Page 115 of Unlock My Heart

With a frustrated breath, I run my hand through my hair. Everything I’ve been dreaming of for nearly a decade is mine: my freedom, my wife, and as soon as Angelo and I can hammer out the details, my rightful place as boss.

And yet it feels all wrong, because my wife is in name only.

My hand falls to my burning chest, giving it a rub as I watch her profile. Sienna loved me before; she can learn to love me again.

I’m still a persuasive guy.

Hopefully.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sienna

The present

We arrive at the regional airport and pass through security, with Saint parking next to a jet.

“Saint, are you sure Fabien’s allowed to leave the state? Isn’t he on parole?” I wonder.

Fabien grins, and I hate that he’s so sexy when he does so. “Aww, my wife’s worried about me. That’s sweet.”

“Hardly.” I scoff. “I’d just rather not catch an accessory charge.”

“Give us a sec,” Fabien tells Saint, and his loyal henchman exits the vehicle.

“No charges tonight, unless you plan on taking another man to our bed,” he warns, any hint of playfulness having disappeared.

“My bed,” I correct him, hating the way his murderous tone does things between my thighs.

“Sienna, I don’t give a shit who owns the mattress. You mess with another man, and it’s your turn to be the cuckold; you’ll watch me kill him,” Fabien promises.

“That’s not what a cuckold is; no wonder you’re terrible at it,” I say dismissively, all the while my clit throbs at the violent threat.

“Damn right I am.” Fabien grips me by the bun, yanking me in for a kiss.

My teeth capture his bottom lip, and I bite down hard.

Fabien hisses in pain, releasing his hold. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that sends a perverse thrill down my spine as he swipes the blood I’ve drawn with the back of his hand. “How much do I need to bleed before you’ll forgive me?”

Not having an answer to his question, I chose silence.

Fabien exits the vehicle and hustles around to my door, opening it for me. Ignoring his outstretched hand, I walk beside him to the stairs, where he ushers me inside the jet.

“Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious about where we’re going?” Fabien asks, leading me to the window seat.

“Nope,” I lie, buckling up.

Saint and a guard appear, carrying my lace project, placing it gingerly onto the coffee table in front of my seat.

“Is everything in order?” Fabien asks me.

I check my bobbins and pins; everything appears as I left it. “Why? Would it be your head if things weren’t?”

“Silver or gold platter?” He surprises me by grabbing my left hand and sliding the rings on my finger. “You always had a fondness for gold, that’s why I picked out this set.”

“Not everything that glitters is gold.” I slip the band and diamond ring off my finger and drop them in his jacket pocket, giving it a pat.

Fabien grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth. He presses his lips to my ring finger, my skin tingling from the contact. “You chose me once, piccola volpe. You’ll choose me again.”