Keeping my Mafia Husband
I ask, already salivating as the scent of garlic butter and spice hits my nose.
“Drognov,” he says smoothly. “With a name like that, you’ll be happy and secure for the rest of your life.” He cracks a crab leg clean in half, juices glistening on his fingers. “Also, I’m Catholic. That means no divorce. Once you’re my wife, you’re mine until you die.”
He tears off another shell, expression calm. “It’s forever, little bunny.”
That should terrify me. Forever should send warning bells through my skull. But instead… my heart skips. My cheeks flush. I must be coming down with something.