Page 10 of Protected By the Mafia

“What fuckin’ benefactor?”

Cristiano tipped his head to the side without breaking eye-contact. “Is the information you’re still keeping from me—your benefactor’s identity, the other power players inside your gang, and your real motive for targeting the De Salvo family—worth your sister’s well-being?”

Tristán’s eyes darkened again.

“Is it worth the heads of every single member of your immediate family?”

Tristán turned his head and spat on the floor, the phlegm landing barely halfway between himself and his waste bucket. But that was his issue to deal with now. “Fuck you. I told you about Gus.”

Cristiano stood. “And most of what you told me we both know Ramires is likely to boast about as soon as he’s sitting in his own box.” He lifted the stool he’d brought in with him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll ask you one time if you’ve come to your senses. Otherwise, this conversation takes a violent turn—for you, and later for someone else.”

“Let me see her!” Tristán shouted after him. “Lemme see Lissy, and I’ll talk!”

Cristiano stopped at the doorway and looked back, studying his prisoner. He knew when he was being deceived, but he pretended to consider it. He pretended not to recognize that Tristán only wanted to see his half-sister one more time, either because he realized it’d be the last or for another reason Cristiano hadn’t identified yet. Something more manipulative.

He didn’t say a word before turning off the lights and exiting the room.

Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin when the bedroom door opened and Cristiano stepped inside. Between the time-stamp she’d seen on the television before finally making a selection and the sunlight still streaming into the room, she knew it was midday. Hadn’t he said he’d be out all day?

“Need to use the shower,” he said, cutting straight across the room.

Felicity felt her chest tighten and she sat up properly. She was scanning him for signs of something being wrong before she even realized what she was doing and she gave herself a shake, the full meaning of his words hitting her. Heat rushed to her face. “Here? You don’t … have another shower … somewhere?” It wasn’t like she could step out and give him privacy, and if anyone knew that, it was him.

Cristiano stopped in the bathroom doorway. “Then I’d have to walk through the room naked to get to a change of clothes. But if you’d prefer that—”

His words and the memory of what she had done in that very same space not all that long ago had the air fleeing her lungs. Felicity shook her head. “No. No, you’re right, my bad. I wasn’t thinking.” She pulled the comforter up as if she could hide from the image he’d created. She’d been trying to work herself up enough to at least demand being allowed to return to her own apartment, and if not, that he actually tell her why. But she hadn’t been prepared for him to return so suddenly.

He’d closed the bathroom door, but she heard the shower turn on as if she were sitting directly beside it.

In the next minute or so, the new object of her fascination would be stepping into a steaming hot shower barely a dozen paces from where she sat. The water would start to sluice down all his strong muscles and he’d lather himself up, as one did when they showered. And Felicity couldn’t help but wonder … would he touch himself to thoughts of her, as she had to thoughts of him in that very same room?

four

Honesty

In the interest of getting no less than one of her demands met, Felicity had turned off the television, moved the bulkier of the two chairs directly in front of the room’s entry point, and plopped herself down. In truth, the chair was heavier than Cristiano had made it look that morning, so she was grateful she had another couple of minutes to re-gather herself afterward before she heard the shower turn off. Then her heart rate kicked up again.

She hadn’t heard any orgasmic outcries. Not that she knew what he sounded like when he came, or what any adult male sounded like in that situation in real life for that matter, but she’d definitely not heard anything that could have been such a thing. Not over all her own noise and the faint backdrop of the running water in the walls. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed in what that might mean.

She sat up straight in the chair, suddenly wondering how she should position herself. Back ramrod straight, hands in her lap, eyes forward? Arms crossed and scowling? Whole body semi-curled onto the seat of the oversized chair? No, she was pretty sure she could eliminate that one.

It felt like an eternity of waiting and indecision, nerves like crashing waves in her ears, before Cristiano opened the bathroom door again.

Steam wafted out as he himself paused, obviously noticing she wasn’t on the bed. Slowly, his head turned, and he arched a brow when he spotted her. She thought she saw his lips kick up at the corners. “Cute.”

Felicity frowned. She definitely had not been going for ‘cute.’ She tucked her arms under her breasts without thought. “I lost focus this morning,” she said, “but I won’t this time. I’m going to make you understand that I don’t have anything to do with Tristán’s messes, whatever they even are, so you realize you have no reason to hold me captive. Because as nice as this room is, I’m still a prisoner here, and I don’t deserve that.” Her face was hot and her breath short by the time she finished, but she’d said the words. The most important words, at least. She’d even managed not to shout them. Props to her.

“And you think planting yourself between me and the door will convince me of that?”

She swallowed. “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you to stay put long enough to have the conversation.” Dang it, that sounded weaker out loud than she wanted it to.

Cristiano moved further into the room and lowered to sit on the foot of the bed, facing her. “Do you have a plan for what to do if I already believe you?”

Felicity felt her brow furrow. “I— No,” she said. “Why else would you not have let me go?”

“I’m pretty sure I mentioned that this morning, too.” He paused for just a moment, but didn’t look away. “I can’t.”

Embarrassment and frustration slammed into her in equal measure. He had, in fact, mentioned that he ‘couldn’t’ take her home, but she’d let that statement slip her mind in lieu of everything that had immediately followed over breakfast. She’d gotten hung up on the idea that her very bizarre kidnapping was her asshole half-brother’s fault. She’d convinced herself if she could prove she had nothing to do with him, she’d be fine. That was a little on her, and a lot on her abductor.

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