Page 54 of The Mob Boss' Pet

“Why not Vincenzo?” I ask, though I can’t imagine Maria being able to tolerate Vincenzo’s bossy ways.

“He refused,” a deep voice interrupts from the doorway. “Sarah, I told you to watch what you say,” Roberto says with the same authoritarian tint Vincenzo uses when he’s not pleased with me.

“Sorry,” she says. “I was just looking for company while you were in your meeting.”

He moves his gaze to me. “Vincenzo’s headed upstairs to talk you before our meeting. You might want to get up there.” He jerks his head toward a stair well in the back of the kitchen. “If you hurry, maybe you can beat him up there.”

“Too late.” Vincenzo moves into the kitchen from behind Roberto.

My stomach drops when his gaze lands on me. I’ve completely disobeyed him.

“It was my fault, Vincenzo.” Sarah comes to my aid quickly.

“Sarah,” Roberto warns. “Get your sandwich. I’ll take you back upstairs. I think you should hang out in my room while I’m busy.” He holds out his hand for her to take it.

With a quickly mouthed apology to me, she grabs her plate and takes his hand.

“What did she tell you?” Vincenzo demands as soon as we’re alone in the kitchen.

“Nothing,” I answer.

His eyes narrow.

“She told me about Anton’s marriage to Maria. Hardly anything to be worried about.”

“If she knows about that, she knows more than Roberto should have told her.”

“You realize how crazy that sounds, right?” I say, ignoring the warning in his gaze. I’ve already defied him; might as well see how far I can go. “Roberto’s been dating her for three years. How could he not have talked about his family? How could he create a relationship with her if it was all lies and bullshit?”

“His relationship goals aren’t my concern.” He raises an eyebrow, like what I’ve said is absurd.

“Who betrayed you so badly, that you can’t trust those so close to you?” I ask. Somewhere along the way, he’s convinced himself he shoulders the world alone. That doesn’t happen without reason.

His jaw tightens.

“We can have story time at bedtime, Stephania. Right now, we’re going to talk about you being here in the kitchen and not upstairs.”

Of course we are. Why discuss him when he can deflect and point the finger at my behavior.

“Sarah invited me down here. She looked like she could use the company and it’s not like I tried to leave the house,” I point out.

With deliberate steps, he walks over to me and picks up my sandwich. “You didn’t finish your lunch,” he says, taking a large bite of it. A drop of mayonnaise lingers in the corner of his mouth, and he licks it.

He pushes the plate closer to me with one finger. “Eat up,” he commands.

My mouth dries at the undercurrent in his voice.

“I can bring it upstairs with me.” I pick up the plate with both hands.

“No.” He takes it from me and puts it back on the counter. “You came down for lunch, eat your lunch.” He leans a hip against the counter and folds his arms over his chest like he can stay like that all day if he needs.

I sigh and pick up the sandwich. He watches me while I finish it off.

“Good girl,” he says and pulls the empty plate away from me. The plate clatters into the sink.

“Vincenzo.” I try to get ahead of his lecture, but the look he gives me suggests I keep quiet.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” he asks, folding his arms again.

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