Page 22 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“Arielle, we need to talk, and I’m sure you know that. While I respect your refusal to join me for lunch, I’m certain you can at least let me in.”

“In what world does it make sense to let a person you don’t trust enough to grab lunch with into your house?” I fired back.

“But you can let them in your body,” he shot back, and I felt my skin bristle at his crude remark. “Look, Arielle, you can let me in now, or we can do this all day, and let me warn you, I’m a verypatient man. You can station cops in front of your door if that’ll make you feel safer,” he added, holding my gaze.

An exasperated sigh left my lips, and I had no doubt he would make good on his words. Mikhail didn’t bluff. I moved from the doorway, making room for him to come in. He looked very out of place in my house. His size crowded the space, making it appear smaller than it was.

“Where can I keep these?” He pushed the flowers forward, and I pointed him to my kitchen counter.

“You cook?” He said, a funny look playing in his eyes as he stared at the stack of pancakes next to the cooker.

Was he really going to keep smiling like I didn’t just watch him snuff the life of an innocent man?

“You said you had something to say to me.” I pointed out with a careful tone, making sure to maintain as much distance as possible between us.

“Are you going to keep acting like I have a communicable disease and making sure that neighbors you don’t even speak to see me with you?”

“Yes, Mikhail.”

A sigh escaped his lips, and he finally settled into the sofa. “First, I would like to say how sorry I am you witnessed what happened at the club. I’m not usually that careless with my affairs.”

That’s it? He is sorry I walked in on him killing someone and not handling his affairs better?

The look of disbelief must’ve been vividly painted on my face following his half-arsed explanation as another sigh left him.

“Arielle, I’m not a good man, and I won’t pretend to be anything I’m not,” he admitted.

The weight of his confession clung tightly to the air in the room, and I found myself almost searching for clean, pure air that wasn’t tainted with his sandalwood scent. I was ready for Mikhail to warn me not to speak a word of what I saw to anyone. I was ready for him to give some stupid excuse and explanation. I was even ready for him to have me kidnapped and threatened. What I didn’t expect was total honesty from him.

In the absence of a response from me, he continued. “I’m Russian. I’m sure you must’ve figured that one out on your own.” A small smile played on his lips.

“But I’m also an Ivanov, the current Don of the Russian Bratva.” He watched me closely, waiting for the weight of his words to sink in,

“You do know what the mafia is, don’t you?”

“I watch movies, Mikhail.”

“Good because it’ll suck to give you a history lesson. Anyways, I have certain responsibilities accorded to me as the Don, and these responsibilities have nothing to do with morality, law, and order.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, searching his eyes.

“Because for the first time in my life, I found myself caring about the way someone looked at me.”

A brief period of silence passed between us before he continued. “I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep, nor will I try to sway you with dishonest words and colored lenses. This is who I am, Arielle. I hate that you had to find out the way you did, but what I hated more was the way you looked at me.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information, Mikhail. I saw you kill an innocent man with your fist. You forced his eyes on you when you strangled him!” My voice raised slightly at the end.

While his confession came as a shock to me, I was determined to play my part perfectly. He opened his mouth to explain, but I cut him short.

“Besides, what we had was only a one-night stand. You owe me no explanation. If you’re bothered about me saying anything to the cops, you don’t have to worry about it. I’ll pretend I never saw a thing, and I won’t speak a word of it to anyone.”

A dry, humorless laughter left his throat following my little admission. “The cops are the least of my problems, Arielle, and I couldn’t care less about you running your mouth.”

“So, what then is your problem?”

“For fucks sake Arielle, you’re my problem. I’ve not slept a wink without the image of you writhing on sheets replaying in my head. Sometimes I can almost taste your pussy on the tip of my tongue, and other times I could hear your soft whimpers in my ears,” he cursed, his eyes livid with emotions.

His words shot straight to my pussy, drawing rhythmic pulsations from my clit. I crossed my legs in a discreet attempt to dull the ache and ended up intensifying it. There was nothingI hated more than the way my body responded to this man, the way he could set my skin on fire with his eyes, and the way his presence seemed to suck the air out of a room.

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