Page 4 of The Gangster King

My father does, his men do, and so does Dante Baldassare.

He has since I was born.

As a little girl I idolized him. He played with me, protected me, and then one day...he said he was going to marry me.

I don’t remember how old I was, but I knew he was serious. I knew he was becoming a grown-up and that one day he would be like our fathers.

Mean.

Scary.

I watched my mother drink, smoke, and eventually die from what I think was a broken heart. Little by little, the idea of staying in this world became extremely unappealing. If I married Dante, my fate would be sealed.

So I pulled away.

I rejected every little bit of attention, telling him I wasn’t interested.

He never believed me then, and he still doesn’t.

But my father was clear with him; I can never be his. Leo was promised to Gianna—his sister—and having both siblings married to one another is apparently not acceptable.

I was relieved.

Dante furious.

His glowering eyes found mine that day and I swallowed down my attraction to him. Thinking of how eventually he’d find another girl to marry. He hadn’t buffed out like he is now, and it’s taken a lot of effort to hide how much he affects me.

Which is why I cannot give this man an inch.

If he sees behind my mask, it’s game over.

Now he’s the don.

Having him here is dangerous.

But his father just died and if there’s one thing I cannot fake, it’s that I care for this man.

Though he’d have to point a gun at my head to make me admit it. And Dante Baldassare would never ever hurt me. He would kill any man that tried.

“Adelin—”

I turn and stab my finger into his chest. “No. I am not taking you to my bedroom.”

“For the love of god, woman. I’m not a fourteen-year-old boy.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve already seen...” He runs his eyes down my body.

I frown.

No he hasn’t. I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman now. Back then, when he saw me, I was sixteen.

“That was ten years ago, and things have changed.”

“Have they?” His eyes sparkle.

I spin away. “Ugh.”

Trying to argue with this man is like holding a raw egg yolk in your hand. Impossible.

I continue down to the library and thankfully Dante doesn’t argue. But as soon as we step inside he closes the door behind us and grabs my hand. I’m yanked back to him, and he threads his fingers through my hair.

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