Page 72 of Princess of the Mafia

“Well, tell him you have a fucking husband and kick him like you kicked me,” I growled.

“I don’t know… he’s really big.”

Now she’s scared? “I’m coming for you. Keep him talking, and keep those hands off you. Capisti?”

“Sì.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Tell me where you are.”

“The bar,” she whispered right before the call dropped.

I speed-dialed Orso. “The bar. My way.” Worry was thumping so hard on my chest that I couldn’t string words together to form a fucking sentence.

I dropped a quick call to Nico, told him God knows what shit, and dashed into the elevator. Somewhere between the 129th floor and the basement, my fist collided with the glass, splintering it into a million shards.

I had wanted to give her the fucking freedom she desired, even if it killed me. Now the heaviness of that decision weighed like a ton of bricks on me.

I didn’t know how I got there. A vision of crimson, the buzz of New York traffic, whizzing cars, and red lights, and I found myself striding toward the club.

My heart slowed to a throb when I saw her outside. She was leaning on Orso like she didn’t trust herself to stand on her own. A few feet further, Danilo and my men had formed a wall around two assholes on their knees. I gripped her face and studied her features for what I didn’t know. “Stai bene?” I gritted through my teeth.

She gave a shaky nod, and when I made to pull away, she latched onto my wrist, keeping my hand on her face. “Don’t leave, per favore,” she pleaded, and damn if it didn’t simmer the fury inside me.

“I’ll never leave you, Principessa.” I pulled her into my arms, teetering boots and all.

“He hurt her?” I asked Orso.

“No, but he was about to.” He gave me an angry look. “Should have never let her go alone.” He was out of line, but it was the truth. I would have to give her the freedom she wanted another way because damn if I was ever letting her go alone again.

“Couple of thugs.” Nico came up behind me. Acrimony clawed up my body, and I fisted my hands. Indecision lay underneath my skin. My trigger finger itched to take care of the jerks who thought to even look at my wife. But preferably, I wanted to do it when she wasn’t trembling in my arms.

“Get her home. I’ll take care of them,” Nico muttered.

This was the second time my brothers had to take care of shit when I was the one who would have had the greatest pleasure in shredding the skin off the back of these men. But I didn’t even argue and yanked her with me towards my ride.

Her mouth gaped open. “You came in this?”

Right. I geared myself to hear the stupid shit about nice girls not riding motorbikes.

A finger trailed the aluminium monocoque frame of my Ducati. “I like it,” she breathed.

Of course she did. Bitter amusement lifted my lips as I pulled her closer and armored her with my helmet. It wobbled precariously on her tiny head as much as my rib cage when my ears caught a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

I was going to a be a lot of things for her. Forgiving wasn’t one of them. “Damn right, you should be. You’re never going out without me.”

She giggled like a juvenile.

I jerked my head behind me, “Let’s go.”

Doubt plastered on her face. “Can’t.”

Both our gazes dropped to her skirt. The fucking thing was so damn tight it was a miracle she could walk in it. With a grunt, I pulled my switchblade out and yanked her closer to me. The release of leather on the side of her thigh sizzled in the air and ran the length of my cock. I gritted my teeth when she climbed onto my bike behind me. I glared at her naked thigh. Jesus, it was going to take me forever to get her home.

DARIA

He was warmth in the shape of comfort. He grabbed my anxiety, yanked it off me and blew it into the air like a puff of smoke. I had wanted secrets and betrayal to swim before us. Instead, the air sizzled with need and desire. The hum of the engine vibrated on my core that wrapped against his ass like it was home. The urge to rub myself against him was heavy. In my heady state, I thought it was good to trace a path to his chest with my hands.

A growl fell from the man in front of me, and the line of his shoulders went taut. I wrapped my thighs around his black jean-clad ones, and I rolled my face on his back. He had sacrificed his helmet to me and rode without protection, and all I wanted to do was run my hand through his tousled hair and tug ever so softly.

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