d met plenty of handsome men, some of my father’s world, some not, but from all, I’d learned to anticipate the reactions.

They’d look at me, stare at my body, sometimes with distaste for my full curves dimming their eyes, sometimes with naked desire brightening them.

But always, once they knew my name, their eyes would change. Shine with the fear of what my father might do to them. Gleam with opportunity for a chance to use me to get close to Santo.

I was simply a bystander, a side effect, a means to an end. Most days I didn’t care. I’d been Santo’s daughter long enough to know what to expect—and know what was expected of me—so their reactions didn’t touch me. I made a game of it, would time them and see how long it took for their true colors to come through.

It shouldn’t have been any different with the man who was now my husband. I knew exactly where I stood. To him, I was only a tool to control my father, a weapon to punish him. Not the most familiar position for me, but one I could withstand. I hadn’t made it all these years without understanding how to use other people, how to be used by them.

But when I’d stood at the altar and looked into his eyes, I’d seen nothing of what I had expected. No fear, no opportunity, no lust, even—something I would pretend didn’t disappoint me.

No, when I’d first glimpsed him, I’d seen boredom, utter disinterest. It had dropped my guard completely, made me curious about the man, made me want to know what made him so different.

And in that long second that he’d watched me back, I’d seen that boredom change, become something else altogether. Sympathy? Compassion maybe? I couldn’t say for sure since I had so rarely seen either. Whatever it was, it had shaken me. Broke through the haze and captured me, made me think of nothing else but him.

That was fucking terrifying.

I knew better, and more, I knew men like him. I had been raised by one.