Page 27 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

I glance at my phone again. Nico has sent a gif—an artful shot of a man’s face buried between a woman’s thighs, moving in slow motion. I watch it loop, watch her body shudder upward over and over.

Let me ruin you.

My mouth goes dry, my thighs clenching. The picture doesn’t do much for me, but the words slip right between my legs. I reach for my wine again, drinking too much too fast.

“Are you alright?” The sudden question snaps me out of my daze. I realize I’ve been staring at the man across from me, heat building in my cheeks and thighs, though the unwanted fantasyplaying out behind my eyes has nothing to do with him. “You look a little pink.”

I swallow hard, reaching for an excuse.

“I’m just starting to think I don’t measure up,” I murmur.

Thaddeus likes that. For the first time, I notice the man’s interest in me spike as he really looks at me. He leans forward over the table.

“You will,” he says, soft and smug. “We’ll make sure of it.”

I try to picture what it will be like when this man inevitably fucks me.

My imagination won’t even allow it. It twists him into someone else. It should be Vinny. It’salwaysbeen Vinny before. Gentle, loving, and laughing through the awkwardness. That was how it was supposed to be. Now, it’s a powerful body moving above me in the dark, with unmistakable gray eyes and no mercy when I squirm and sob under him.

My thighs feel slick, my heart heavy, my stomach queasy.

I swallow another glass of overpriced wine and pointedly ignore the judgmental way Thaddeus Mori looks at me for it. He thinks I’m impressed with him. Starstruck by his glorified office worker credentials. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as we smile at each other. I feel nothing for him at all. That’s what will make this easy.

He probably doesn’t even eat pussy.

8

Ava

One hour down. The rest of my life to go. Easy.

After dinner, I tell Thaddeus I’ll have to catch a ride home. I expect him to offer me one. Instead, he puts a wad of cash in my hand and tells me to get a cab, and next time, to come better prepared. He leaves me gawking on the sidewalk, cash in hand, like the paid whore he accused me of being.

A hot bolt of humiliation creeps into my cheeks as he drives off and leaves me behind.

As I order another ride, a wolf whistle cuts the air. I glance up, glare prepared, and nearly jump out of my skin.

“You can catch a ride, but I don’t take payment in cash.”

Nico leans up against his car, parked right in front of the restaurant, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s almostunrecognizable. Yesterday’s thin cotton shirt and worn-out denim jeans are gone, replaced by a voguish gray suit and a pair of reflective aviators. He looks like a million-dollar man, a glimpse of the mob boss he was meant to be.

A group of women waiting for their reservation are making eyes at him, not-so-subtly snapping photos and giggling amongst themselves. Nico stares only at me. Even through those reflective sunglasses, I feel his heavy gaze as it travels up my body, drops my pulse to the pit of my stomach where my ovaries ache. The picture on my phone surfaces at the back of my mind again, bringing with it that dangerous little sentence and what it might feel like if it was whispered against my ear.

Let me ruin you.

How long has he been here? Has he been watching us this whole time, just waiting?

I turn and flee down the sidewalk, no goal in mind except to be somewhere that he isn’t. I can’t do this right now.

“Go away,” I say when he follows. “I’m not in the mood.”

He keeps coming, just an inch behind me, those long legs easily matching my quick, angry stride.

“If you’re not in the mood, then you haven’t checked your texts.”

I whip around on him but only end up face-to-chest, forced to look up at him.

“How did you even know where I was?” I demand. “For a family that relies on secrecy, nobody seems to know how to keep their mouth shut! Omertà my ass!”

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