My father’s chauvinist pig of a lawyer would be the first on the chopping block. He intended to turn my simple inheritance into a spectacle. He insisted Bianca marry, too, before either of us received a penny. My own attorney pointed out the separate clauses related to mine and Bianca’s money. It didn’t matter if Bianca got her fortune. The second I received mine, she wouldn’t need anything. I hoped Bianca wasn’t worrying her school days away thinking about it.

I sat in the back of Pierce’s car, wrapped inside his leather coat, letting the scent of him cradle away the stress. Paperwork and bureaucracy were my least favorite things about our enterprise.

The car pulled up outside Pierce’s house. It was almost dinner time, and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Holt, as the driver introduced himself that morning, opened the door, and I stepped out. I let him deal with my bags while I headed straight for the front door. A guard I didn’t recognize sat on a chair outside. When he caught sight of me, he shoved a bundle of black in his back pocket and opened the door. Poor kid, everyone knew about Pierce and the knitting he used to train his men.

I entered Pierce’s house—our house now, I supposed—to the scent of red sauce wafting from the kitchen. My stomach clenched, and I dropped my belongings on the table next to the door. Pierce poked his head around the corner and smiled. My chest loosened, and I took a deep breath at the sight of him. God, I’d been away from him for mere hours, and I hadn’t even realized I missed him so much, it ached.

I went into the kitchen to catch Pierce at the stove stirring a large pot. “What on Earth are you doing?”

He gestured at the burner. “What does it look like?”

I watched him for a second, scanning his features for anything different. After being away from me for a few hours, maybe he changed his mind and wanted to chuck me out to the curb. I’d long been aware I wasn’t an easy person to deal with.

He placed a wooden spoon on the countertop. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nothing mattered in that second but touching him. As if the very cells in my body depended on his skin for survival. I took one step forward, and he met me in the middle, anchoring my face in his hands as I pushed up on my tip toes to reach his mouth.

He tasted like rich red sauce and wine. I couldn’t get my tongue deep enough in his mouth, and he couldn’t keep his hands in one place. Starting from my face, scratching his short nails along my neck, down my waist, to my ass. Until he lifted me up and I was still tracking the edges of his tongue with mine. It was heat and fire and the burn I craved every time I kiss someone.

I could never figure out if we were so drawn to each other because of some chemical makeup, or if a deeper bond ensured neither of us would be happy elsewhere.

My fingers curled around the base of his skull, and I held on tight while he walked me to the counter. It took less than a second for him to sit me down on the edge, pop the button on my jeans, and angle his hand into my panties. I broke the kiss with a gasp, and his dark eyes focused on my lips.

“I don’t think this is sanitary,” I said in a pant.

He dragged a nail across my clit, and I jumped in his hold. “I don’t think I give a fuck.”

From the years of experience, he knew exactly how to bring me to the edge and hold me there until I writhed in his arms. “Ask me for it.”

I ground forward, trying to get the last few seconds of friction I need. “What?”

He speared his free hand into my hair and pulled tight, arching my neck backward. It was uncomfortable and demeaning and so damn hot. “Ask me to let you come. Ask me nicely, Baby Girl, and I’ll give it to you.”

These were the games we play. Not dominance and submission, but command and concede.

I swallowed the retort building as my nerve endings screamed for release. “Pierce, please, make me come.”

He jerked my hair tighter and slipped his middle finger inside me. Then he used his thumb to work my clit. I broke open between heartbeats and rode his hand until the cloud in my brain receded.

Gently, he released my hair first and slowly wound me down, before removing his hand from my pants.

I smiled at him softly until he licked his fingers one by one like a cat with a fresh batch of nip. The haze surged back, and I grabbed for his belt buckle.

He stopped my hands. “Sorry, Baby Girl. We don’t have enough time for what I want to do to you right now. For dessert, I promise.”

He kissed me and washed his hands. I hopped off the counter and tried to arrange myself to look like a woman who did not just have an orgasm next to a sauce pot.

A guard knocked gently on the glass patio door and then entered. I stopped and stared at Gerry, one of the few guards I knew by name. “Hello, Ms. Katherine,” he said.

I wanted to check if my fly was zipped, but I just tugged my shirt down instead. “Hi, Gerry. You can call me Kat, if you want.”

He nodded sharply and slid the door closed with a snap. I pointed toward the kitchen and hunted down my phone while they talked. I’d always known who Pierce was. As a member of the same circles, I’d see him at functions or special events. I hadn’t had much interaction with his day-to-day though. And I never learned what the infamous Wild Dogs were known for around town. Something I should probably find out now.

