บททั้งหมดของ Unholy Matrimony: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 137

DominikI’m back in the war room at the penthouse. The sun is threatening to rise over the East River, turning the sky a bruised purple, but the blackout shutters are still down. Time doesn't exist in here. "Coffee," I say.It’s not a request.A new guard places a cup on the desk next to my hand. I don't look at him. I’m looking at Vincent Wong.Wong is sitting surrounded by three curved monitors, his face bathed in the blue glow of scrolling code. He looks like a cadaver. His skin is waxy, his eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses. He’s been awake for thirty-six hours straight."You said you had something," I say, leaning against the edge of the mahogany table."I have an anomaly," Wong says, his voice raspy. He types a command, and a spectral analysis graph appears on the main screen. "I stopped looking for the burner phone ID. You were right. It was a dead end. So I started looking at the transmission packet itself.""English, Vincent.""When you send a text," he explains, using a

EveThe door to my office opens, revealing DominikI know he went to hunt our stalker this morning, and the frantic energy that had him pacing a few hours ago has vanished. The air around him feels dense, charged with a lethal, absolute calm."Come with me, we have a meeting with the families," he says. His voice is a low, even hum.I don't ask questions. I run a hand over the black pencil skirt and silk blouse I’m wearing, making sure my outfit is still immaculate."The leak wasn't external," he states, the words dropping like stones into the quiet room. "The hit squad, the photographer in Tuscany, it was orchestrated from inside the Commission. Orsino Genovese."The name registers, sending a cold spike down my spine. One of his capos. "Why?" I ask, heading for the door."He paid to have a target painted on your back, assuming the stress would force me into making a fatal mistake so the Commission would vote me out." Dominik steps forward, his expression carved from granite. "He us

EveThree weeks have dissolved since the night the world fractured and reassembled itself in a warehouse in Red Hook.We’re back at the estate and no long trapped in a makeshift bunker braced for an impending siege. The suffocating tension that choked the air for weeks has completely evaporated.Dominik has been true to his terrifying word. Following the swift, brutal execution of Orsino Genovese, the remaining families fell into a stark, absolute line. The streets are quiet. The threats have vanished. My husband reigns over the city with a dark, uncontested authority, and he treats me with a level of devotion that still leaves me breathless.Everything is basically perfect.The only little glitch is that for the past four days, my body has felt as though it’s moving through wet cement.Waking up this morning was a monumental task. The alarm sounded at seven, but opening my eyes required a surge of willpower I simply didn't possess. A thick, oppressive fog of fatigue has settled int

EveIf Dominik Grimaldi keeps smiling like that, I might actually file for divorce.It isn't a normal smile. It isn't the rare, genuine grin that lights up his eyes, or even the dark, wolfish smirk that usually precedes trouble or an earth-shattering orgasm.It’s a smirk of pure self-satisfaction.It’s the look of a man who believes he has single-handedly invented the concept of reproduction.I stand in the middle of my walk-in closet, staring at the shelves where my stilettos usually live. They are empty. Gone. Replaced by row after row of sensible designer flats, loafers, and sneakers."Dominik!" I yell, turning on my heel.He appears in the doorway a second later, looking annoyingly handsome in his pinstripe suit. He’s adjusting his cufflinks, that maddeningly smug expression already in place.It seems to be a permanent accessory."Yes, mi amor?""Where are my shoes?""In storage," he says calmly. "Dr. Russo said your center of gravity will shift. Heels are a fall risk. I can't hav