Page 83 of Sweet Prison

“Why?”

“I had… other things on my mind.” He looks at the nut I’ve been trying to crack. “Give me that. Please.”

Raising my eyebrow, I drop the pistachios on his outstretched hand.

“Are you bored?”

“Not particularly.” I shrug, watching him make quick work out of shelling the pistachios. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“That you are stealing my snack? Everyone is watching, you know. Just take the whole bowl and go back to Adriano.”

“Mm-hmm… in a second. Give me your hand.”

My chest squeezes with emotion while he places the shelled yummies on my palm. When I look up, I find him watching me with a satisfied grin on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know what he’s thinking at this moment. Years ago, I mentioned in one of my letters that pistachios are my favorite snack, prattling on for an entire paragraph about how much I hate taking them out of their shells but keep refusing to buy the already-shelled ones. He responded to me with:we’re all a little nuts.

“Tell the girls not to bring Tiziano any more Courvoisier. In fact, cut him off from all alcoholic drinks. He’s becoming too chatty for my liking.”

“I did that already,” I whisper.

Massimo’s grin widens into a full-blown smile. “Of course you did.”

He turns around then and heads back to where Adriano is talking with the other investors—Patricio and Donatello. While he walks away, I absorb every single detail about the man who taught me to see the world beyond the obvious shades. His confident, determined stride. That posture of his, tall and commanding. He’s not wearing a jacket, so I can see the ripple of his muscles under the gray fabric of his dress shirt. I have intimate knowledge of each rise and valley on that magnificent back because, night after night, I’ve covered every inch of it in kisses.

When Massimo reaches for the drink he abandoned on the side table, my eyes focus on his hand—fingers strong and inked—gripping the crystal glass. Goose bumps spread along my arms when I recall how it feels to have that rough palm glide down my chest, caressing my skin, and then to have it dip lower, between my legs. He can do such wicked, wicked things with those fingers.

We’ve only been sleeping together for a couple of weeks, yet it feels like it’s been much longer. Massimo knows my body just like I know his. He knows what I like. What I crave. Every sensitive area, every spot on my skin. And I, I know how he likes to be touched, too. When he wants control, and when he’s willing to surrender it. Which is never, unless he’s with me. But my awareness of him extends past the physical. It’s a visceral, living thing, born of trust and secrets shared over a nearly ten-year span. I can anticipate his reactions, read his moods, feel his emotions. That’s how I know that his current relaxed stance as he talks with Adriano is just a pretense. An illusion that everyone is blinded by, except for me. Massimo’s prison frays might have come to an end but he’s still constantly on alert. A wolf whoreturned to his old pack, ascending to his rightful place as their leader, but remaining vigilant as if he’s still surrounded by foes.

As I continue to watch him, I’m suddenly overcome by an urge to wrap my arms protectively around him. To assure him that not everyone in his life is an enemy.

As if sensing my thoughts, he glances away from his drink, his eyes finding mine. There’s so much ferocity and determination in that dark gaze. I must be a fool for thinking that I could watch the back of a man like Massimo. Protect him by my own strength. Me, a silly little mouse who still prefers to stay on the sidelines so that people won’t stare at her face, the only not-covered part of my skin. But here’s a thing about mice… their teeth may be tiny, yet they are sharp. And I won’t hesitate, even for a second, to sink mine into anyone who dares to harm my man.

“Miss Zara.” Iris comes to stand next to me. “I’m so sorry to bother you. Tinia is crying in the bathroom and won’t come out.”

“What happened?”

“She was ironing the don’s shirt. His favorite one. The one he said he needed for tomorrow morning.”

I nod and head out of the parlor, making my way to the staff quarters.

“What’s the damage?” I ask as we cross the hall.

“It’s completely ruined. I tried to calm her down and reason with her, but Tinia wouldn’t stop bawling. She then took the shirt and locked herself in, jamming the door. Says she’s never coming out.” Iris glances over her shoulder. “She’s still terrified of Don Spada, ever since he threw her out of the kitchen when she tried to help him ready your breakfast,” she whispers.

Sighing, I come up to the staff bathroom door and gently knock. “Tinia? Could you please come out.”

“I can’t.” Her reply is a whimpering sob from the other side. “The don will be even more mad at me now, and we all know he doesn’t give second chances. I’m staying put.”

“It’s just a stupid shirt.” I shake my head. “Just… give me the damn thing. I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I burned it.”

“He won’t believe you, Miss. He—” There’s a sniff, and then, the door cracks open and Tinia’s puffy, red face comes into view. “The don handed that shirt to me himself, and he sounded very irritated when he said he needed it pressed.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Massimo.” I raise my hand. “The shirt, please.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly, she passes a wad of black fabric to me. It stinks like singed fibers, with slight melty plastic undertones.

I throw the ruined shirt over my shoulder and reach to wipe away the tears from the girl’s face. “Everything will be okay, you’ll see. Get your things and go home now. Take tomorrow off.”

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