Married To The Consigliere: The Canary's Revenge

Serena Sinclair POV

The smell of vintage scotch made me gag, pulling me from sleep.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my hands clutching my stomach.

The phantom pain of the forced abortion ripped through my body.

I curled into a tight ball on my mattress, gasping for air.

In my past life, Xavier had brought me a glass of scotch to calm my nerves.

I had drunk it.

Ten minutes later, the cramping had started.

The blood soaked through my white dress.

He had stood over me, his aristocratic face completely blank.

He told me a rat did not deserve to bear his blood.

My bedroom door flew open, the crash of wood against the wall splintering the memory.

I sat up, pulling the blanket to my chest.

Natalie marched in.

She threw a black leather folder onto my bed.

"He is asking questions," she demanded, pacing the floor. Her phone was a pale rectangle in her white-knuckled grip.

"He is testing me. He asked me what his favorite drink is."

I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down.

"The Macallan. Nineteen twenty-six."

Natalie typed furiously into her phone.

"What else? Give me something specific. Something only the two of you would know. And make it simple—I can’t keep bluffing my way through these damn ciphers. "

I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"We met once. In the back of a tinted SUV."

Natalie stopped typing.

She looked up, her eyes wide with a sudden, ugly jealousy.

"You met him?"

"It was pitch black," I explained, keeping my voice carefully toneless.

"He never saw my face. He just wanted to hear my breathing. He wanted to know I was real."

"Perfect. I can fake that." A wicked smile curved her lips. "I will tell him I was nervous and demanded the lights stay off."

She pocketed her phone and pointed at the black folder on my bed.

"Mother found you a husband."

My stepmother, Cynthia, hated my existence; this was no act of kindness.

I pulled the folder into my lap and opened it.

A photograph stared back at me.

Gabriel Romano.

He was the Consigliere of the Romano Family.

He was known as the architect of death—lethal, brilliant, and completely unhinged when crossed.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes held a cold, calculating intelligence that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

"Mother thinks it is too good for you," Natalie sneered.

"But I told her it is perfect. The Romanos are ruthless. If Gabriel treats you like garbage, you might run crying to Xavier for help. That makes you a very useful pawn."

I stared at Gabriel's picture.

He was a Made Man.

He had enough power to keep Xavier away from me, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.

"When do I meet him?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. On a private Syndicate yacht," she snapped.

"Mother will chaperone. Do not embarrass us, Serena."

Natalie left the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

I traced the edge of Gabriel's photograph.

I did not care if he was a monster.

I just needed a monster whose name was not Xavier Falcone.