I scrolled through my phone and stopped at a text from Bianca.

By the time I read to the end, the words began to blur in an entirely different kind of mindless haze.

“Pierce,” I called, surprised at the calmness in my tone. The lights were pulsing slightly around the edges of my vision. He poked his head out, took one look at me, and came out to face me, drying his hands on a towel.

I tossed my phone at him. He caught it one handed, towel still in the other. It took him a second to read it. “Hey, Gerry, why don’t you go round up the boys to get something to eat.”

He stepped forward, took my arm, and dragged me into the bedroom. By the time he closed the door, I was clawing at his fingers to let me go. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He released me so quickly, I stumbled back. Then he pressed the phone to my chest and stared down into my eyes hard. “I know you. And I know you are about five seconds from blowing a gasket and starting a huge blow out with me. I spent an hour making dinner for you, so I’m going to end this right here.”

He put more pressure on the phone. It didn’t hurt, but it did force me to focus on his hand instead of the rage thrumming in time with my pulse. “I’m going to say this once. Two men did come here and ask to marry Bianca. I told both of the little boys they would need to make an appointment with you about it, and to refer to you on any other Italian business which pops up.”

I sputtered on what to say. Why the hell would anyone come to him in the first place? His scent surrounded me, and the smell of sex and sauce. I pushed him back and turned away. Thinking was impossible with him so close.

The only thing that pounded in my head was that the families assumed Pierce had taken leadership of the five. Not even possible since he’s not related by blood. But the old bastards seemed to think his gender precluded DNA and a complete lack of knowledge related to our operations.

Fucking. Bastards.

I didn’t turn around, but I held my hand behind me to get my phone back. Telling Bianca the truth would only upset her, so I simply texted I had things under control. She trusted me to handle family business I hoped.

When my breathing slowed and I could finally think past the pounding in my ears, I turned to face him.

Pierce sat on the edge of the bed leaning back on his hands. “Are we good?”

I took another stuttered exhale and nodded once. “I’m sorry.”

Apologizing was never something I did well. Hopefully, he could take it and not press further. There had been times me apologizing to him worked fine, others, he pushed me on them until I begged for forgiveness. Usually in similar means to the activities on his countertop.

The sound of dishes from the kitchen reached us, and he stood up. “Hungry?”

“I’m starving, actually.”

He gripped my shoulders and looked into my face hard. “You didn’t eat anything today?”

What did he expect? I barely remembered to eat on normal days. It became worse the busier I got. I shrugged instead of answering.

He lifted my chin in a tight grip. “We are going to work on that. For now, let me feed you.”

I leaned up, kissed him, and let him lead me into the kitchen.

Five men, including Gerry were standing around the countertops with plates of spaghetti in their hands. All of them silently shoveled in pasta at breakneck pace.

Pierce led me in by the hand. “You guys know you can sit at the table right?”

They all filed out, and Pierce made plates for us and carried them to the table. It was a large table, seating twelve, so we all fit easily. They all wore shades of black and leather jackets. I wanted to make a joke about waiting for the rest of The Village People, but decided against it. None of them, not even Gerry, knew me well enough to take it as a joke.

They’d called me a showpiece. They’d called me a shrew. I glanced across the table at Pierce. Muscular, covered in tattoos, every inch of him screaming at people to run away. And yet, the curve of his smile and his laugh were so sweet, anyone would be entranced by it.

“You’re not eating,” he said, breaking my focus on him.

Heat surged up my neck, so I ducked down and ate. The sauce tasted sweet and spicy at the same time. Simple and yet it stuck to the noodles perfectly. I didn’t realize I’d let out a moan until everyone at the table broke out laughing.

I wiped my chin. “What?”

“You like it huh?” Pierce asked, and laughed again.

“It’s amazing. Where did you get this recipe? And don’t tell my grandmother, but it’s better than hers. Although when you meet her, I don’t advise you telling her that, or you might find a chicken head in your bed.”

He scoffed. “In our bed.”

I shook my head. “No, my friend, if you tell my grandmother you make a better red sauce than her, I’ll be a widow before the week is out.”

The guys glanced between us nervously, but Pierce only smiled. “So she is like every other Minola woman then.”

“Seems improbable, right?”

“More like a menace to public safety.”

I ate until I couldn’t fit anything else in. Once I sat back and surveyed them, I could see Pierce’s men respected him deeply. They looked to him for answers, acceded to him in conversation, and asked for his opinion. I let the conversation go, not joining, just listening.

They’d called me many things in my life. But with this man beside me…with him as my weapon…

They’d call me queen.