Jericho's POV.
I still can't believe I almost forced myself on my mate.
Fuck.
Every second that passes, the memory burns hotter. I wanted to bang my head against the wall when I saw that look on her face—that pure horror in her gorgeous eyes. She wasn't scared of the mafia boss. She was scared of her mate. Her mate.
I thought I'd be able to control myself. I thought I could manage it if she just danced for me every night so I could slowly adjust to the bond, take it in small doses, build some damn tolerance. But one night—one fucking night—and everything I planned collapsed.
I don't even know what came over me. How I got across the room. When I pinned her to the wall. When I kissed her like a starving beast. It was like something hijacked my body, and I only woke up when I tasted blood—my blood—from her biting me.
It's been hours, but my cheek still stings from her slap.
I deserve worse.
The pen in my hand tapped the desk over and over, loud, sharp, annoying even to me, but I couldn't stop. My mind wasn't here. It was with her—curled on the bed, clutching that ridiculous butter knife, flinching in her sleep, whispering her husband's name like a safety prayer.
My chest tightened at the memory. I pulled up the CCTV footage again—just to check she was still breathing—but seeing her trembling only pissed me off more. Not at her.
At me.
And at him.
The men sitting across from me—three port contractors from the East Bay—fell silent the moment I zoned out. They didn't even dare shift in their seats. Good. I wasn't in the mood to babysit grown men.
I could feel Ralph staring at me from the couches on the side. He always watched me when he sensed something was off. Good kid. Good instincts. But right now, I didn't give a fuck about him either.
My mate hates me even more now. That's all I could think about.
I wanted to tell everyone to get the fuck out so I could go home—home to her, even if she didn't want me there—and just sit outside the bedroom door like a fucking dog until she stopped shaking. But what would I even say to her? Sorry I almost lost control and scared you into grabbing kitchen utensils for protection?
Yeah. That would go well.
I exhaled sharply through my nose and forced myself to look down at the table.
The men had brought a proposal, thick as a brick, full of shipment lists, new routes, and "necessary partnerships." Smug bastards probably thought they were doing me a favor by offering an alliance. Truth was, they needed me more than I needed them. Half of them were drowning under debt. The other half were already being investigated.
The leader cleared his throat. "Mr. Mancini… as we were saying, we can offer full access to the southern docks if—"
"If you don't shut the fuck up for a second, and let me think" I muttered, rubbing my temples.
He froze instantly.
A muscle in my jaw ticked. I was trying. I really was. But every time I blinked, I saw Alesia's face when she slapped me. The tear that slipped down her cheek when she thought I'd retaliate. The way her whole body shook afterward.
And then I remembered her whispering Antonio's name in her sleep, begging him not to die.
My blood boiled.
When I finally get the chance to kill that bastard, I'll savor every moment. But not yet. I can't touch him—not because I'm scared of consequences, but because killing him now means losing her forever.
She'd never forgive me.
But her husband… oh, he would wish he never fucking existed when I'm done with him.
I could just kill her husband and take her father hostage. She'd hate me more for it—sure—but at least she wouldn't be able to leave. And the bastard has the nerve to take credit for my work. I'm the one paying her father's bills. I'm the one who put him in the best hospital. She doesn't even know where the old man is; she just believes whatever her "husband" feeds her, like some loyal little dog.
I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus back on the meeting. The contractors looked seconds away from pissing themselves.
The leader tried again carefully. "We… we understand your hesitation. But what we're offering—"
"You're offering me scraps," I snapped. "You want protection for your businesses, immunity for your bullshit, and a fifteen percent cut of my port shipments in exchange for… what? One little section of dock space and a handful of corrupt inspectors? Be serious."
He swallowed hard. "We… we can negotiate the percentage—"
"You'll negotiate whatever I tell you to negotiate."
Silence spread across the table like smoke.
Ralph shifted slightly. I could feel him wanting to step in, but he kept quiet.
I tapped the proposal with one finger. "Your plan is weak. You need a real export cover. Something clean enough to pass inspections but valuable enough to hide what you're actually moving."
The men exchanged worried glances.
I leaned back. "I'll provide it."
One of them blinked in disbelief. "Y-you'll… provide the cover operation?"
"Yes," I said, bored already.
"I have a business—Marano Textiles—has a clean federal record and a perfect inspection history. They export fabrics. Lightweight. Easy to conceal product under."
They stared at me like they couldn't believe their luck. Of course they were lucky, I'd probably regret this later but I just need to get out of here. Moreover, it wasn't a bad deal either, I do need a few corrupted inspectors.
I leaned forward. "But if you use that shipment line for anything more than I authorize, I will gut every one of you and send your heads to your families. Do we understand each other?"
They all nodded at once.
"Good." I signed the last page without even reading it. "Ralph will finalize the rest."
They scrambled out like rats escaping a burning building.
The moment the door shut, I exhaled—long, slow, tired. My chest ached.
"Brother?" Ralph hesitated before coming over. "About the deal—"
"Hmm?"
"Want me to go over the terms with you? They mentioned something about moving packages through the southern lane next month."
My head leaned back against the chair. "Handle it. If they screw up, kill them. If they don't, we get a new route."
Ralph nodded. "Alright."
But he didn't leave.
He just stood there, watching me.
"What?" I muttered.
"You're… distracted."
"Obviously."
"You want to see her?"
I closed my eyes. The answer was yes. Fucking yes. Every part of me was screaming for her, needing to know she was breathing, that she hadn't run, that she hadn't hurt herself out of fear.
"Give Eliza a call, tell her to pick off the jewelry I have selected and gift them to your Donna".