Page 45 of Dark Mafia Vows

“I’ll go call him down.”

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” I say, and she chuckles and nods as if she knows something I don’t.

“As you wish, ma’am,” she says before walking away.

Beaming, I pour myself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air. I set a plate of toast in front of me, the crisp sound of bread crunching as I slice it. I take a moment to relish thebreakfast, savoring the idea of riling him up before work. I can already picture the look on his face when he sees me here.

Just as I take a bite, I hear his heavy footsteps. Dario enters the room, and even though I expect his arrival, my breath hitches at the sudden shift in the room’s energy. I raise my gaze to him, maintaining a nonchalant expression on my face.

He looks sharp in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his frame just right. The scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something spicy—fills the room, making my heart pound against my chest. His face. Fuck! It’s so unfair for one person to look this sexy.

His dark hair looks longer than usual, falling over his forehead in messy waves. His emerald green eyes are narrowed into slits as he approaches me. His jaw is clenched, and I resist the urge to lick my lips at the sexy stubble sprinkled over his cheeks. I imagine what the roughness would feel like against my skin when his head is between my...

“You’re eating in here today?” he asks, his voice snapping me out of my reverie.

His voice is laced with irritation, eyes narrowing as they flicker over my sitting frame.

“Thought I’d change things up,” I reply, keeping my tone light, though my heart races. I enjoy the way his jaw tightens, the way he shifts his weight as he stands there like a lion ready to pounce.

“Right,” he drawls, stepping closer, invading my personal space. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to act a little more...engaged. I have housekeepers and domestic staff. These people observe everything.”

I roll my eyes, feigning innocence. “What exactly are you talking about?” I take another bite of my toast.

“Don’t play games, Ginny. Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” His voice deepens, and I can feel the heat of his stare boring into me, igniting a fire in my chest.

I guess the first thing he looked at when he saw me was my left ring finger. Controlling prick.

“What ring?” I ask, my voice steady, though inside I’m churning. “I don’t know what you’re...”

“I’m not in the mood,” he snaps, his jaw clenching as he steps closer, his body towering over my sitting frame.

I hum, taking my time to sip of my coffee. When I place the cup gently on the table, I look up at him.

“Did you suddenly remember you have a fiancée after three days?” I ask coolly.

“Why? Did you miss me?”

His voice doesn’t have its usual teasing lilt to it. Instead, it’s hard and mocking. I bristle, but even though I want to return the energy, I decide to keep up with my facade, knowing it will infuriate him further.

“Never. I’m just...concerned. We don’t want the housekeepers gossiping about us to others, now do we?” I say, fake concern dripping from my voice.

I know that isn’t a possibility. Dario, like many other influential people, has his domestic staff sign nondisclosure contracts before they begin working for him. But even without the contract, I’m sure they would be terrified to run their mouths about him elsewhere, knowing how terrifying he can be.

Harshly, he drops his sleek briefcase on the dining table before planting his palms against the surface and leaning further into me. My breath hitches, but I refuse to let him intimidate me.

“I don’t have time for games.”

“And who says I’m playing games?” I shoot back, staring right into his eyes.

Our faces are a few inches apart, and my eyes suddenly flicker to his lips, remembering the way he kissed me that night. My body burns with a wanton heat, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that he isn’t the one getting under my skin rather than the other way around.

Feeling cornered, I abruptly get up and try to return my now empty dishes to the kitchen. I carry them in one hand, but before I move past him and reach the sink, Dario chases after me, grabs my free hand, and tugs me backward.

The ceramic plate and cup slip from my hand, shattering against the tiled floor.

“What is wrong with--”

A sharp breath leaves my lips as he swiftly lifts me up by my waist, the movement causing me to grip his shoulders for support. He takes three long steps away from the broken dishes before dropping me right in front of the kitchen counter. My head fogs up as the memory of that night hits me like a wrecking ball. We are in a similar position, the equally similar sexual tension thick in the air.

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