Page 21 of Mafia Mistress

“No,” I snapped.

“I’m off to catch a few hours of sleep,” Giulio told her. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” To me, he nodded once and walked out the door.

“Please.” I gestured to the chairs before my desk. “Sit.”

Lifting her chin, she lowered herself into the seat. I did the same and folded my hands as I regarded her. “Are you feeling better?”

“If you mean do I still feel like throwing up, then no. But I don’t feel remotely human at the moment.”

“Perhaps go easy on the grappa next time.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it make it easier to manipulate me if I were drunk?”

I steepled my fingers and rested them on my lower lip. “I can manipulate you drunk or sober, Francesca. It is your choice.”

“God, you are the worst.” She rubbed her temples, so aggrieved by my presence. It only made me want to rattle her more. “Get to the point, Ravazzani.”

“Suocero,” I corrected.

“What?”

“Father-in-law. You should practice how to say it.”

“You know, on second thought the urge to vomit is suddenly back. I think I should go upstairs.”

She started to rise out of her chair, but I held up a hand. “Do not move. We have a few things to discuss.”

“Like?” She folded her arms across her chest, calling my attention to her tits. The dress pulled tight across them, creating deep, mesmerizing cleavage. She looked like one of those Hollywood pin-up girls from the 1940s.

“Like your wedding dress.”

Going pale, she put a hand on her stomach and exhaled heavily. Perhaps her comment about vomiting once more had not been made in jest. I took the empty bin from under my desk and set it within her reach, then waited. She soon regained her color and narrowed her eyes on me. “I don’t need a wedding dress.”

I didn’t bother correcting her. “I have called in a favor with a designer friend in Milan. She will fly in tomorrow with racks of dresses for you to choose from. Then you will be fitted and the dress will be ready in a few weeks’ time.”

“I won’t choose one.”

I lifted a shoulder like I didn’t care. “Then I will choose one for you. Are you on the pill, Francesca?” I had seen her health reports so I knew the answer, but I still wanted her to tell me.

Her brows shot up and she clutched the armrests. “What? How is that any of your business?”

“Until you marry my son, everything about you is my business. Answer the question.”

“I had the shot two months ago. Would you like to know my latest pap smear results, too? How about my weight and bra size?”

That had my gaze dipping to her chest once more and I couldn’t prevent the flare of heat from sparking in my groin. Fuck, how I longed to take her over my knee and spank her until she stopped acting like a brat. It would be fun to show her what I liked, teach her how to serve my every need. Break her until she craved my touch. My dick pulsed at the prospect, but I forced myself to lock those unwanted thoughts away. She belonged to Giulio.

“I’d suggest you put more respect in your tone when dealing with me,” I warned her. “You do want your things back, no?”

She became very still, suspicion dawning in her chestnut-colored stare. “You are giving me my things?”

“I might consider it, if you stop fighting me.”

“I’ll pass, then.”

I almost smiled. The girl had spirit, that was for certain. Confidence, too, the kind that came from experiencing sadness and death in your life. Like you knew you had faced the worst life had to offer and survived. I knew that feeling well.

“How about this?” I said. “I will give you the satchel if you choose a suitable wedding dress.”

---