The Kiss Thief

My husband, metal and steel.

Formidable and untouchable.

With a stone-carved heart I’d do anything to soften.

“I suppose you think that you can walk into her room and claim her back. Hang White and Bishop over my head again as leverage,” my father said, puffing on his cigar, his legs crossed at the ankles. He had yet to acknowledge my existence since I’d moved back into the house, but he didn’t let that deter him from blackmailing my husband. With every fiber of my body, I wanted to burst through the door and set the record straight. But I was too humiliated and hurt to risk another rejection. Wolfe might’ve come here to let me go, and I was done begging.

“How is she doing?” Wolfe ignored his question.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” my father replied curtly, sending another waft of smoke into the air and ignoring the question at hand.

“Have you taken her to the doctor?”

“She hasn’t left the house.”

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Wolfe spat.

“As far as I can remember, Francesca was old enough to get pregnant. She is therefore old enough to book an appointment with an OB-GYN. Not to mention, if anyone should help her, it should be the man responsible for her dire situation.”

Dire situation? My nostrils flared, hot air coming down from them like fire.

It was the moment in which it dawned on me that my father was completely irredeemable. He didn’t care for me or the baby. The only thing he cared about—ever—was The Outfit. He loved and adored me when I was his puppet. And at the first sign of defiance, he discarded me and shook off any responsibility toward me. He sold me. Then lost his interest in me when he could no longer marry me off to another strong Italian family. Wolfe, however, stuck around through thick and thin. Even when we antagonized each other. Even when he thought I’d slept with Angelo and saw me kissing him, and when I defied him again and again and again. The word divorce never left his mouth. Failure wasn’t an option.

He showed me more loyalty than my father did.

“Good point.” Wolfe stood up. “I’ll take her to the doctor right away.”

“You will do no such thing. In fact, you will not be seeing her tonight, at all,” my father retorted.

Wolfe strolled toward him unflappably, stopping a few feet from my father and towering over his head. “Is that her request or yours?”

“Her demand. Why do you think you haven’t heard from her yet?” My father put his cigar in an ashtray, sending a plume of smoke in Wolfe’s face as he spoke. “She requested I make sure that you grovel properly.”

“Let me guess—you have plenty of ideas.”

“I do.” My father unknotted his ankles, pushing off the desk so he was nose to nose with Wolfe. I wished I could see my husband’s face at that moment. My father was lying to him, and he was too smart not to see that. Then again, love was like a drug. You didn’t think clearly under the influence.

“I’ll let you see Francesca if you comply.”

“And if I don’t?”

“White can personally come and arrest me today, and you can burst through Francesca’s bedroom door armed with police force. I’m sure she’d appreciate it. Especially in her current state.”

Wolfe was silent for a moment.

“Do you realize she misses you?” he asked my father.

My heart clenched painfully. God, Wolfe.

“Do you realize that I’m a businessman?” my father retorted. “She’s a damaged asset. We all have a price tag, Fabio Nucci.” He laughed in my husband’s face. “I was born on the streets and left at the steps of a church door to almost die. My mother was a prostitute, and my father? Who knows who he was. Everything I have, every square foot in this house, every piece of furniture, every fucking pen, I’ve worked for. Francesca had one job—to be obedient. And she failed.”

“Because I set her up for failure.” Wolfe raised his voice, spitting in my father’s face.

“That may be, but her only value to me right now is to be a pawn against you. You see, I’ve made the mistake of undervaluing a person once in my life. When I decided to foolishly let you live.”

Something dropped between them, and it thudded against the silence of the room. Jesus. He actually said it. My father regretted not killing my husband.

“Why didn’t you?” Wolfe seethed. “Why did you let me live?”

“You were frightened, Nucci, but you were also strong. You didn’t cry. You didn’t piss your pants. You even tried to snatch one of my men’s weapons. You reminded me of my young self when I ran on the streets barefoot, stealing food, pickpocketing, and working my way up. Hustling to the core and making ties with The Outfit. I knew you had a chance to survive this part of the neighborhood. More than that—I knew you were a savage. Wolfe Keaton plays nice with the law, but let’s admit it—Fabio Nucci is inside you, and he is out for blood.”

“I will never be your ally.”

