Page 50 of The Merciless King

Not my business.

“How do you see me assisting you?” the don asks.

I tap my finger on my raised knee. “I don’t know if you can. I need to replace this stock fast. If I don’t, I will need to come up with four hundred million out of thin air.”

Frank lets out a grunt. “You don’t look like you are struggling to pay your bills, Mr. Rossi.”

So he did see the Ferrari outside.

“Nobody has four hundred million dollars tucked in their back pocket, Mr. Baldassare.”

He shrugs in that Italian way.

I am part Italian, but it’s almost diluted in my family tree. Still, the dark features remain, so it appears they bought it. At least her mother did.

“Well, Gianna is wrong. I’m not a bank and the Baldassare family does not trade in humans, so it appears I cannot help you,” Frank says.

Liar.

“Then it appears Gianna has done nothing more than buy us another night together.” I smile, nodding respectfully at him. “One I cannot find in me to regret.”

He thinks he is sending me off to my deathbed. If this was a real situation, unless I was cunning as hell, it would be.

I am about to stand when Frank taps his cigar on an ashtray and says, “My daughter hasn’t smiled the way she is tonight for a long time.”

My chest swells in a way it has no right to. After all, I’m a man. I spent hours' last night pleasuring that woman and enjoyed every fucking minute of it. Hearing that she’s glowing, which I can see for myself, isn’t something I can ignore.

There is a sparkle in her eyes, and I put it there.

“Let’s talk in the morning,” he says, as the door to his office opens and Salvatore walks in.

Neither of them says any more, and it’s clear I’m dismissed.

I was right. He was lying about not helping me. His instruction to talk the next morning is an invitation to continue discussions as his team digs further.

My god, using Gianna to get inside this family might just fucking work.

I stand, straightening my Armani pants. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Baldassare. It was a pleasure to meet you,” I say and walk to the door.

Salvatore nods at me and as I’m about to walk out, a tall, well-built man around my age walks through the door. His deep blue eyes hold mine as we pass. There’s a power about him that one would be stupid to ignore.

Dante Baldassare.

Gianna’s brother and heir to the crime family.

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WHEN I ENTER the living area where Gianna is staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, she turns. Her big eyes run over the length of my body as if she’s checking I’m in one piece. Then she runs to me.

I open my arms and wrap them around her.

Someone needs to remind us there is no audience and no need for this display of affection and pleasure in seeing one another after no more than forty minutes.

Yet I still take her lips in mine and kiss her like she’s the love of my life. God, but I do love kissing this woman.

“Are you staying?” Gianna asks, catching her breath when I release her.

“Yes. For tonight.”

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