Page 5 of Mafia Wars

I cut her off with a sharp laugh. “Oh, you’re here, all right. And you’re not leaving until we even the score.”

“Even the—” She stops, her shoulders stiffening as she realizes what I’m saying. She shakes her head, her voice rising. “No. No way. This is insane. I—”

“Luna,” I say, my tone softening, though there’s still an edge of command in it. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. Just—turn around.”

She hesitates, her fingers tightening on the edge of the door. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s trembling just slightly. She’s scared.

I like that.

But I don’t push her. Not yet.

Finally, slowly, she turns. Her head stays down, her dark hair falling into her face, but I can see the flush spreading across her cheeks, her neck. She’s wearing those baggy clothes again, the ones that make her look like she’s trying to disappear. They don’t do her any favors, but even so, there’s something about her—something soft, vulnerable.

“Take them off,” I say, my voice quiet but firm.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. “What?”

“You heard me.” I tilt my head, watching her. “Shirt first.”

She hesitates, her hands hovering near her arms as if she’s debating whether to follow my command. The defiance in her eyes sparks something in me, but I keep my face impassive.

“Do it,” I say, my voice low, but there’s an edge to it that I know she can feel. It’s not a request.

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. For a second, I think she’s going to bolt. But then, slowly, she reaches for the hem of her shirt. Her hands are shaking as she pulls it over her head, revealing smooth, pale skin and a thin tank top underneath.

“Keep going,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers.

She swallows hard, her gaze darting around the room like she’s looking for an escape. There isn’t one. Finally, she slides the tank top off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She isn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts fall free, round and soft looking. My cock twitches, and her gaze travels down before she quickly glances away, but not before she sees my erection. Her hands immediately move to cover herself, but it’s too late.

I take her in, my gaze sweeping over her. She’s slimmer than her baggy clothes made me believe, but there’s a quiet strength in her posture, a stubbornness in the way she holds herself.

“Turn around,” I say.

“No.” Her voice is firm this time, and for the first time, she meets my eyes directly. There’s fear there, yes, but also something else. Defiance.

I smile. I can’t help it.

“No?” I say while cutting off the spray of water and stepping out of the shower naked. I’m slow to grab a towel, letting her gaze linger on my body; even as she seems to fight with herself to look somewhere else, she can’t seem to stop. “But you should know—I always get my way in the end.” I wrap the towel around my waist.

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she slowly turns around. At first, I think she is obeying me, but instead, she gathers her clothes as quickly as she can. Her hands are shaking again, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look at me.

My jaw tightens as my gaze roams over the bruising on her back, faint but unmistakable. Some are old, faded to dark shades; others are fresher, still red and blue.

I clench my fists at my sides.Who did this to her?

"How long?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She stiffens, but she doesn’t turn back around. "How long what?"

“You know what I mean,” I snap, my patience slipping. “How long has someone been using you as their personal punching bag?”

She whirls to face me, her eyes blazing with a fury that catches me off guard. "You don’t get to ask me that," she spits, her voice shaking. "You don’t get to stand there and question me about my personal life."

The words surprise me; no, it’s not the words; it’s the venom behind them. I step closer, closing the space between us. She doesn’t back away this time, though her hands are trembling.

Her defiance falters, replaced by something I can’t quite place—fear, maybe, or exhaustion. She drops her gaze, her arms wrapping around herself like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“Who did this?” I ask.

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