Page 75 of Princess of the Mafia

“Nothing,” I choked out.

“Fuck.” He gripped my jaw and cocked it up. “We’re going to try. There’s no way out other than that. Is this about Emily?”

Her name on his lips was like a drench of ice-cold water on my body. It must have shown on my face because he growled out his frustration.

“I fucked her way before I met you, Principessa.” His fists clenched on either side of me. “I didn’t want to tell you because…” a harsh laugh spilled out of him.

“What? Because you thought I’d go all cuckoo on you?” I snapped.

His soft tone grazed my rib cage. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

The door pinged, and I ducked under his arms and rushed out. With a hiss, he followed me and caught me just as I stumbled into the apartment. A gasp, and my feet left the ground when he grabbed me like I was a damn rag doll and threw me over his shoulder.

“Let me down,” I shrieked, trying at the same time to pull my skirt down.

He swatted my hand away. “Time to fucking grow up, Principessa. If you have doubts, we talk about them.”

He strode into our bedroom and threw me on the bed. He had already crawled on top of me before I could scramble off it. His black-clad body breathed danger. His eyes screamed anger.

“What do you want to know? When I fucked her? How I fucked her? What’s going to ease your damn mind that you’re the only woman in my life?” he hissed between his teeth.

“Tell me then.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

He sat back on his hunches and ran his hands through his hair. His eyes sparked disdain. “I was seeing her a few years ago.”

He said nothing I liked. In the slightest. “What does that mean? You were boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“I am no one’s boyfriend,” he growled like an angry gorilla. “I was fucking her, and once in a while, we went out.”

“So, like with me then,” I muttered.

His eyes thinned. “Forget it.” He pushed off. “I can never win with you.”

“No, wait.”

His eyes fell to my hands, which were clutching his wrist.

“Tell me,” I implored softly.

He shoved me roughly on my back and straddled me. “There’s nothing much to tell. We fucked. I found out something about her. I ended it.” He gripped my jaw. “And you are not her.”

I seized his wrist. It was broad and olive-skinned and spoke of masculine strength and uncouthness with the black beaded bracelet next to his watch. “Thank you for telling me.”

He grunted, annoyance riding on his face.

“What did you find out?”

He sighed. It was so deep and so heavy and laden with so much pain, I felt it in the hollow of my chest. It took three heartbeats before he answered. “Her father gave out the information to the Bratva.” My eyes filled with confusion. “To kill my Mamma.”

I hadn’t realized my hands had been stroking his until they stopped. The pain in his eyes told me he’d loved his mamma as much as I loved mine. I had looked at him like a made man and forgotten he was just a man. Someone’s son. One with pain in his heart. My fingers trailed his knuckles, and slowly, his fists unclenched and softly grazed my cheek. Everything suddenly made sense. My eyes flickered to the numbers on his knuckles. “Is that something to do with your mamma?”

“Her birth and death date,” he muttered darkly.

My chest ached to know she died the year I was born.

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