Page 18 of The Mafia's Seamstress

He's a dangerous man who does dangerous things and my family worked for him. I chewed my bottom lip. Maybe I just needed to scratch an itch. Clearly he didn’t mind. And maybe I could get answers from Dante. An idea arose as a strong knock vibrated through my apartment.

I froze for a second before making my way towards the door. I reached for the baseball bat that laid in the corner. My hands tightened around the wood. I frowned at the weight. A metal bat might be more useful considering everything happening.

Looking into the peephole the devil stood on the opposite side. I relinquished the bat. Taking a deep breath I opened the door to find him leaning against the opposite wall, dinner in hand. The smell smacked me in the face and made my mouth water. The food wasn't the only thing making me drool though.

Dante stood in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. I bit the inside of my cheek at the way his gray sweatpants wrapped around his muscular thighs. I forced my eyes to his face and not the bulge his sweatpants teased. His left cheek was slightly bruised and my stomach dropped. The bruise was a reminder of what he was. He left to do gods know what to someone.

My fingers, on their own accord, brushed the sensitive skin. Dante didn’t flinch and for some reason that hurt more.

“Are you okay?” I asked. His lips twitched and he leaned against my doorway.

“Careful Cinderella, you almost sound like you care,” he murmured. I pulled my hand away and rolled my eyes.

“Despite what you think I do have a heart,” I said.

“And despite what you think I do as well,” he said. My heart fluttered. He did, didn’t he? He walked me to my car, brought me food and cleaned my apartment. Despite it all there was a heart beneath his hard exterior.

"I still have to try the bread right?" he said, breaking my thoughts. He held up the bag.

"I suppose," I said with a shrug. I turned my back and left the door open for him to follow. A tiny part of me was happy he had come back. I was craving his presence but now I could begin my plan.

I walked towards the kitchen, knowing he would follow me. I sat on top of my counter and he placed the food next to me before forcing his way between my legs. I raised an eyebrow.

"Is it Italian?" I asked, gesturing towards the bag. His eyes traveled up my body slowly. My body reacted under his watchful eye. His hands skimmed up my thighs and goosebumps erupted all over my body. He was making me lose focus again.

"I wanted to eat Portuguese tonight," he said. I stared at him in shock and then burst out laughing. His eyes widened. "That's not the reaction I was expecting," he grumbled. I smiled at him.

"That’s the line the big mafia man decides to go with?" I teased. He glared at me.

“You’re lucky I find you interesting,” he said. I gingerly ran my fingers up his arm, my eyes following the trail before meeting his gaze. He watched me, slightly guarded.

“And why is that,” I said, my voice sounding slightly breathy. He stepped in closer, his hips aligning with mine. I fought back a moan at the feel of his hard body.

“I should bend you over and punish you for all the disrespect and back talk,” he said as his lips brushed the shell of my ear. My heart banged against my chest.

“Sounds more like a reward than a punishment,” I said as my arms snaked around his neck. I just needed him to lower his guard slightly so I could get information out of him. His lips grazed my throat and my eyes fluttered closed. I let out a soft gasp when I felt his teeth. His hands dug into my hips.

Dante is flushed against my body. Every instinct inside of me is roaring to rock for relief. My core is throbbing, begging for attention.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, pulling away. I stared into his gray eyes and a startling resolution struck me. I was playing a game. But I intended to win. I was going to figure out all the details between my family and the mafias and I was going to tear it apart. And Dante was going to help me.

His hand slipped into my hair and lightly tugged. My body shivered against my will. My eyes fluttered close and his lips traced the shell of my ear again.

“Looks like you like that," he said, voice deep and tempting. His teeth nibbled my earlobe and it took every ounce of control to not wrap my legs around his waist and bring him closer.

"You have no idea what I like and while I'd enjoy having you discover what they are, I'm really hungry,” I said, hopping off the counter and standing behind him. I pushed him to unpack the food and he grunted. He handed me a container.

"Gumbo," he stated. The perfect pairing for my bread. He glanced over his shoulder.

"That's perfect," I said, food replacing my thoughts on mafia men.

Sitting across from him I glanced at his bruised cheek. Horrible scenarios began racing through my head. Imagine, being with someone in his line of work. This is how it would be. Sharing meals with someone who was constantly covered in blood and bruises. Could I even stomach that? He placed his spoon down.

"Ask," he said with annoyance. I sighed.

"Why do you do it?" I asked.

He responded nonchalantly, "someone has too."

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