Page 50 of Marked By Mayhem

I scoff again, hiding a reluctant smile. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."

He steps closer, the playful glint in his eyes intensifying. "Who said I'm trying to get anywhere? Maybe I’m just enjoying my view." He traces a finger down my throat.

I shiver, then narrow my eyes, unwilling to show any amusement. "You're unbelievable."

He leans against the closet door, his tone dripping with mock innocence. "Is it a crime to appreciate beauty?"

I raise an eyebrow, challenging him. "Appreciate from a distance then." I place a hand on his chest, pushing him back a little.

He chuckles, the corners of his lips quirking up. "Rude."

I shake my head, exasperated. "I'm not buying into your charm."

He steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let's save the entertainment for the dinner, shall we?"

He studies my reflection in the mirror. "I knew the black zircon would suit you. It was almost as if it had been made for you, the first time you tried it on at the boutique."

I smile, "Can’t say you have bad taste."

“That… is true,” he eyes me from head to toe. I blush.

“May I?” he offers me his arm. Gentlemanly. Another side of him. I nod, taking a deep breath to steady the nerves and link my arm with his. I feel weak in the knees as soon as he touches me. As we head to the Rover, I notice Francesco in the driver's seat.

"Why is he coming with us?” I frown. “It’s supposed to be a date.” Tommaso grins.

“Is it dangerous?” I look at him sardonically.

He reassures me, "No, it's not dangerous. Francesco is just coming along, you know, just in case. He'll be close to the car, and if anything happens, we'll have a quick way out. It's more about being cautious than expecting trouble." I nod, still uncertain, but trusting his judgment.

Chapter Twenty-Six

TOMMASO

My heart is thumping.

I look at her face. Her lips are parted, cheeks ruddy and eyes wide. The sight fills me with optimism and desire. I repress my impulses and continue to look at her. She smiles at me. The window shows a glimpse of the sky outside and it’s blue.

A pretty kind of blue, like her eyes.

She is also wearing a gold necklace which appears to be stuck inside her bra somewhere. She notices where my eyes are and takes the pendant out of her bra, before I lean in. Ella’s name now rests in a crimped font in the middle of her cleavage.

The sunlight hits her face and my eyes shift to her bleak expression. “What are you thinking about?” I ask, a little more softly than I intend to.

She lets out a rush of air. “How little I know you…” I feel her voice in my stomach. That’s not good. Voices should stop at the ears but for some reason, Ella’s reverberates straight down through my body. She has one of those voices. Deep, poised, and a little bit like butter.

“And?” I hate my voice. I sound weak and soft.

“And how casually I have agreed to a date with a mafia don,” she gives me a fleeting glare and then resumes looking at the buildings passing by. She can certainly read me like no one else. It's unsettling.

“Ella, what’s wrong?” I want to know if someone did something back at the penthouse. She was in a better mood earlier.

“Aside from the obvious, nothing,” she says without looking at me.

“The obvious?” I keep my tone stern.

“Oh, please. Why are you so thickheaded sometimes?” she says with a playful disdain.

“Thickheaded? I’m not sure I appreciate your tone.”

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