Chapter 11

The wedding was more like a party with a signing ceremony. We didn’t bother with a priest. It was just me, Elena, Simon, her parents, and my mother standing in Simon’s office while I wrote my name on a piece of paper and Elena did the same.

There was a moment in the dim light when most of the people were filtering out chatting and murmuring to each other, and I was a newlywed with a wife I barely knew, when she leaned up against me and looked up into my eyes, and my ring sparkled on her finger, and she looked fucking beautiful. Perfect, really, in a pale gray dress, not quite white, in a conservative cut that still managed to flatter her gorgeous body. I didn’t know what to think when I agreed to marry a stranger, and now I’m thankful that she’s ten times more attractive than I ever imagined was possible, but a little wary of it too.

She’s one more pressure on my back.

We sleep in separate houses that night. Elena stays at the oasis and I go back to my own place. I have a four-bedroom single-family spot in the same neighborhood as my mom, although it’s still mostly a bachelor pad. I spend more time in the family law firm than I do in my own bed.

But I pick up Elena early the next morning and take her for a drive.

“I’m going to admit something to you,” she says while looking out the window of my truck. It’s just the two of us and it feels like that’s the first time ever. Normally she’s got at least one or two guards lurking nearby. “I don’t know anything about your family business.”

“We’re lawyers,” I say even though that’s only one part of what the Quinn organization does. “We also commit crimes.”

She laughs and stretches her lean legs. She’s in a pair of linen shorts and a silky blouse. I’m tempted to put my hand on that lovely toned thigh and only barely resist. “Crimes, huh? I thought a lawyer would be smart enough not to confess.”

“You’re my wife. And you commit crimes too.”

She looks shocked, a hand on her chest. “Absolutely never. I’m a very good girl.”

That gets a smile. “Doubt it.”

She grins right back and starts grilling me about my family. Sometimes Elena can be exhausting—it’s like the girl’s never low energy and definitely never quiet—but this is probably for the best. I tell her about Seamus and how close we are, and about how Molly’s probably the best lawyer we have, and Declan and Nolan are both a couple of thugs that love to wear suits, and how Caitlin’s the baby of the family at twenty-seven. I don’t talk much about my mom because I don’t know how to say anything about her without mentioning the deep, dark melancholy that permeates everything she does.

We reach my house and I swear I talked more on the fifteen-minute car ride than I have all year. She seems happy though, and for some reason that makes me happy too. I take her inside and give her the tour of the place.

“I knew this was going to be a problem, but I didn’t know how bad.” She makes a face once we’re done and regrouping in the kitchen.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She gestures at my living room. “This place looks like you keep it wrapped up in plastic most days. It’s like you murder people.”

“I don’t murder people. Not here, anyway.”

She rolls her eyes. “Seriously, look at your walls. They’re bare white. The coffee table’s falling apart and that couch looks like it’s fifty years old.”

“My place isn’t fancy. I know you’re not used to that.” I brush past her, feeling defensive, although I don’t know why. It’s not like I disagree with what she’s saying.

Elena rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me the rich-girl routine. I’ve seen homeless people with more personal touches in their freaking tent than you have in your whole house.”

I cross my arms and give her a hard look. “If you care that much, you can decorate all you want when you move in.”

She goes very still. It’s like watching a deer realize there’s a hunter cocking back a rifle and aiming at its face. Her mouth opens slightly, her eyebrows up at her freaking hairline, and she looks around like she’s searching for hidden cameras.

“You think I’m… moving in here?” She blinks rapidly then laughs. “You’re insane. You’re joking, right?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about that?” I say through my teeth. Despite the lack of decorations, my house is one of the nicest in this whole neighborhood. It was renovated only a few years ago with all high-end shit like fancy appliances and granite countertops in the stinking bathroom. While it lacks personality, it definitely oozes expensive comforts.

“Because we’re going to live in the oasis.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her surprise begins to melt away. “You know that, right?”

“Let’s get something straight, wifey.” I take a step closer. “You’re mine now. Which means you live in my house.”

“Don’t give me some outdated caveman ideas about gender roles and all that crap.” Her hands wave in the air like she’s dismissing a thousand years of tradition with her fingertips. “The oasis is one of the safest places in the entire city. We’re living there.”

“Didn’t seem so safe when Santoro attacked it,” I bark at her and instantly regret it.

Her face shuts down. She goes rigid, her hands balling into fists, and I know I fucked up. I should not have mentioned that attack, because even I can tell the wounds are still very fresh and her family’s still trying to process what happened, but I couldn’t fucking help myself.

It’s the way she’s talking about my home. It’s not her fancy oasis, but my people and I worked very hard to carve out a section of the city where the Quinn organization and all the Irish families that depend on us can feel safe and welcome. Mt. Greenwood isn’t right on the lake, and it’s not in the heart of downtown, but it’s our southside paradise.

I don’t have a problem with the Biancos. I know they’re wealthy and powerful. That’s the whole damn point—I want Elena because she can take the Quinns to the next level.

But there was something in the way she looked at me that got under my skin.

And now I fucked up big time.

“I think this conversation is finished,” she says very quietly. “And I want you to take me back home.”

“Elena, hold on.”

“No, don’t start apologizing. You know you shouldn’t have said that, but you said it anyway and there’s no taking it back. I want to go home now, please.”

I take a deep breath. I’m tempted to drag her into my arms and let her squirm until she works the anger and the fight out of her system, but that won’t do much good. Instead, I gesture for her to follow, and we get back in the truck.

So much for our honeymoon. We drive back in dead silence. She glares out the window the whole time like she wants to kick the ass of everyone that walks past. Except I’m the only asshole she wants to beat up.

I park outside of her place. The oasis is still half-decorated from the party. The tables and chairs are gone, and the stage is packed away, but the fairy lights are still strung between the trees.

“Sometimes I’m too fucking proud,” I say before she can run off. She pauses, her hand on the handle, but she doesn’t look back at me. “I know where you come from. I see what you and your family have. I can’t give that to you. But my father built a strong business, and I’m going to make it even stronger, if I can stop insulting my own damn wife.”

Her shoulders are still tense. But she gives a little nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then she’s gone. I watch her walk off.

There’s a knock at my window. I jump a little and roll it down. The young guard Matty’s standing there with a rifle slung under his shoulder and grinning at me. “She looked pissed. What’d you do?”

I roll my window back up. Matty laughs as I turn around at the far end and flip him off on my way out.