Page 64 of The Devil Can Be Kind

“So, if you didn’t cheer in school and you didn’t go to college, what did you actually do?” he questioned, finishing up with his fries while I took another bite of my burger.

“I was captain of the volleyball team throughout high school, so you could say I did that…but overall, I just threw a lot of parties that served a lot of alcohol. It’s pretty funny how much popularity you can attain with those two things alone.”

He chuckled and shook his head, watching me as I continued eating my food.

“How about this,” he suggested. “I’ve finished eating the crap you’ve put in front of me, and you haven’t, so why don’t I drive us home?”

I eyed him suspiciously and he flashed a boyish smile that was so devastating it caused my heart to skid to a stop, knocking me into a kind of daze.

That kind of smile was dangerous.Verydangerous.

“Not to mention I did pay for the damn thing.” He added when I still hadn’t said anything.

My heart restarted and I frowned. One look at his expression and I knew there wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this one.

“Fine,” I grumbled, collecting my food and heaving myself out of the driver’s side door.

I met him halfway around the car and stopped in front of him. “You so much as ding an alloy, run over a moth, or wrap us around a tree, and I will rip your dick off. Am I clear?” I barked, thoroughly hating relinquishing control to someone I had never even observed driving.

He rolled his eyes but muttered, “crystal” as we both rounded the car and retook our seats.

He immediately sank the driver’s seat flat to the floor and repositioned himself to get comfortable. His long limbs hit the ignition button, and the car purred to life beneath his strong, capable hands.

Fuck.

Seeing him handle the car expertly was making my core smolder with heat.

I tried to ignore the sudden aching between my thighs as he pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed back down main street.

Realizing I was getting overwhelmed and was now blatantly staring, I turned my attention to my fries and looking out the window. Trying to distract myself from the part of my brain that wanted to mount him like a bike, whether he was a big scary Don or not.

It was then that I realized something.

“What the fuck is this?” I blurted, looking over at the screen in front of him. “Why are you driving so slow?”

Marco scowled for a minute without answering…or driving any faster.

“I’m driving sensibly.”

“You’re driving like an old man,” I observed.

“It’s a limit, not a target,” he retorted.

“I thought you Mafia men were supposed to be hardcore. You know: don’t give a crap about speed limits and all that?” I mocked. “I think I’ve been short changed.”

The internal lighting illuminated the familiar ticking of his jaw muscle… I was getting to him.

“My Grandmother drives faster and she’s dead,” I prodded.

Nothing.

“Or is it you’re just a bad driver?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“That’s it!” He growled.

Bingo!

Without warning, he violently threw the car to the right and stepped on the gas. I started panicking until I realized, he had pulled us into a mostly abandoned carpark outside of Target.

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