Filthy Rich (The Five Points' Mob Collection, #2)

by Serena Akeroyd

And while his words weren’t comforting, they sure as hell stuck with me.

“You’ll dance in their blood if you want to.”

But now? I could dance in Father’s blood?

A truce. Between the Bratva and the Irish Mob.

“They can’t touch me anymore.” He stiffened at that. “You’re damn right they can’t.”

I just wanted away from my family, I just wanted a life of my own, even if it was still curtailed by being a wife to a high-ranking lieutenant in a crime family.

Demure. Gentle. It made me want to break the conditioning she’d been forced to adhere to, made me want to ruffle her, and…

I was used to everything being recycled, everything having belonged to another of my brothers—until this place.

From our own experiences, we knew not to always pin the sins of the father on the sons. For all the sins we’d committed, they were nothing to Aidan O’Donnelly Sr.’s.

Men always hurt women.

While it was kind of a curse to remember everything, it had to be cool to never forget stuff like that. It was human nature for the good to blur and for the bad to stick out like a sore thumb.

Trust. It was nothing more than a fragile sapling right now, but if he tended it?

It would turn into a mighty oak, and everyone knew about those kinds of trees. They withstood even the worst of storms.

“How is it the brother with the biggest kills has the biggest heart?”

“I told him it was wicked of him to expect me to marry a serial killer.

I never had to share her, hadn’t shared her with anyone. Every inch of her was innocent, mine to corrupt. Mine to teach. If brains could orgasm, then I’d just come.

This time set the scene for the rest of our lives, and for a passion this hot? No way in shit was I going to fuck things up.

I was a soldier, a sniper—she’d said it herself—a serial killer. Did we even have the capacity for love?

The right woman made a shit load of a difference, and the wrong one? Tipped the scales and shoved an already dangerous man into another territory.

He’d been the reaper of his own misery, and to a man like my father, guilt did not sit well on his shoulders.

To the world, she was my possession, but the sense of belonging I felt was different than ownership at that moment.

A war we’d started. Because Eoghan and I were in this together.

Gilded cages were pretty, they were comfortable and elegant, but freedom? That was priceless.

I almost staggered back in surprise at her weight as she released all the terror in a heart that was no longer hers, but that belonged with the man who’d been taken by the Famiglia.

He didn’t need to hear the words to know I was feeling that way. I imbued it in the hold I had him in, in the touches I gave him, in the way I pressed a kiss to his chest. That was enough.

It confirmed what I already knew. She was a fucking queen. My fucking queen.