Silent Lies: An Age Gap Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

I watch my daughters run to the back door of the house, followed by three dogs wearing huge colorful bows around their necks, then straighten and face my wife.

“It wasn’t you, hmm?” I wrap my hand around her waist and lift her against me, crushing her to my chest.

“It’s only watercolor paint.” She smiles. “It’ll wash away.”

“And the stickers?”

“That one was all girls. I’ll try to peel them off with the nail polish remover.”

“Just leave the blasted things.”

Having three daughters is a handful. Having daughters who are all a carbon copy of my wife certainly makes life unpredictable. And exciting.

“You said you’d like us to crash another svadba,” he says. “So, here we are.”

“But . . . but whose svadba is this?”

Drago leans forward and places his palm on my cheek. “It’s ours, baby.”

I swallow, trying to keep my composure. And I thought I couldn’t love this man more than I already do. My lips are trembling so badly, I can hardly speak. “Why?”

“Because I know you wanted one.” He slams his mouth to mine, then mumbles into my lips. “But no dancing on the table, Sienna.”

I just smile. What kind of svadba would it be if the bride didn’t dance on the table?

“Yellow isn’t my favorite color,” I mumble into her lips as I assault them with vigor. “You are, mila moya.”

“If you ever dare to pull this kind of shit again, I’m going to kill you.”

I smile and tilt her chin up to place a kiss on her lips. “I must say, when I imagined the moment you’ll finally confess that you love me, it didn’t include death threats.”

“It most certainly does.” Her fingers stroke my hair. “I love you. But you already knew that.”

“Bogdan?” I ask.

“Dead. Sienna shot him in the eye. I swear, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Yes, my sparkling wife is capable of so much, we’ve just scratched the surface. I can’t wait to spend a lifetime getting to know each of her graces.

“Did Bogdan’s men resort to biting when they ran out of bullets?” I whisper.

“Um, that was your wife.” He shifts his weight from one leg to another. “I tried to keep her back while the guys were loading you into the car.”

Raising an eyebrow, I glance down at the angelic face tucked into my side. Little hellion.

“I love every single thing about you, my glittery little spy.” He turns his hand, entwining his fingers with mine.

“Even my chicken jacket?”

“Especially”—he takes a shallow breath—“especially your chicken jacket, mila moya.”

“I love you, Drago.”

My hand is steady as I lift my gun, and my breaths are even. I’m scarcely aware of the shouts coming from the driveway, growing louder, getting nearer. In a split second, I aim at the guy’s head and, without a trace of hesitation, pull the trigger.

Bang!

The man jerks backward. A big red hole appears where his left eye had been.

I did that.

I killed him.

I’ve taken a life. And I don’t regret it.