Page 13 of Vengeful Mafia Prince

Chapter Seven—Giovanni

I glance over to the desk opposite mine. There, Elena has kept her eyes firmly pinned to the laptop in front of her. She's doing her level best to pretend she doesn't notice me watching her, but I'm not falling for it.

It's been a few days since our meeting with our professor, where we heard about the long-term position that's opening at the company. And I'm going to do every damn thing within my power to make sure—well, not that I get it. But that Elena is under enough stress that she lets her guard down and I can find my way into her family's business once and for all.

I know turning on her the way I did was a dick move, but that's the point. This hot-cold, push-pull will have her bending over backward to do anything I want her to. She'll be so confused about her feelings for me that she won't be able to do anything but give me what I want.

"How's it going?" I ask her as I rise to my feet and peer over her shoulder. I make sure to get close enough to let her catch the scent of my aftershave, the same one I was wearing on the night we hooked up. I notice her shift slightly in her seat, and I'm sure she's noticed it.

"Fine," she shoots back, and she closes her laptop. "Is there something I can help you with?"

I grin. "You've got an attitude today."

"You started it," she fires back. But before we can say much more, Kyra emerges from her office, staring down at her phone.

"Hey, can one of you go down to the supply closet and get me a few folders?" she asks, not taking her eyes off the phone.

"No problem, I'll do it!" Elena chirps, springing to her feet and taking off. I follow after her. If she thinks I'm going to let her do this on her own, she's got another thing coming. I'm not about to allow her to get out in front of me. I want her on the back foot, flustered, ready to make a mistake or drop a comment that will give me what I need to move forward.

I head down to the supply closet, which is at the end of a long corridor at the far end of the department. She's already stepped inside when I arrive, and I follow her in to the narrow space, pulling the door shut casually behind me.

"I don't think this is a two-person job," she tells me without looking up as she goes through some of the files, searching out the folders Kyra asked for.

"Thought you could use a hand," I tell her, a tinge of condescension in my voice. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn't say anything. Reaching up, she feels around on the top shelf for what she's looking for.

"Here, let me."

I brush her aside, tall enough that I can see exactly what we need to get down from there. She takes a step back, her arms crossed, and I can feel her glowering at me even behind my back.

"Nothing up here," I remark, turning back to face her. But before I can say another word, whatever has been bubbling up in her boils over.

"Why do you have to be such an asshole?" she explodes. I stare at her as though I don't have a clue what she's talking about.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she protests angrily. "I— ever since we heard about this position, you've been treating me like I'm some useless, incompetent nightmare. I'm not! You know I'm not! I work hard, I deserve this position—"

"You can't just ask your daddy to get it for you?" I taunt her.

She looks like she wants to slap me.

"I don't get it!" she exclaims. "One minute, we're sleeping together, and you're holding me all night, and the next..." She trails off.

It's the first time she's so much as acknowledged what happened between us the other night. I can tell she regrets it. Her cheeks instantly turn a dark pink, and I smirk, taking a step toward her and backing her against the shelves.

"Why are you blushing?" I ask her, reaching up to brush my fingers over her burning cheeks. She twists her head away, but she doesn't move.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," I correct her. "You're bright red. You thinking about how I fucked you the other night? How I made you come on my cock?"

My dirty talk catches her off guard, and her lips part, eyes widening.

"You can't talk to me like that, not here," she protests. But she's sinking into me slightly, her body giving her away. I reach out, resting a hand on her hip. She's wearing a pencil skirt that hugs her curves and shows off her surprisingly generous ass.

"You dressed up like this to try and distract me, didn't you?" I murmur with a grin. "You thought you could get me to forget what I need to take care of if you were parading around in front of me in this tight little skirt."

I graze my fingertips down to the hem, letting them tease across her thighs. Her legs part, almost on instinct, and I push up the skirt a few inches.

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