Page 8 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say through gritted teeth.

“No?”

His broad, calloused hand slides down my belly, his fingertips nudging their way under my jeans. His touch lingers on the band of my panties, toying with the silky barrier between us.

I hold my ground and my silence.

A low, satisfied growl rumbles in Nico’s chest when I still don’t flinch. “They say people can change. I never really believed it, but here you are. Exhibit A.”

“Can I go now?”

His words are hot and possessive against my ear, his hand inching lower.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he says darkly. His gaze is dark and serious, and though he smiles, it’s not because he’s joking. “I like you like this.” He grins, tapping me under the chin when I try to look away. “And youoweme.” His words drop to a low, intimate whisper, all but kissing them against my ear. “Mafia rules.”

With two little words, Nico binds my hands.

Oh, I should have known his favors wouldn’t come for free. Not from an ex-don. I feel stupid for not seeing it coming, for thinking Nico capable of a simple good deed. His true nature lashes out from the dark and gets me in its grasp.

“What do you want?” I force myself to ask.

His eyes answer for him, taking their time as they roam up and down my body. Nico quirks his finger, bids me to follow him.

This time, my feet obey.

“Not such a little rebel now, are you?”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.

A church sits on top of the fighting ring. An ironic front, heaven above and hell below. I’m surprised Nico doesn’t burst into flames as we exit through the back, out into the night. Lines of cars are parked parallel along the street, and one of them is familiar—Nico Mori’s signature McLaren, an exotic one-of-one that was his calling card in his youth. The last time I saw the custom car, it was brand new. It still gleams with that same fresh-off-the-lot shine. Time hasn’t done any work on it. Someone must have had it in storage for him, but who would bother storing it?

Nico holds the door open for me like he’s a proper gentleman. I roll my eyes and throw myself into the low seat. The door slams, shutting me away in his cage.

I watch as his shadow circles the car, coming to join me.

Nico was the head of the family, the don himself, for only six months before his arrest. It was a short, blazing career as the top dog. Some people said he was always reckless and wild; others said his father dying sent him off the deep end. The only fact I’m sure of is that Nico killed a man in the middle of the day, in front of witnesses, on camera. A crime of passion.

Maybe it’s just another bad rumor, but I heard the murder happened over a girl.

The night is frigid, but Nico doesn’t seem to notice. He drives wild with the windows rolled down. The cold air feels good on my busted lip, the careless speed lifting my belly into my throat. The flickering dots on the road become a single, steady line. Streetlights zip past. The snarl of the engine rumbles up my spine, the speedometer inching farther to the right.

“So, you’re a little psychopath these days, huh?” Nico says over the rush of the wind. “How far does that go? Should we find out?” He smoothly weaves the speeding car around the road, the gear shifting. One wrong move at this speed and we’ll become a ball of twisted wreckage.

“This is what you wanted me to come with you for?” I ask in turn. “So you can get both of us killed?”

He grins wider, pushes the speed up little by little.

“They call it a tragedy if you die alone.”

With the way Nico drives, I think they’d call it a Darwin Award.

The road is moving too fast, the cold wind becoming a sharp, painful bite against my bare skin. I can barely hear myself over the roar of the engine, and Nico’s attention keeps drifting from the road, his eyes wandering tome.

He’s looking for a reaction, but I look right back at him.

“Don’t be a pussy, Nico. I know this thing can go faster than this.”

The car jolts forward so aggressively, my heart flies up into my throat. I’m deafened by the engine, the violent boost launching us forward. My skin bristles, stomach turning, my hair standing on end; my body reacts viscerally. I’m pressed back into the seat, fingers curling around the raised edges.

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