Chapter 5: I Don't Care About Her

Louis's POV

I let out a low growl, releasing the last of my cum, then rolled over onto the bed, panting hard. Beside me, Rachel’s heavy breaths filled the air - Rachel, my mistress. How long have we been hooking up? Five, six years maybe? Whatever, that's not the point. The real deal is that the sex we’d just had was as damn satisfying as ever, my body still buzzing from the aftershocks of that fiery hookup. I stared up at the ceiling, a wave of contentment washing over me—typical after moments like these. But even then, something else was nagging at the back of my mind, swirling around up there, refusing to let go.

"That was amazing," Rachel panted beside me, her body still trembling slightly as she nuzzled against my chest. Her voice dripped with devotion and worship as she whispered, "I love you so much, Louis. Nobody makes me feel the way you do."

I continued staring upward, barely acknowledging her words of adoration. The familiar weight of her head on my chest, the scent of her perfume.

Rachel turned out to be the best in bed I've ever had - nobody else could make me feel that good. Her enhanced breasts, maintained figure, and carefully crafted appearance perfectly matched my preference for that I usually sought in women. The kind of women I preferred with heavy makeup, surgically enhanced features, high heels, and short skirts. I never cared about their intelligence, or whether they could cook or keep house. And love? I don't care.

But I've gotten into trouble lately. Marcus, the Russo family boss - his wife got into a car accident. The car looked exactly like mine, but for fuck's sake, it really wasn't my car. I have no proof though, and Marcus is convinced I did it. He's out for revenge, and he's already killed two of our guys - that's just his initial warning.

My father's words from earlier today kept echoing in my head. He's been insisting on protecting Rachel, and I don't get why he's so hung up on it. I think it's totally unnecessary - she's just some piece I've been sleeping with, and I already warned she about the risks of being with me.

"She needs protection," he'd argued, his eyes knowing. "Whether you want to admit it or not, she's been in your life for five years. Marcus will see her as a target."

I'd scoffed at his concern. "She's just entertainment, Father. Nothing more."

But he wouldn't let it go. "Marcus doesn't know that. All he sees is a woman who's shared your bed for years. He'll go after whoever he thinks matters most to you."

Despite my protests, I knew he had a point. So I'd agreed to his plan - ruthlessly pragmatic as it was. Find a fresh face from the "undesirable market," someone Marcus wouldn't recognize. Stage an elaborate wedding, make sure it got plenty of publicity. Let Marcus believe this new "wife" was precious to me. When he inevitably took her for revenge, Rachel would be safe. The threat would be diverted to a carefully chosen target.

At first, I doubted how Marcus could fall for such an obvious trick, but my father convinced me, because in our world, legal relationships mean sharing our wealth and power and all that. No matter the circumstances, a wife who I publicly acknowledge would definitely hold special meaning to me.

The "market" was something I'd professed ignorance about, letting my father handle the arrangements. To avoid any possibility of actual attachment, I'd been clear about what I didn't want - no one who might appeal to my usual tastes. Let her be plain, natural, modest in her dress. The further from my type, the better.

The girl had arrived today. My phone had been buzzing all afternoon with messages from my parents, both of them insisting I should come meet her.

"She's going to be your wife, Louis," my mother had texted. "At least see what she looks like."

My father's approach had been more direct: "Stop acting like a child. This was your agreement. Come meet her."

I'd ignored them all. Instead, I'd focused on making sure her accommodations were perfect - the best guest room in the house, with a private bathroom and a view of the garden. I'd even had the staff stock the room with books and a television, though a strange guilt had gnawed at me while giving those instructions. What did it matter if she was comfortable? She wouldn't be staying long enough to enjoy any of it.

Still, I couldn't shake that nagging feeling of responsibility. This girl, whoever she was, would be sacrificing her freedom - maybe her life - to protect someone she'd never met. The least I could do was ensure her final days were comfortable.

She'd made only two requests through my father - to continue her education and to participate in some expensive sport. I'd agreed easily, I knowledge that she wouldn't be around long enough for it to matter.

My mother was already planning the media coverage, eager to show off our family's wealth and influence to all their friends. The wedding would be splashed across every society page, every news outlet. Exactly what we needed to ensure Marcus took notice.

"You're so quiet tonight," Rachel murmured, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me with adoring blue eyes.

Drawing in a deep breath, I pushed myself to sit up and began getting dressed. The time for delaying the inevitable was over.

"Louis?" Rachel's voice held a note of confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Get dressed," I said quietly, pulling on my clothes. "We need to talk."

Rachel moved behind me. "Talk? About what?"

I finished buttoning my shirt, steeling myself for what had to be done. Rachel put on her robe and stood watching me, her face showing the first signs of worry.

"My life..." I began carefully, "the nature of what I do, who I am – it puts people in danger. You know this."

"Of course I do." She stepped closer, trying to straighten my collar. "I've always known what I was getting into with you, Louis. I'm not afraid."

"You should be." I caught her wrists, stopping her familiar gesture. "Marcus already killed two of our people."

"The Italian?" Her voice wavered. "What does he have to do with us?"

I took a deep breath, finally turning to face her fully. There was no easy way to say this.

"It shows that you're in danger. So I'm getting married, on Saturday."

The sheet slipped from her fingers as she stared at me, mouth open in shock. "What?"