Chapter 308: Somehow I Became a Mafia-Wife

"Damien got arrested."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Aria," Julian’s voice came through the speaker, the groggy sleepiness vanishing entirely. "Take a deep breath. I need you to stay calm. Don’t worry, I—"

"Do not tell me not to worry!" Aria snapped as she walked outside.

"The both of you are telling me not to worry!" Aria yelled into the phone, uncaring of the straggling guests loitering near the valet. "He just beat a man half to death in front of a ton of people! He is going to jail on attempted murder charges! It is Friday night! The courts are closed! My husband is going to be locked in a filthy, piss-stained holding cell for the entire weekend! I am going to worry!"

Julian caught himself before he could tell her not to worry again. The lawyer knew better than to argue with a spiraling, terrified wife.

"I’m on my way," Julian stated firmly. "Wait for me."

Click.

Aria lowered the phone. She let out a shaking breath, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

Aria found Zoe, just coming out of the building after being pushed around in the crowd. She already had an Uber waiting. She gave Aria a quick hug and told her to text her, before leaving.

Aria was left standing on the cold curb, the evening chill biting through her dress. She rubbed her arms, her anxiety eating away at her.

She glanced behind her.

Richard was standing there like a monolithic gargoyle, holding an unconscious Diana Sinclair in his arms.

"Are you cold, Mrs. Sinclair?" Richard asked.

"I’m fine, Richard," Aria muttered, bouncing on her heels to keep warm. "I’m just... spiraling."

Ten minutes later, a black Mercedes S-Class screeched around the corner and pulled up to the curb.

Julian Cross stepped out.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit, but his tie was missing, and his usually immaculate hair was slightly ruffled.

"Richard," Julian ordered briskly, walking around the hood of the Mercedes. "Get Diana home. I will watch over Aria."

Richard didn’t move an inch.

"With all due respect, Mr. Cross," Richard stated. "I do not take orders from you."

Richard turned his head slightly. He made eye contact with a random cater-waiter who was casually sweeping up shattered glass near the venue doors.

The cater-waiter, who was actually an undercover operative, immediately dropped his broom and jogged over. Without a word, Richard dumped the unconscious Diana into the operative’s arms.

"Take her to the penthouse," Richard ordered the operative.

Julian sighed, conceding defeat. "Get in the car."

Aria scrambled into the front passenger seat, pulling her seatbelt tight. Richard slid into the back, his massive frame taking up too much space in the luxury sedan.

Julian gunned the engine, tearing away from the curb and merging into the late-night traffic.

Aria’s leg bounced manically against the floor mat. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, cycling through every single mafia movie and crime documentary she had ever watched.

"Okay," Aria broke the silence, her eyes wide as she looked at Julian. "So, where are we going? The precinct? Are we breaking him out?"

Julian slowly turned his head to look at her.

"Aria," Julian sighed deeply. "You have quite an imagination. We are not doing a prison break."

Aria slumped back against the headrest, slightly disappointed. "Oh. Well, what’s the plan then? We can’t just let him sit there until Monday!"

Julian didn’t answer. He reached out and tapped the digital display on the dashboard, dialing a number through the car’s Bluetooth system.

The line rang. And rang. And rang.

"You have reached the voicemail of—"

Julian ended the call.

"Pick up the phone, you old, fat fuck," Julian mumbled under his breath as he tried the number a second time.

Julian suddenly ripped the steering wheel hard to the left, throwing the Mercedes into an illegal U-turn right in the middle of a busy avenue. The tires shrieked in protest as he floored the accelerator.

"Where are we going?!" Aria gasped, grabbing the ’oh shit’ handle above her window.

"I need a judge to sign an emergency bail order," Julian gritted out. "And since he won’t answer his phone, we’re going to find him."

Ten minutes later, the Mercedes pulled onto a quiet, discreet side street in the Upper West Side and glided to a halt.

Aria peered out the window.

They were parked outside a modern building. The windows were tinted. Above the glass double doors hung a glowing, neon-pink sign in the shape of a heart, reading: The Cupid’s Bow.

Aria frowned.

Julian stepped out of the car, adjusting his suit jacket. Aria and Richard followed closely behind him.

They pushed through the double doors.

The lobby was bathed in dim, sultry red lighting. The walls were lined in crushed crimson velvet. Placed strategically around the room were intricately carved marble statues of naked nymphs and satyrs engaged in erotic poses. The air smelled intoxicatingly of vanilla, sweat, and expensive massage oil.

Aria stopped dead in her tracks. Her face instantly flooded with a shade of red.

"Oh my god," Aria thought, her soul momentarily leaving her body. "This is a love motel."

Standing behind the black reception desk was a woman who looked like a strict, middle-aged librarian. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a pearl cardigan, looking entirely out of place amidst the erotic art.

The receptionist looked up. When she saw Julian, a bright, polite smile spread across her face.

"Mr. Cross!" the receptionist greeted warmly, her voice echoing in the quiet lobby. "It is a pleasure to see you again! Are you upgrading to the Platinum Throuple Suite tonight? We just finished sanitizing the velvet swing!"

Aria felt her internal organs shrivel up and die at what the woman was insinuating.

"I’m here on business," Julian deadpanned, making his way to the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing them inside the mirrored cabin.

Aria crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the digital floor display. "So, why are we in a love motel?"