Page 18 of Forced Arrangement

She doesn't look at me, and I don't look at her either.

“I didn't take you as someone who liked or wanted empty words.”

“That’s good, because I'm not.”

“I also made a promise to your father.”

She scoffs again and turns to face me.

“My father didn't give two shits about me. He was a sadistic, awful man and I'm happy my mom took me away when she did.”

It really isn't my business what she thinks or how she feels, at least it shouldn't be, but I can't stand the pain behind her cold words.

“Carlo Agostini was the most powerful man in the Cosa Nostra. He excelled in finding people. Do you think he couldn’t find you? He could’ve come and dragged you back to New York to live under his reign of terror, but he didn’t. Make of that what you will.”

She sighs, closing her eyes. “I suppose I knew that,” she admits. “But I always figured that he just didn’t care. Part of me imagined that he must have another heir, a son. Maybe he remarried and that was why he didn’t come looking for me. It was a relief…and an insult.”

Her words are raw and I feel a pang, at the pain I can hear in them. Her life has been complicated, strange, full of lies and deceit, yet she still wants to know that her father loved her. Maybe none of us is exempt from wishing for the fealty and support of our parents.

“If it’s any consolation,” I say to her, “he never remarried, and he never stopped talking about you. He never mentioned your mother, but he always spoke of you with pride.

Her eyes snap open and she looks at me closely. “He had people watching me,” she says perceptively, and I look down, uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze. She has hit upon one of the things that I didn’t want to reveal to her just yet. It was how I knew where she was. It was how I knew her mother had died.

I finally lift my eyes to meet hers. “Yes,” I say honestly. “It’s how I knew where you were and how to find you. He told me to go to you when he knew he was dying. He was afraid for you.”

Her face is tight, but I can see the conflict warring within her. I reach out and pick up her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I know it’s not easy, and you have every right to be angry, but he did love you.”

She squeezes my fingers back, and looked away, but not before I see a tear slip down her cheek. I look at our joined hands, and my cock throbs, even as my heart hurts for her. I ponder the mixture of emotions that she is making me feel.

I want her. I have wanted her from the moment I saw her, and now, as I feel her respond to my touch, that desire burns hotter and more fiercely than ever.

But this isn’t just about desire. This is about trust. About getting her to let go, to open up, to see that I’m not the enemy.

I can’t rush it. I have to let her come to me, let her make the choice. Because when she does—when she finally lets those walls come down—it will be all the more satisfying.

“I’m not your enemy,” I say, my voice a low rumble. “You know that, don’t you?”

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me, really looks at me, as if she is seeing me for the first time. The conflict in her gaze is still there, but so is something else—something that makes my heart pound and my blood sing.

“Maybe,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The rest of the ride passes in a charged silence, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. But I can feel the shift, the slow, inevitable pull that is drawing us closer together. She can fight it, resist it, but I know that sooner or later, she will give in.

And when she does, there will be no turning back.

Chapter Six

Sophia

This plane is a far cry from the commercial flights I have taken in the past. Angelo’s private jet is luxurious. It offers the kind of opulence that makes it hard to forget who I’m dealing with. The seats are plush, the lighting soft, and the air feels crisp, like it’s somehow fresher than the air outside.

The plane’s engines hum softly, a steady vibration that thrums through the plush seats. It’s the only sound breaking the thick silence between Angelo and me. Outside, the night sky is an endless expanse of darkness, the clouds below us like a blanket of uncertainty.

And then there is Angelo. Sitting across from me, his presence is impossible to ignore. He is calm, almost too calm, as if he is completely at ease with the situation. But I’m not fooled. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, like a storm waiting to break. It isn’t just the situation that has me on edge—it’s him.

Every time I look at him, I feel a pull, something magnetic that makes it hard to think straight. It’s infuriating, how hemanages to get under my skin without even trying, how he can make my heart race with just a glance.

I hate it, hate that he has this power over me. But there is no denying the chemistry between us, the way my body reacts to him, even when my mind screams at me to keep my distance.

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