Page 49 of Sweet Prison

Massimo comes around me and steps inside the room. The sound of chairs scraping the floor fills the sudden silence as almost all of the men spring to standing. A few young guys remain in their seats, not for long, though. The more mature men nearby pull them up by the scruffs of their necks.

Massimo’s hand lands on my waist, drawing me into his side as his eyes rove over the hushed crowd. The awestruck eyes of nearly a hundred people stare back at him. The young guys seem confused, throwing quick glances around as if wondering what this abrupt commotion is about. The rest of the men, however, those who appear to be older than their midthirties, don’t shifttheir eyes from Massimo. Based on their expressions, they know who he is.

No one utters a word. The silence is so absolute it’s almost palpable. The air itself seems to crack as if charged. Massimo takes one last look at the men gathered in this room, then slowly nods. The motion is deliberate and seems to carry a message. What is it? Then, every single man who recognized him responds with a nod of his own. Dozens of heads move in unison, their timing is perfectly aligned.

Recognition. Loyalty. Respect. It’s written all over these guys’ faces. I can see the conviction in their eyes. No doubts, as if the certainty they feel is etched in stone. Regardless of who was in the official position of power all these years, these were—and still are—Massimo’s men. I can tell by the way they look at him. The sight is so astounding that it gives me chills.

“It’s good to see you all again,” Massimo says, then focuses on Peppe. “Eighteen men, split into two shifts. Armed with automatic weapons. I need them at my house within the hour.”

“Understood,” Peppe responds.

“Good.” Massimo’s hold on my waist tightens. “I’ll see the rest of you again next week.”

He turns us around, and a moment later, we’re heading once more through the dusty anteroom toward the exit, silence stretching at our backs. Still completely overwhelmed by what I witnessed inside that room, I don’t even notice as we step outside of the building.

“You still haven’t officially taken over,” I say as he opens the car door for me. “Capos won’t like that you’ve commandeered men to be your security detail before you’re sworn in as don.”

“Those damn cunts can suck my dick. And the security isn’t for me.”

“Then, what are they for?” I ask as I slide onto the seat.

Massimo squats beside me in the open car door. With his height, his face draws nearly level with mine. The look in his eyes appears almost feral. “You.”

My pulse shoots north of the stratosphere—my heart thunders in my chest so wildly it could burst from being so happy and full. Could he be—

“My stepsister’s safety will never again be endangered, Zahara.”

Crushed. His words obliterate me, grinding my stupid hope into a pile of dust.

I look away, staring through the windshield but not seeing a thing.

***

“You don’t like it?”

I resume picking at the noodles in the takeout container. “It’s fine.”

Massimo arches an eyebrow at me from the other side of the dining room table. “I can have one of the guys go pick up something else, if you want. I thought you liked Chinese?”

I do. I told him about my favorite foods in one of the letters, just like I spilled nearly everything else about myself.

My hand drifts to the chain around my neck, and I start fiddling with the links, twisting and running them through my fingers. It’s one of the platinum necklaces Massimo sent me. I was so damn excited when I opened the package, discovering it was jewelry and that it was from him. My God, the joy I felt,figuring it had to be proof that he does care for me. And he does, just not in the way I want him to. And it’s high time I accept it.

“The food is fine.” I gesture around the room with my chopsticks. “So, this space is really huge. Maybe you should consider modifying the floor plan?”

“Actually, I was thinking of using it as a meeting room. We can even leave this table and it’d double for formal dining. What do you think?”

“Um… it’s your house. Why would it matter what I think?”

A large tattooed hand enters my field of vision. Massimo’s thumb lifts my chin, tilting my face up. “Your opinion matters a great deal to me, Zahara. Or I wouldn’t be asking for it, would I?”

“I guess?” I mumble, fighting the pull of his magnetic gaze. It’s sucking me in, making me wish for things that will never be.

His forefinger lingers at the edge of my lower lip, the contact so light and gentle. My resolve crumbles, and I tilt my head to the side just a tiny bit, causing his finger to brush along my mouth.

Immediately, Massimo withdraws his hand and looks down at his food. “Did you chat with your sister? Where are the lovebirds hiding now?”

“I called her last night. They’re at Kai’s apartment for the time being. At least until they find somewhere they can keep ducks and horses.”

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