“Good. You make a fascinating enemy.”

“Whatever you need me to do, get it over with,” Wolfe barked.

My father leaned back, clucking his tongue and tapping a fist over his lip.

“If you truly love my daughter, Senator Keaton, if you sincerely care for her, you will strip from the one thing you never part ways with—your pride.”

“What are you asking?” I could practically envision Wolfe’s jaw as it locked in anger.

“Beg for her, son. Kneel.” Papa lifted his chin, somehow looking down at Wolfe despite my husband being several inches taller. “Beg like you made me beg for her when you took her from me.”

My dad begged for me?

“I do not beg,” Wolfe said, and I knew he meant it. Even my father knew better than to ask for something like this. He set Wolfe up for failure and doomed my marriage by asking that. Wolfe never bowed to anyone, much less my own father. I was going to burst in the door and set the record straight when I heard Papa speak again.

“Then you don’t love my daughter, Senator Keaton. You merely want your possession back. Because as far as I recall, she did a lot of begging and groveling when you took her from this house as your prisoner.”

I bit down on my lip, resting my forehead against the doorframe. It hurt me to see Wolfe hurting, but it pained me even more that I understood why he couldn’t do it. Why he couldn’t beg the man who had ruined his life. It wasn’t just about his pride and dignity. It was also about his morals and everything he stood for. About his family.

My father had stripped him from his pride once in front of his brother. He was not going to do it again.

“You’re not doing this because of her; you’re doing this because of you,” Wolfe accused, point-blank. My dad braced the edges of his desk behind him as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating this.

“Why I’m doing this shouldn’t matter to you. If you want her, you will stop at nothing, much less the floor.”

Tears prickled my eyes once again. My father was humiliating him, and as much as I wanted to step inside and order them both to stop this, I couldn’t. Because my father wasn’t wrong about one thing—Wolfe always held the power in my relationship with him, and if he couldn’t let go, even once, was this really a marriage, or was it a captive and master, glorified under the flattering light of lust?

Slowly, I watched to my utter shock as Wolfe began to lower himself down to his knees. I choked on my breath, unable to tear my eyes from the scene unfolding in front of me. My husband, the proud, take-no-bullshit, arrogant bastard was kneeling, begging for me. What’s more, he didn’t look an inch less superior than he did walking into this room. He tilted his face up, allowing me an angle from which I could see him clearly. He was the picture of conceited, his regal features sharp and open. His eyes were determined, his eyebrows arched in mockery, and his entire composure was unimpeachable. Based on their faces alone, you couldn’t tell which one of them was bowing down to the other.

“Arthur,” his voice boomed in the room, “I beg you, please let me talk to your daughter. My wife is, and always will be, the most important thing in my life.”

My heart burst in my chest at his words, and I quivered, feeling the heat of a thousand suns warming me from the inside.

“You will never make her happy for as long as you hang my sins over her head,” my father warned. My husband was still on his knees, and I couldn’t stop the tears anymore. They rushed down in the form of a sob. I slapped a hand over my mouth, afraid they’d hear me.

Wolfe smirked, his eyes flashing with determination.

“I do not intend to do that anymore, Arthur.”

“Does that mean you will stop messing with my business?”

“That means I will make an effort to play nice for her.”

“What about White and Bishop?” my father asked.

“I’ll do whatever I see fit with them.”

“I can take Francesca awa—”

“No, you can’t,” Wolfe interfered, cutting him sharply. “The only person who is in a position to take Francesca away from me is Francesca herself. It’s her choice who she wants to be with—not mine. Definitely not yours. You’ve killed my brother, then my parents. My wife is where I draw the line. You cannot take her. I will unleash hell if you do.”

I closed my eyes, feeling my body swaying from side to side. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the scent of the cigar made me want to throw up.

“Go to her,” my father said brokenly.

My husband got up on his feet.

Then, for the second time in my life, I swooned.

I WOKE UP COCOONED IN my husband’s arms.

He sat on the king-sized bed, my head resting on him in the exact same position we were curled in when we were in the barn, when he showed me Artemis. His spicy cologne and distinctive male scent engulfed me in comfort, and I pretended to be asleep a little longer, prolonging the uncomfortable conversation that waited at the end of my slumber.