Page 81 of Sinful Bride

But instead of pushing or demanding answers, he just nods. "Okay," he says softly. "We don't have to talk about it now."

I stare at him for a full second, unable to believe he just let it go. "Thank you." The relief is so intense it makes me dizzy.

He reaches for a washcloth, wets it under the tap, and gently cleans me. The gesture is so tender and careful that it makes my chest ache. When he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and pulls me into his arms.

I go willingly, pressing my face against his chest and breathing in the scent of him. His heart is still racing under my cheek, and his arms are solid around me, holding me like I'm something worth protecting. "When you're ready," he says quietly, his lips against my hair, "we'll talk about it. But only when you're ready. Okay?"

I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice.

He kisses the top of my head. Then my temple. Then, gently, my lips. It's not a passionate kiss, not demanding or hungry. Just soft and reassuring. It feels like a promise that he's not going anywhere.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you to bed."

17

DECLAN

Morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, and for a moment I don't remember where I am. Then I feel her.

Elena is curled against my side, her head on my chest, one hand resting over my heart. Her breathing is slow and even, her body warm and soft against mine. We're both still naked under the sheets, and the intimacy of it, the simple fact of waking up with her like this, makes my chest tighten.

Last night changed something between us. I'm not naive enough to think all our problems are solved. There's still so much I don't understand about her, and her about me, but we took a step forward.

And I'm not going to fuck it up.

I run my fingers through her hair gently, careful not to wake her. She makes a soft sound in her sleep and shifts closer, and something in my chest cracks open. This woman, this complicated, infuriating, beautiful woman, is mine. My wife. My partner.

If I can just figure out how to keep her.

Her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, like she's not sure where she is or how she got here. Then her gaze focuses on me, and I see the memory of last night wash over her face. "Morning," I say quietly.

"Morning." Her voice is rough with sleep. She doesn't pull away, but I can feel the tension creeping back into her body. The walls starting to rebuild.

"Stay," I say before she can move. "Just for a minute."

She hesitates. Then, slowly, she relaxes against me again. "Okay."

We lie there in silence for a while. I keep running my fingers through her hair, and gradually I feel her tension ease. This intimacy is new territory for both of us. We've had sex. We've fought. We've hurt each other. But this is different.

"I need to tell you something," I say finally. "The attack on the shipment—the one that killed my men. It wasn't random. I don’t believe it was, anyway." I meet her eyes. "Someone knew exactly when and where we'd be. Someone gave them that information."

Her expression shifts, strangely like confirmation of something she already suspected. "You think there's a spy."

"I know there is." I tell her about how the night went in greater detail, and what I was told was said, about the Irish and the Italian alliance. When I'm done, she's quiet for a long moment.

"If the problem was the Irish and Italian working together, why didn't they attack the Capetti men too?" She frowns. “The Irish and the Italians don’t typically work well together; it’s true. That’s been true since before you took over. But I don’t think they’re telling the whole truth. You said the attack was because someone doesn’t like the Irish and Italians cooperating. But if that's true, they would have targeted both sides. Not just yours." She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself. "It doesn't make sense, Declan. If someone wanted to stop the alliance, they'd want to make both families look weak. They'd want to create distrust on both sides. This gives you an outward threat to look at, not closer to home."

Fuck, she's right. I was so focused on the immediate threat, on the loss of my men, that I hadn't thought that far into it yet.

"The new capo," she continues. "Dante Moretti. The one who defected from my… my father’s house. Have you questioned him?"

"Not since he wanted to join up with us. He came to me," I say slowly. "Said he believed in what I was trying to do. That he wanted to be part of building something different. I wanted to believe that someone from your world saw value in what I'm trying to do."

She reaches out and touches my face. The gesture is so unexpected and gentle that I freeze. "I can understand that. But you need to question him," she says quietly. "Or send him away. Something about this doesn't feel right."

"You think he's the spy."

"I think you should find out." She drops her hand. "Before more of your men die."