Bounded by Protection

Savannah Sanchez Leon had spent four years as Armando's wife, but she had never been his woman. The thought clung to her as she stood on the balcony of their Chicago penthouse, the city lights glittering far below like the diamond choker around her neck,beautiful, expensive, and suffocating. Behind her, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from their anniversary party carried through the open doors. Four years of this charade, four years of smiling when she wanted to scream, of nodding when she wanted to fight. Four years of living in a cage while everything that should have been hers slipped through her fingers. She took a long drag from her cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Smoking was her one defiance Armando allowed,perhaps because he enjoyed seeing the one crack in her perfect façade. "There you are." His voice, deep and smooth like aged whiskey, sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "The guests are asking for you." Savannah didn't turn. "Let them wait." Armando stepped beside her, his cologne,sandalwood and something darker,invading her senses. In his tailored black suit, he looked every inch the ruthless mafia boss that had Chicago kneeling at his feet. The same feet that stood on her father's legacy. "It's our anniversary, princess," he said, the endearment falling from his lips like poison honey. "The least you could do is pretend you want to be here." She finally turned to him, her green eyes meeting his dark ones. "I've been pretending for four years, Armando. I'm getting tired." His jaw tightened, the only indication that her words had hit their mark. Armando reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek before trailing down to grip her chin. Not hard enough to hurt,never where anyone could see,but firm enough to remind her who held the power. "Then rest, princess. But remember, you're a Leon now." His thumb brushed across her lower lip. "And Leons always keep their promises." The promise. Her father's deathbed arrangement that had sealed her fate. Marry Armando. Unite the families. Stay protected. What Roman Sanchez hadn't mentioned was that his empire,the one she'd been groomed to inherit since she was old enough to hold a gun,would be swallowed whole by the Leon family, with Armando at the helm. "I need a minute," she said, stepping away from his touch. "I'll be right in." Armando studied her for a moment, his gaze traveling from her ginger hair,pinned up in an elegant twist for the party,down to the form-fitting emerald dress that hugged her curves. His eyes lingered on the slight outline of her holster strapped to her thigh beneath the silken fabric. "Don't make me come looking for you again," he said before turning to rejoin their guests. Savannah watched him go, hatred and something else,something she refused to name,churning in her stomach. Four years of sharing a home but never a bed. Four years of watching him run both families' operations while she was reduced to nothing more than a pretty face at his side. Four years of carefully cataloging his weaknesses, waiting for the moment to strike. She crushed her cigarette against the railing and followed him inside, instantly transforming into the perfect mafia wife,graceful, poised, untouchable. She accepted champagne from a waiter, nodding and smiling at the wives of Chicago's most dangerous men as they complimented her dress, her home, her marriage. None of them knew the truth. None of them saw the gun strapped to her thigh or the rage burning behind her smile. Across the room, she caught sight of Nala Moreno, her one true ally in this nest of vipers. Dark-haired and unassuming, most underestimated Nala,a mistake that had cost many their lives or fortunes. Behind her innocent facade, Nala's fingers could hack into any system, uncover any secret. And for the past six months, she'd been helping Savannah uncover quite a few. Their eyes met briefly, a silent confirmation passing between them. Tonight, while everyone was distracted with the party, Nala would access Armando's private servers. One step closer to finding what they needed to bring him down. "Mrs. Leon." The voice beside her belonged to Alexander Hodge, one of Armando's closest friends and the owner of Chicago's most exclusive club. "Radiant as always." "Alex," she acknowledged with a practiced smile. "Alone tonight? That must be a first." He laughed, the sound genuine despite his dangerous position in their world. "The night is young. Besides, no woman compares to you, which makes it hard for the rest of us poor bastards." "Careful," she warned playfully, even as her mind calculated. Alex was loyal to Armando, but he had a weakness for beautiful women and expensive whiskey. A potential resource, if properly handled. "You don't want my husband hearing that kind of talk." "Hearing what kind of talk?" Armando's arm slid around her waist, his touch proprietary as he pulled her against his side. To anyone watching, they were the picture of marital bliss,the feared mafia boss and his beautiful wife. "Just telling your wife she puts every woman here to shame," Alex said easily, raising his glass. "Four years and you're still the luckiest man in Chicago." Something flashed in Armando's eyes as he looked down at Savannah. "Luck has nothing to do with it." The conversation shifted to business,subtle references to shipments and territories that wouldn't raise suspicion among their legitimate guests. Savannah listened carefully, filing away details that might prove useful later. This was the real reason she endured these parties,information was power, and she was gathering as much as she could. Hours later, when the last guest had departed and the staff was clearing away the evidence of celebration, Savannah slipped away to their bedroom. She unzipped her dress, letting it pool at her feet before unstrapping the gun from her thigh. The Phoenix tattoo at the side of her right breast seemed to shimmer in the dim light,a reminder of who she really was. A Sanchez. A phoenix rising from the ashes of her father's empire. She was reaching for her robe when the bedroom door opened. Armando stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his expression unreadable as his eyes swept over her nearly naked form. "You've been busy lately," he said conversationally, closing the door behind him. "All those lunch dates, those shopping trips with Nala." Savannah kept her face neutral as she slipped into her robe. "A wife's duties. You've never cared how I spend my time before." "I care about everything you do." He crossed the room slowly, like a predator stalking prey. "Everything you say. Everyone you meet." Her heart raced, but she lifted her chin defiantly. "Am I a prisoner, Armando?" "No." He stopped inches from her. "You're mine. There's a difference." "I'm not yours," she hissed. "I never have been." His laugh was low and dangerous. "Your father gave you to me to protect. That makes you mine in every way that matters." "My father wanted me to lead alongside you, not be kept like a trophy while you stole everything that should have been mine." Something darker crossed his features then. He reached out, tangling his fingers in her hair, freeing it from its pins until it tumbled around her shoulders. "Is that what this is about? Power? You think you can take what's mine?" "I think I'm done playing the obedient wife." She didn't back down, even as his grip in her hair tightened. "I want what's rightfully mine." For a moment, they stood locked in their silent battle, neither willing to yield. Then Armando leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "You think I don't see you plotting, mi reina?" his voice was a dark promise against her ear. "Go ahead. Make your move. Just know,I never lose." He released her and walked away, leaving Savannah trembling with rage and something else,something dangerous that she couldn't afford to feel. Not when she was so close to reclaiming everything she'd lost. She touched the gun on her nightstand. Next time, she wouldn't be caught unprepared. The game had begun.