Page 13 of Texting My Mafia Savior

If Enzo was drunk, he might laugh at me. He might get violent at this point. Force me to my knees and beg for his forgiveness. His reaction is worse than all that. He rubs his chin, looking closely at me.

“Fair enough,” he says after a pause. He looks at Arria. “Please, forgive me for my unkind words.”

“Uh, it’s okay,” Arria mutters.

Enzo gestures with the dart. “Off you go, then. Both of you.”

Arria seems stuck to the spot. I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her from the room, then rush through the club. She stumbles as she tries to keep pace with me. I hold her up and walk faster. Any second Enzo could change his mind. I’m waiting for him to yell after us. Or to hear a gunshot. Or for his men to swarm us.

Once we’re in the car, I start the engine and drive away as quickly as I can.

CHAPTER 7

ARRIANA

“Thanks for what you said back there,” I murmur after a minute into the car ride.

Nico seems different. He grips the steering wheel hard, and his jawline clenches. In the club, Enzo’s words hurt. But I was ready to take them. I didn’t expect Nico to defend me. When he did, it felt so good. He likes my build, my curviness. It shouldn’t matter. But somehow, it does.

Also, there was that weird stuff Enzo was hinting at. Third meeting? Nightmare? Barbarian? None of it makes any sense.

“Nico?” I say when he doesn’t reply.

“Hmm?”

“I said thank you.”

“He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Nico growls.

His wife, my aunt, sheisconventionally attractive. She’s nothing like me. She hasn’t got my build at all. I know what I look like. Though I’ve been called names before, I’ve never let it get to me.I never cared enough about the opinion of boys to care. But with Nico, a silver-haired fox, I can’t lie. I care—a lot.

“Do you think that went well?” I ask after a pause.

“Yeah,” Nico mutters.

As we were leaving the club, it seemed that Nico was rushing me. My mind was pulsing with thoughts, and my body was aching as he led me from the club, his hand on the small of my back. Despite my coat, I felt the warmth of his burning hand. I want to ask Nico about the weird stuff Enzo was calling him. I want to tell him what I saw between Giancarlo and Aunt Lucy. But I sit here silently.

Soon, we’re home. Nico doesn’t even look at me. It’s like he’s angry with me. Or maybe at himself for standing up for me?

“I’ll see you around,” he says.

“Okay.” I feel unfairly stung and rejected. “Bye, then.”

That night, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Aunt Lucy and her secret lover, or I see and hear Nico when he was defending me.

Some men like the curvy build…

When he said that, his voice got low and husky. I’m sure he was talking about himself. I’m sure he was sayinghelikes my shape. My curves. My fullness. When I roll over, trying to get comfortable, it’s like the sheets become his hands massaging me. My body aches. I almost want to slip my hand between my legs and touch myself, thinking about him.

But that would cross amajorline. I sit up, unable to sleep, pick up my book, put it down, and pick up my phone instead. Barbarian, Nightmare—why would a club owner call a lawyer those things? I don’t understand it. I should probably just let it go.

It’s like I’m standing at a fork on a metaphorical road. To my left, there’s one path, probably the reasonable one. Go on with my life, pretend I didn’t witness Aunt Lucy’s affair, pretend I didn’t sense something ‘off’ with Enzo and Nico. Forget I ever had this hot, curious feeling for my uncle.

To the right, there’s pure craziness. I let myself obsess over the way Nico defended me. I indulge in fantasies of telling him about the affair, pressing my hand against his solid chest, looking up into his intense green eyes, and whispering,“Choose me instead…”

It turns out I might be nuts.

Me:What did Enzo mean when he called you ‘Barbarian’ and ‘Nightmare’?I text.

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