Page 29 of The Deal

“I have work tomorrow … people that rely on me.”

“You won’t need to work while you’re living here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” she says, her voice cracking as she speaks. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“I know you can … and have, but I want to take care of you now.”

“Why?” That is the million-dollar question and one I can’t even answer.

“Because I do. So here is what is going to happen. I’m going to get off you so you can clean up and change, and then we are going to go downstairs and eat the meal that Carmella has prepared for us.”

“Change into what? You didn’t let me pack any clothes, remember.”

“I bought you an entire new wardrobe. You deserve all the pretty things,bella.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

She stares up at me and frowns as the realisation sinks in. “So, this was your plan all along? You were never goingto end my father’s life. This was all a ruse to get me here. Does he even owe you money?”

“Yes, he does. He owes my family a lot of money.”

She blows out a puff of air, turning her face to the side. “He has no way of paying off his debts. He gets a disability pension every fortnight, but it isn’t much. It’s usually left up to me to bail him out of trouble.”

“I know,” I say, freeing one of my hands to turn her face back to me. “You take care of everything, but who takes care of you?”

“Nobody.”

“Let me be that person,Angelo,” I whisper.

Our eyes remain locked as the air around us crackles, and I ache to kiss those plump fucking lips of hers, but I know she wouldn’t want that. Rest assured, one day, she will. I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter 10

Chloe

I’m so confused. I want to hate this man but can’t bring myself to do so. I also don’t want to trust him, but for some reason, I do.

It’s been a long time since someone wanted to take care of me. And he had to go and throw‘Angelo’into the mix—Angel in Italian—a term of endearment that my father used to call my mother.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and the fury he displayed a few minutes ago seems to have vanished.

I’m starved and have barely eaten all day, but my stubborn side will never admit that.

“No,” I lie, but as if on cue, my stomach growls, betraying me with a loud, unmistakable rumble.

“Your stomach tells me otherwise,” he chuckles, placing his flattened palms on the mattress, either side of me, pushing himself up. “What have you eaten today?”

I wince. “A vegemite sandwich.”

His face screws up as his body slightly shudders. “Vegemite? How can you even stomach that shit?”

“It’s cheap … and I don’t mind it.”

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