Page 124 of Sacred Deception

He could flirt. He could fuck. He could laugh with whoever the hell he wanted.

Because we were just messing around.

And I could walk away.

I got in my car, slammed the door, and the driver took off.

My knuckles went white on the handbag as the city smeared past my window in motion-blurred lines.

Because fury was easier to swallow than heartbreak.

I was in the middle of a business meeting at DeMone Tower when my phone buzzed. While the CFO and financial team went on about potential risks, I checked my phone, only for my face to turn red from anger.

Matteo <3:Hey baby

Matteo <3 : I want to take you out tonight

Matteo <3 : You owe me a date

I changed his name in my contacts and gave a dry text back.

Me:I’m busy

Jerkoff:Something wrong mi amor?

I ignored him.

JerkoffMissed call

Jerkoff:Call me.

JerkoffMissed call

Jerkoff:Francesca.

I blocked him.

An hour later, I was at one of the Family’s spots in Little Italy to handle some business. I was already in a shit mood and the dumbass forty-year-old toddlers I had to straighten out were not helping.

I always had to do this type of shit once in a while. Show up to some low-rank who was fucking up my money because he didn’t take orders from a woman. Then when he disrespected me, I had to beat the shit out of him in front of his friends.

Today’s genius was Rocco Giuseppe, a Made Man who’d only gotten vowed in at thirty, because he married a woman in the Mob.

I was one wrong word away from backhanding him into the wall of liquor behind him, when his face suddenly lit up.

He stood from his chair and gave a salute to someone who’d just entered the underground bar. A frequent spot for lower-end mobsters, closed for today’s meeting.

Glancing over my shoulder, my heart jumped in my chest when I saw my temporary husband walk in and command the room.

Matteo, dressed in a relaxed suit, walked right up to me and leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek.

“You alright?” He murmured in my ear.

I nodded, turning back to the men across the table.

Matteo’s cologne – dark, expensive, infuriatingly familiar – filled my lungs as he took a seat next to me. My pulse tripped. I hated that it did. Hated that one kiss onthe cheek could smoke out every thought I’d been holding together with spit and willpower.