Page 9 of Stolen Bride for the Don

She mutters angrily under her breath and slams the door shut. Then she does the unthinkable: she extends her head back against my chest, fully exposing the length of her elegant throat in provocation. The little daredevil is testing me, but she knows I won’t do it, which only enrages me. I am in control here, not her.

I take a moment to school my emotions, careful not to show my hand. I am the face of dominance, and this is my castle. She will bend to my will, even if I have to force her. She’ll come around, and she will stay.

“Good girl,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the side of her head. Once the lock mechanism is engaged, I let her go. She wastes no time running away from me. She spins around to face me, her eyes on fire as she glares.

“Why the fuck am I here? Do you know who I am?”

“I know you all too well, Millicent.” Her eyes flicker when I mention her middle name. That’s right. I know everything about you, pet. Yet, she continues to surprise me. “The question I have for you is: do you know the person called, La Fiamma.”

She frowns. “The flame? What does that have to do with why I’m here?” So she knows Italian, or the basics at least.

“It has everything to do with why you’re here, pet. Think harder.”

Her frown deepens. “I don’t know who that is, or who you are for that matter. You must have the wrong person.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” I don’t wait for her to answer before I continue. “Ezra Beaufort. I’m sure you know him.”

Emotion flickers across her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared in an attempt to remain impassive. Too bad for her that I caught it. “Should I know who that is?” she asks gamely, and I chuckle.

“Come now, pet, stop insulting my intelligence.”

“I will when you stop calling me that,” Andrea growls, hand clenching into a fist I now know she can use. Clearly someone taught her how to fight. I don’t reply to her ridiculous demand. I’ll call her whatever I deem fit. Soon enough, she’ll answer to it too.

“What does Ezra have to do with anything?” she asks when I remain quiet.

“You see, he used to work for me.”

“Why would Ezra ever work for you? He’s busy enough running Beaufort Construction with Alex; it’s not like he’s desperate for cash.” Her eye roll confirms that she thinks I’m lying.

I sigh, “One thing you’ll learn about me, pet, is that I rarely lie.”

“But rarely isn’t the same as never right?” she accuses, latching on to the word.

“Semantics.” I wave my hand dismissively. “You’ll find that I rarely find myself in the position to lie for any reason.”

“But you’ll lie when the occasion calls for it? Is this supposed to persuade me to believe you?” She folds her arms over her chest. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s doing the opposite.”

Damn it, this conversation is derailing. “Anyway, your brother used to work for me. I have proof,” I add before she can argue further. I take my phone and find my photo album. I scroll down to a group photo with my men. Crew and E are on either side of me.

She immediately spots him. “What’s he wearing?” she mutters quietly then glances up at me. Her expression shows that she’s starting to realize that I’m telling the truth. “This doesn’t prove anything other than the fact that Ezra knows you and your…employees.”

“Doesn’t it?” I raise a mocking brow.

“He could have come here for a business meeting. Something. Anyway, get to the point you so desperately want to make. I don’t have time for theatrics.” She raises her chin to glare down at me. How she can do that when she’s all of five foot two baffles me, but I continue.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You’ve got all the time in the world.” I will the cold, unfeeling look of the Don I am to wash over my face. The look that I use to portray my utter authority to any and all who cross my path as Massimo Moratti, king of the Rhode Island mafia. She has the good sense to remain quiet. “The point I want to make as you so eloquently put it is that Ezra used to work for my organization under an alias: La Fiamma.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. So?”

My lips twitch, and I suppress the smile threatening to crack my facade, the little rebel. “So, he wanted to leave. Retire if you will. I let him go out of the benevolence of my heart under–”

She lets out a disbelieving scoff that I ignore. I continue, “I let him go under one condition.”

“That’s more like it. I knew there had to be strings attached.”

I shake my head at her insolence. “Have you ever heard of the Moratti family?”

She freezes, her eyes going wide with something like fear for the first time since I had kidnapped her. A bit of disappointment hits me as I tell her who I am. “I’m Massimo Moratti.”

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