Page 50 of Princess of the Mafia

“Oh.” Her mouth popped open.

Well, it sounded fucking idiotic when I said it that way. I wasn’t only in my offices. I could hardly show her my warehouses or take her up to my clubs. My skin already itched like a nasty rash to have her innocence draped over the filthiness of my work.

I narrowed my eyes as she walked around the room. It wasn’t much. Uneven, old, wooden floors, dingy, brick walls, and the light fitting from Mamma’s kitchen. She stopped at the couch on the opposite wall and ran her fingers over it like it was a man’s skin she was stroking.

“I love it.”

What? It was my turn to be surprised. It must have played on my face because she laughed. A soft tinkling that touched the moat between the bricked walls and traveled to all four corners of the room.

“I love this too.” She plonked down on the couch and curled up on it.

Words tickled in my throat to tell her to take her shoes off the couch.

“What do you love about it?” That’s what came out?

She soothed her hands over the leather. Was I fucking jealous of a couch? “What’s not to love? It’s a Chesterfield. It’s vintage, and I just love cognac-colored leather.”

So my old couch was cognac colored.

I settled against my desk. “What else do you love?”

“The floor, the walls, and don’t even get me started on the lamp.”

Something ticked in my chest as I followed her gaze to the lamp. She loved Mamma’s things and, well, all the other shit. I frowned at the floor. What could be so beautiful about a floor where the waxing was uneven, and the nails stuck out on every square inch? I spotted a few odd stains. Blood probably. She had weird taste. Then again, she seemed to be drawn to me. She couldn’t be normal.

“What’s so nice about all this shit?”

She sat up straight. “It’s not shit. It’s authentic. It’s old. It breathes and evokes emotion.”

Well, if she put it that way.

“What else?”

A frown scrunched up her forehead. “Huh?”

“What else do you love?”

Was I hoping she would say me? I could be authentic. Not old. But I wanted to evoke emotion in her, preferably the kind that made her moan and forget her name.

“Love what’s behind you.” She pointed with her head.

I flicked my gaze behind me. My desk? Fuck if it wasn’t one of Mamma’s finds. She’d found it in a thrift store and dragged it over for Papà. I didn’t think Papà had ever noticed. Well, in all honesty, I hadn’t either.

“What about it?”

“Don’t you love the leather and the wood? Look at those brass knobs nailing the leather to the wood. The craftsmanship alone is worthy of an award.”

“Why don’t you come over and feel it up?”

She hopped off the couch and strolled over. Her fingers trailed lightly along the leather, and I swear it felt like it tingled along my spine. A sigh fell on the desk. My fucking desk was getting more attention than I was.

I relaxed my clenched hands. “Why don’t you inch closer and feel me up?” My tone was gruff, and it skidded unevenly in the room.

Her fingers slid to a halt, and the lightness in the room shrieked out the door. Her cheeks heated red, and her gaze fell on my hand on the desk. Hers rested a foot away.

Come on, Principessa.

She picked her gaze up and moved it to the door and back to my hand.

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